Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(16)

Kennedy’s a very attractive man. For one, he has dimples. Really, really great dimples. Not that they’re present now, but I saw him laugh with Ian the other day outside the conference room. He wears glasses about half the time, like he is today, and it emphasizes the quiet, scholarly way he carries himself. His suits are classic, his ties never flashy.

My family’s got a bit of a classic movie obsession going for us, so let me put it this way: if Ian’s got Cary Grant’s swagger, and Matt’s got Paul Newman’s charm, Kennedy’s got the uptight brooding thing going for him, a little bit Humphrey Bogart meets Clint Eastwood. Yum.

In other words, I should definitely be feeling something when our palms make contact. Kennedy looks like every version of the one I’ve been dreaming about since I hit puberty. Quiet. Sensible. Safe. He’s the opposite of Ian Bradley, and thus exactly what I’m looking for.

I wait for the expected feminine awareness, and . . . nothing.

Not a zip, not a spark, not even a flutter.

He drops the handshake as soon as he can without being rude, and judging from the near-sneer on his face, I don’t think he felt anything, either.

“Can I help you?”

“Absolutely,” I say quickly, before Kate can get off the phone and run her usual watchdog interference. “I’d like a few minutes of your time.”

“To discuss Ian.”

“To discuss your knowledge of Wolfe Investments’ connection with J-Conn.”

“Talk to my assistant to schedule an appointment.”

He tries to step around me, but I sidestep with him, earning myself a glare. “I’ve tried, but I got the sense that you’ll be booked out as far as Mr. Bradley and Mr. Cannon are.”

“Well, there you go. If you’ll excuse me . . .” Another step, which I match once again.

“What are you doing right now?”

“I’ve got a meeting.” He’s a good liar but not good enough. He waited just a heartbeat too long to answer, telling me it’s an excuse.

I glance at my watch. “It’s 8:51. I’m assuming your meeting’s at nine, so I’ll keep you company until then.”

“Ms. McKenzie—”

“I could get a subpoena, Mr. Dawson. Or you could convince me I don’t need one. For any of this.”

He goes still, unapologetically studying me. “Five minutes.”

“That’s all I need.”

He unlocks the door to his office and makes an exaggerated inward motion for me to precede him.

I have to hide a smile, because the office is exactly what I’d expected. While the common areas of Wolfe Investments are all sleek and modern, Kennedy’s office feels like a step back in time to when men wore smoking jackets and the only corporate job for women was as a typist. His desk is a dark wood with ornate detailing. The chairs are mahogany leather with just the right amount of wear to be inviting instead of stuffy. Every nonwindowed wall is covered in bookshelves, and I’ve been in enough Wolfe exec offices in the past week to know they’re a custom addition.

“Problem?” he asks, stepping around his desk and setting his coffee on a coaster.

“Nope. Just trying to figure out where you keep the globe and antique chessboard.”

For a moment, I swear his eyes brighten in amusement, but he shuts it down, gesturing to a guest chair across from his own. “Five minutes, Ms. McKenzie.”

Right.

I sit and cross my legs, wishing I had something to write with, but that’s what I get for ambushing the guy. “Is Kate going to be pissed?” I ask, partially to ease him into the conversation but also because I really am curious just how much I’m going to pay for my little stunt.

This time he doesn’t bother to hide his amusement. “Probably. Might be good for her.”

“Yes, she’s very . . . regimented.”

“That’s one word for it.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

“She works for you, Mr. Bradley, and Mr. Cannon?”

“Yes. Which is something you could have found out without taking up my time.”

“How’d that come about, her taking on all three of you?” I ask, ignoring his grouch.

Kennedy sighs, drumming his fingers on the desk. “When Ian, Matt, and I were each promoted to director, we were given the opportunity to hire our own assistants. Kate had already been working as an office assistant for some of us junior guys, and she was the best.”

“And you all wanted her.”

“We all wanted the best.”

“So it was a competition thing?”

He gives me a bland look, takes another sip of coffee. “Did you come in here to discuss the hiring process of Kate Henley or to do your job?”

“This is my job,” I say, not remotely insulted. I’ve heard worse over the course of my career. So much worse.

“I thought you were investigating Ian, not Kate or me.”

“I am. And in order to do that, I need access to his world. Best I can tell so far, that’s you, Ms. Henley, and Mr. Cannon.”

“Impressive. A week on the job, and you’ve already cracked the code,” he says sarcastically.

I lift my hands in surrender. “Fine. You want to get to it, I can do it that way, too. Do you know anyone from J-Conn?”