Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(38)

“Of course I’ve been on a date. I date all the time.”

“Really.” She sits back and crosses her legs. “When and where was the last date you went on?”

I mentally run through my recent encounters with women. The last being . . . well, hell. Now that I think about it, I haven’t actually gotten laid in weeks.

That can’t be right.

“And I’m not talking about sex,” Kate drones on, reading my thoughts as she so often does. “I’m talking dinner. Drinks. Conversation. A date that wasn’t just a stepping-stone to sex.”

I think. And think. And realize that perhaps the closest I’ve come to anything remotely resembling a date in years happened at that restaurant with Lara after she got stood up. And again at the club.

I look at Kate. “You want to go out to dinner with me?”

She laughs. “Nope. I don’t date my bosses.”

That’s definitely true. Kennedy, Matt, and I made a pact years ago that Kate was off-limits, little-sister territory. Not because she’s that much younger than us, but because we adore her.

And all three of us know she deserves better than any of us can offer.

Still . . . I give her a playful look. “But if you did date bosses, it wouldn’t be me, would it?”

Her laughter dies, and she gives me a warning look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Right on cue, Kennedy strolls into my office, pausing briefly when he sees the back of Kate’s head. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, and thank God for it,” Kate says with a last warning glare for me.

Kennedy ambles toward my desk, dropping into the seat beside Kate. “What are we talking about?”

Kate leans toward him and loudly whispers, “Ian’s trying to remember the last time he went on an actual date.”

“That would be never,” Kennedy says without hesitation.

Kate nods. “Exactly.”

“Guys, my love life is not open for discussion.”

“You don’t have a love life,” Kennedy says, flipping through e-mail on his phone.

“Well, neither do you,” I say, thoroughly out of patience with this whole thing.

He doesn’t look up from his phone. “I’ve had relationships.”

I see Kate go slightly stiff at this announcement, though Kennedy doesn’t seem to notice. Then again, he doesn’t seem to notice much as far as Kate’s concerned. It’s like he’s got a blind spot. He’s fiercely protective of her—we all are—but he also keeps her at arm’s length, almost as though he’s wary of her. And it bugs her, I think.

“What relationships?” I ask him.

He shrugs. “I date women from my social circle.”

Kate’s mouth drops open. “Your social circle?”

“You know what I mean,” he says, still distracted by his phone.

“Not really,” she says.

“People . . .” He waves his hand. “People I grew up with. People I know through my parents and schooling.”

I cover my mouth with my hand to disguise my laugh at the word schooling.

“Oh, I see,” Kate says with a nod. “People you summered with.”

My laugh slips out at the same time Kennedy says, “Yes, exactly—” He breaks off and looks up at Kate, then me. “You’re mocking me.”

“A little bit, Gatsby,” I say.

He clicks off his phone and looks at me. “Why are we talking about relationships in the first place?”

“Ian’s got it bad for Lara.”

“I’m aware. What’s that have to do with dating?”

“That’s what I mean by ‘has it bad,’” Kate says smugly. “He wants to date her, not just bone her.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Bone her?”

She shrugs. “Or whatever. Insert the verb of your choice.”

I wisely keep from sharing that I have many verbs in mind when it comes to Lara, each one dirtier than the last. Instead, I say, “I don’t want to date her.” The words are automatic, but I’m not at all sure they’re true. Spending time with Lara is different from every other woman where I don’t look past the one night.

Lara McKenzie isn’t a one-night kind of woman. She’s an all-the-nights kind of woman.

Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t freak me out nearly as much as it should.

The question is—how the hell do I convince someone who doesn’t want to be seen with me at a club to give me a goddamn chance?

I’m saved from my own thoughts by the arrival of Sabrina and Matt, along with the wave of sexual tension that they always seem to ride on.

“See,” Sabrina says smugly, strutting into my office and gesturing at Kennedy, Kate, and me. “I told you they’d be in here.”

Matt rolls his eyes. “I never said I disagreed. What I said was, What the hell are you doing here?”

“And I said I was looking for Ian and Kate,” Sabrina says coolly.

I only have two guest chairs, so Kennedy stands to give his to Sabrina. “Hi, dear,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek.

She pats his jaw affectionately. “Hey, love.”

Kennedy and Sabrina have gotten along since day one. They’re not as close as Sabrina and myself—they don’t have our history. But like us, there’s an easiness to their friendship thanks to a complete lack of chemistry that allows them to interact like normal humans.