Conflict of Interest (8 page)

He looked straight at her, dark eyes searching for something. “All that and only one thing stood out?”

He wasn’t embarrassed, he was proud. And those eyes, she forced her gaze away. “Fair enough. A lot of things stood out. But you don’t seem to publicly exist before your first company became a name. Like no yearbook photos, no college, no anything. Is there a reason your past is hidden?”

He shrugged. “It’s not. My parents divorced a few years ago. It was messy and I’d never been fond of my father anyway, so I legally changed my last name to my mother’s maiden name. My entire childhood is probably still out there.”

That wasn’t nearly as interesting as she’d expected. At least some of his surprises weren’t bad. “So what’s your old name?”

“Lunch,” Tanya interrupted, setting a plate in front of her.

“Thanks.” Scott flashed the waitress a smile.

Kenzie’s shoulders slumped, and she sank back in her chair. Things were about to get loud again. There was no way he’d even listen if she tried to shush him now. Except he kept his voice low and the conversation brief. She hid her smile behind her glass as she took another sip of wine.

Waitress gone, he turned his full attention back to her. “So, clothes shopping, really?”

She laughed at his feigned disgust. “I promise to try and keep it from being boring.”

“Not possible. Did you have a destination in mind?”

Finally, something she knew that he didn’t. It was a small thing, but she’d take her victories where she could find them. “It’s a surprise.”

“Give me a hint?” His smile never wavered.

“It’s not Hot Topic.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Glad to hear it.”

She pushed her half-finished wine aside and grabbed her ice water instead.

He brushed her shin with his foot again, lingering longer this time. “Not to turn the tables on you or anything, but I’m tired of talking about me. Tell me about yourself. I already know you’re from here. Just the one sister?”

He didn’t miss a lot, and it made her smile to know he’d remembered such small details from previous conversations. She took a small bite of the food, considering her answer. It was as good as the appetizer had been, and her stomach grumbled in appreciation. “Yes. No brothers.”

“Older or younger?”

Did he really care? The sincerity in his eyes said yes. The revelation added to her lilting mood. “Older by five minutes.”

“Twins.” He raised an eyebrow. “Identical?”

“Physically.”

“Right.” His attention was completely on her, his lunch untouched. “So she’s the one who usually picks up strangers, does the one-night-stand thing, the irresponsible stuff.”

“I—” She paused, not sure if she was about to defend herself or Riley. “As you’re so fond of pointing out, I approached you.”

He stared back in disbelief, his familiar crooked smile in place. “And you’ve also confessed it was completely out of character for you.”

“Does it matter if I’d ever done it before?”

“It does to me.” He picked at his vegetables. “I like thinking I was your first for something. It’s good for a guy’s ego, right?”

How did he always manage to make conversation so easy? She laughed at the teasing. “Like your ego needs help.”

“Sometimes it does.” His eyes grew wide, his feigned hurt ruined by the twitch of his mouth. “I’m a delicate flower.”

“Why are you always so direct?” She had asked him the question once before, but she wanted more of an answer.

His gaze raked over her face as if he was trying to peer into her thoughts. “Chicks dig honesty, right?”

“No,” she corrected him. “Chicks only think they dig honesty until it includes something they don’t want to hear.”

“It worked on you.”

Arrogant ass. The thought didn’t have any malice in it. “You got lucky.”

He snorted. “Damn straight. And I wouldn’t mind getting lucky again.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, but couldn’t lose her smile. “Seriously, it has to be counterproductive most the time.”

“I’ll answer your question if you tell me something. Where do you usually meet guys?”

She stared back, confused about the gentle curve in the conversation. “Why?”

He pushed his barely touched plate aside. “Let’s see … probably not business meetings, that would be inappropriate. And I can’t see you spending much time in bars. We can add coffee shops to the list.”

“You were the only one.”

His grin spread. “I knew it.”

She slapped his hand playfully. “Yes, fine. You were a first. Happy?”

“Immensely.” He meant it. “Where did you meet your last boyfriend? The bookstore or something?”

Heat flooded her cheeks, and she ducked her head. It had been a lucky guess, that was all.

He laughed. “I was kidding. I’m right, seriously?”

“Yes, I met my last boyfriend at the bookstore.”

“The relationship section?”

She twisted her mouth in irritation and just glared at him. “Fiction and literature.”

“Bronte?” he asked.

“Vonnegut.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what was the first thing he said to you?”

Why were they having this conversation? Not that she minded, but she was still trying to figure out his random tangents. “I don’t remember.”

“You’re lying.” There was no accusation in the words, it was a simple statement.

She looked at him, eyes wide. How had he known that? “It was something about how Vonnegut had nothing on William Gibson when it came to the cynical but not completely fatalistic future of the planet. And I told him that wasn’t a fair comparison because Kurt Vonnegut was absolutely a fatalistic literary genius and William Gibson was some sciency guy.”

His jaw dropped. “You called the father of cyber punk a sciency guy? I mean, I guess technically you’re right, but you said that?”

Finally she had caught him off-guard. “And his reaction was a lot like yours. Don’t get me wrong, William Gibson is fantastic, but it’s still like comparing Apples and Windows.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d tossed the reference in to mangle the cliché. It wasn’t like she cared if he knew she had any sort of geek cred.

“Nice.” His shock faded back into amusement. “And you went out with him after that.”

“For a while.” She didn’t want to get into the details. She was over the guy, but there was no reason to divulge she’d dumped him because he was boring in bed.

“So, last guy you didn’t go out with—the most recent one you’ve turned down. What was the first thing he said to you?”

“Like I remember. Maybe, do those legs go all the way up?” The background noise had faded as the lunchtime crowd thinned, and she was grateful she didn’t have anywhere else to be.

“But you let the guy who asked you about your honeyed walls give you a lift home.”

And she realized what he was doing—trying to point out to her why it was wrong to try and change him for the sake of appearance. He seemed fond of the object lesson rather than the direct answer. “Yes. Because you were sincere, and the guy in the bookstore was sincere—both of you inflammatory—but still sincere, and those assholes with the lines were just saying what they thought I wanted to hear.”

“I’ve made my point?” He didn’t look smug.

“Yes.” She took another drink. “But I’m still going to teach you to behave in public. You’re not learning to pick up women. You’re learning to keep your investors happy.”

He leaned in, voice low. “I already know the legs go all the way because how awkward would that be if they didn’t?” An underlying current ran through his words. “But if I told you that you had a beautiful body, would you forget this mission of yours?”

“You mean my job?” The way he’d twisted the otherwise horrid line added to her enjoyment, and the underlying compliment warmed her more than the wine had. “No. But don’t let that stop you from trying.”

“You’ve really read William Gibson.” He switched gears without pause.

“I prefer Philip K. Dick, but
Neuromancer
has a special place on my bookshelf. I was in a really weird frame of mind the first time I read it, it kind of screwed with my head, and I haven’t been able to forget it since.”

The rough canvas of a High Top traced up the back of her calf, sending a pleasant chill through her. His expression softened, eyes pulling up at the corners. “I know the feeling.”

A folded blanket stared back at Scott in his rearview mirror. It would probably be there for a while—he like the memories associated with it. He glanced at Kenzie out of the corner of his eye. Had she noticed? Only the obvious really seemed to escape her, so probably not.

He’d frozen inside when she’d brought up his past and was glad she’d let him change the subject so quickly. It wasn’t like he’d come from a battered home, not in the traditional sense. He’d had it all growing up—money, the best education available, and almost two decades of the finest food, clothes, and friends money could buy.

He glanced at Kenzie as the unpleasant memories tripped through his thoughts. The corners of her mouth were pulled up in an almost smile. She wouldn’t tell him where they were going, only that Hot Topic wasn’t an appropriate place for someone like him to shop. He wasn’t sure what made
him
different from anyone who worked for him, but he hadn’t bothered to tell her the only thing he owned from Hot Topic was a pair of panda mittens someone had given him as a gag gift a few years ago. Maybe he’d dig those up tomorrow just for kicks.

But that was the thing about his childhood. His father was first-generation money—having started as a mechanic to support his mother when he’d gotten her pregnant right before high school graduation. But Dad was bright and had managed to spin the opportunity quickly, growing his name and reputation into the face of one of the largest car dealership chains in the western states.

He’d wanted Scott to have everything he hadn’t. Including connections, the knowledge to be able to perform on demand, and the ability to mold himself to what the “right” people expected of him.

And Scott might not have resented it if that upbringing hadn’t included countless hours of being told playing video games would never get him anywhere in life, and that the only way to be someone important was to wear the mask the people with the money expected to see.

“Park here.” Kenzie’s request jarred him back to the present. She was pointing to a row of spots in front of Nordstrom.

“Yes ma’am.” He did as he was told, keeping a teasing lilt to his response.

He followed her into the store, past racks of designer labels and women who reminded him of his mother—straight posture, well-coifed silver hair, and gold and diamonds sparkling from their wrists and fingers—to the men’s department.

Plastic torsos in button-down shirts and silk ties stared down at them from high shelves on the walls. Scott would have told her this wasn’t where he really wanted to be, but she would have misunderstood. Assumed he was being difficult and not just picky.

Displays dotted the area, but no actual racks, and a counter sat in the middle of it all, a familiar young man scanning the shop, doing a decent job of hiding his boredom.

A smile lit his hazel eyes when Scott and Kenzie approached, and he stepped away from his watch post. “Mr. McAllister, I didn’t realize you’d be in today. What can I do for you?”

Scott returned the smile. “Hey, Evan. I didn’t either.” Scott nodded at Kenzie. “This young lady isn’t as fond of my T-shirt as I am. Grab whatever she asks for?”

“Is there anywhere in this valley you aren’t on a first name basis with the staff?” Kenzie’s voice was a low rasp, only meant for his ears.

He glanced at her, relieved that her cheeks were still flushed with amusement. “There’s a Village Inn on State and one-oh-sixth that I don’t think I’ve been in since I was a teenager.”

Her lips twitched as she struggled to hold back a smile, and her gaze travelled over him.

His blood pressure increased, and he shoved his hands into his pockets to give himself something else to focus on. Between that appraising glance and her full lips, he was wishing they were anywhere but a public place.

“You’re what, a 34/34?” she asked.

She was good. He bit back the offer to let her measure his inseam herself if she wanted to find out. “That’s right.”

She turned back to Evan. “We need some slacks, a couple of Izods and Oxfords, though oddly enough I think we’re okay on the sport jacket front.”

Evan blinked, friendly smile frozen in place. “For him?”

Scott swallowed his laugh at the disbelief. Evan was forever giving him a hard time about being too good to buy his clothes off the rack like a pleeb. Childhood had left some impressions he couldn’t shake—like formal and business attire should be tailored. Fortunately, since he’d rather spend his money on other things, he didn’t have to make those purchases often. “For me.”

Evan gave him one last glance and then shook his head. “Of course. I’ll be right back.”

“What was that about?” Kenzie asked as soon as Evan was gone.

Scott shrugged. “Maybe I should have mentioned we’ve got a corporate account. We send our people here when they need to look good for trade shows, meetings, whatever. I’m just not usually one of them.”

Kenzie shook her head, and her expression was a bizarre combination of disbelief and what he would have called fascination on anyone else. Maybe he should tell her that was almost—but not quite—as attractive as the lip biting, or the blushing. With every shift in her expression, his pulse raced a little faster, drawing his attention from the task at hand and tempting him with what they could get up to if they took another afternoon off.

She stepped away, wandering around the department, occasionally paying attention to a display tie, or running a finger down a headless torso—he assumed checking the fabric of the shirt. What he wouldn’t give to be that mannequin right then, lower body or not. At least the plastic dummy didn’t have to worry about how impossible it currently was to sate the pulse below his waist, or deal with the lightheadedness that came from all his blood rushing to his cock.

Scott tried to be discreet about adjusting his jeans. They needed to buy this stuff and get out of here.