her wine for a moment. “You sound like you’ve had a too-serious life. What do you do for fun?”
He didn’t answer right away. Should he tell her? Most people thought his hobby way too frivolous and he seldom shared it with anyone but his trusted friends. Finally, he decided to take the plunge. He wanted this woman to like him and if she accepted his hobby without judging, then he would like her even more. “I collect comic books and graphic novels.” He waited, trying not to flinch.
She looked interested and not a bit scornful. “Really? Who’s your favorite? I always wanted to be Storm, from the X-Men.”
He narrowed his eyes, picturing her as Storm with white hair and eyes. “I’ve always to be the Flash.”
“I can see that. He’s a bit of a nerd. Although I tend to respect the born heroes rather than the made ones.”
“You’re not laughing at me.” He was astonished. Every other woman he’d told about his hobby had put it down. Comic books were for kids, not grown men. He’d finally learned to keep his hobby hidden. “That’s cool.”
“I’m cool. I like to hike.”
“Is hiking your hobby?” He’d give nature a go if he could spend more time with her.
“I just like to be outside. My real hobby is creating and sewing fashion wardrobes for dolls. Did you know the earliest fashion doll was created in the 1300s for an English Queen who wanted French fashions for her court? She sent a note to Paris asking for fashion dolls to be sent to her so she could choose a new wardrobe.”
For a second, Reed was amazed. His only acquaintance with dolls were the ones found in every retail store. “It must have been great to be the queen.”
“That story got me started collecting fashion dolls from eighteenth and nineteenth century France.”
“Do you play with your dolls?”
She shook her head. “These are antique dolls. Usually, I display them, but they are still packed away because I haven’t time to unpack them. Right now, I’m sewing a whole wardrobe for Maya’s Barbie doll as a Christmas present. She wants a bridal gown with bridesmaids’ dresses.”
“You design clothes, too?”
“I originally planned to go into design, but ended up in the business end. I can make pretty things, but nothing innovative.”
He doubted that. “I think you’re selling yourself short.”
She sat back studying him. “I’ve spent a lot of time around designers, established ones and new ones. I’ve spent a lot of time around clothes and what American women want to wear. I know my limitations. What I am good at is picking out the hot new trends.”
He didn’t believe her. She’d already shown her imagination to be boundless. That was incredibly sexy. “I admire that in you.”
“Fashion is very personal. Women tend to be judged by what they wear. Women who walk into Walmart in stained, dirty clothes are treated a lot differently than women who walk into Walmart looking like a million bucks. Image is everything.”
Her talent was just as important as anyone else’s. He understood about image. Steve Jobs wore the same thing every day. Bill Gates still looked like a geek but more fashionable. And for himself...
“What are you thinking so intensely?” Kenzie asked.
“I’m thinking about image. Women aren’t the only ones who consider how they look. Albert Einstein had a wardrobe that consisted of two weeks of the same style pants, shirt and sweater because he didn’t want to think about clothes. Stephen Hawking dresses in Armani. Angelina Jolie wears a lot of black because she doesn’t want to have to think about matching clothes. Even I had to think about my image. I tended to stay out of the public eye, but once my company reached the Fortune 500 list, I was scrutinized for everything. I couldn’t go to work anymore with holes in my jeans. I didn’t understand for a long time that image was just as important as my product.”
“For you, your image is about power,” Kenzie replied. “And success and control. If you looked like a slob, analysts would see your company as ill-run and sloppy, that you didn’t care about profit and the bottom line. Steve Jobs may have worn the same thing every day, but it was neat, clean and looked like he meant business.”
His father had been a naval officer; he cared about projecting power and confidence. Which he did with his pristine uniforms and commanding presence. He always felt he should have been accepted for what he accomplished, not for how he looked.
“You’re thinking hard again.” She shook her head.
“How do you know?”
She rubbed the space between her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “You get this little crinkly line between your eyes.”
Reed shook his head. “When I asked to talk to you about your software program and the problems, I never expected our conversation to veer into such personal territory.”
Kenzie reached across the table to take his hand and patted it. “How well do you know Miss E.? Because she would have had all this information about you thirty seconds after she met you. She could get information from a stone.”
“No kidding. After five minutes I was ready to show her my report card from first grade.” He remembered feeling as if he was under a microscope with the older woman and it made him uncomfortable, but with Kenzie he wanted to tell her things about himself. This was getting stranger by the second. “You are good.”
Kenzie grinned. “I learned at the feet of the master.”
“Is every conversation with you going to end up being so personal?”
She gave him a sly smile. “If we’re going to talk about the weather, we don’t need to personalize it. But we weren’t talking about the weather.”
He felt his blood race through his body. She was sexy and scary. Revealing so much about himself so easily wasn’t in his nature. He’d always been a little reserved. Once he became wealthy people were always at him. They wanted money. They wanted advice, endorsements or to be seen with him. And he just wanted to be normal. He didn’t own any real estate except for a small condo in Seattle and his father’s home in San Diego. He drove a Lexus, his only vanity, because he liked nice cars. He gave 20 percent of his yearly income to charity. He voted in every election, but stayed away from politics. He didn’t want to be a mover or shaker in the world; he simply wanted to be left alone to pursue his own interests.
Kenzie patted his hand. “Stop thinking. What happens happens in its own time. Just stay in the moment. I had a friend who used to say life is what it is, stop tormenting yourself about what life isn’t.”
Her skin was soft on his and he stopped himself from groaning as his pulse sped up and he suddenly wanted more than just a touch from her. “Easy to say, but not so easy to do,” he admitted. “So teach me how to stay in the moment.”
“Stop thinking about the past. Stop thinking about every little thing as it happens. Every day is a do-over. Make it count. Do something unexpected.”
Do something unexpected. For the first time in his life he gave in to an impulse. He half stood,
