all felt a sense of peace they’d never had before.
God knew, they’d all earned it. Growing up as the children of Leonard Fortune hadn’t exactly been a game plan for success.
As the youngest, Kyra had been spoiled by her mother and protected from her father’s drunken rages by Vincent’s stubborn determination. Kyra’d been spared most of the misery her siblings had survived. But they were all grown up now. Succeeding on their own terms. Making lives for themselves, despite their father. Despite everything.
And Kyra was determined to do no less than her brothers and sister had done. She had every intention of making a success of her career and then somehow finding the love she’d always dreamed about.
Garrett continued to assess the photo. “Big family.”
“Four kids is a lot, I guess.”
“I’m an only child,” he said, and set the frame gingerly down on her desk, turning it back toward her with the tip of one finger.
“Must have been…quiet,” she said, not sure what he was getting at. Not sure why he was still here, in her office, talking to her as if they were old friends. Or lovers.
Her brain fizzled at the thought and she was forced to remind herself again that noticing Garrett Wolff as anything other than her boss was a one-way ticket to trouble.
He shoved both hands into his pockets. “Too quiet, sometimes.”
Now what did that mean?
As if suddenly realizing he’d said too much, he pulled his hands from his pockets, checked his watch and said, “I’m going home. I suggest you do the same, Ms. Fortune. The work will still be here tomorrow.”
Unable to help herself, she said, “Yes. But will I?”
He studied her for a long minute and shook his head. “Your review’s not till next week, remember? And besides, why are you so sure you’re going to be fired?”
She swallowed hard. “Because I know what you think of me.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “You can’t possibly know everything, Ms. Fortune. But the fact that you always act as if you do can be irritating.”
Instinctively, she tried to argue that point. “I don’t—”
“Who knows?” he added. “Maybe this time you really have irritated the wrong people.”
Kyra felt cold right down to the bone. Gone was the Mr. Nice Guy, chitchatting at night with one of the lesser beings. And in his place was the boss she’d come to know so well. Mr. Ice.
“I won’t make it easy on you,” she said, feeling it was only fair to warn the man that she wouldn’t give up without a fight.
“Ms. Fortune,” he said, “you never do anything the easy way.”
Three
T wo days later, Garrett was beginning to see what Kyra was talking about.
Walking through the expansion division—hell, his division, he’d already noticed people staring at him as if he were an apparition. Some looked nervous, as if he were there to lop off heads or personally hand out pink slips. Others were simply too stunned to return a simple greeting when he smiled and said good morning. And a couple of people paid no attention to him at all, leaving him to wonder if they even knew who the hell he was.
Irritation bubbled inside him. Damn it, he hated to admit that Kyra Fortune was right. But now that he was actually noticing what was going on outside the walls of his own office, he was forced to. Carol had always been so efficient, so on top of everything, he’d never really noticed how much of his world she ran.
Garrett was annoyed to have to acknowledge that Kyra Fortune had seen something he’d missed.
Muted sunlight streamed through the tinted windows surrounding the busy floor. At tiny cubicles and paper-cluttered desks, people hunched over their work or answered the ringing phones. Piped-in music battled for precedence over the sounds of people talking and typing.
And as he walked through it all, he realized he was just another distraction.
Damn it, he had been locked away too long. He’d lost touch with his team.
Oh, he met with a select few once a week, but the men and women who manned the glass cubicles sprawled across the steel-gray carpet were strangers to him. And he couldn’t understand how he’d let that happen.
He hadn’t set out to be alone in an ivory tower. But that was exactly where he was.
Now all he had to do was figure out how to change things.
“C’mon, Kyra, let it go for awhile. Relax. Have a drink. Dance.”
Kyra sighed, picked up her margarita and looked over the rim of the glass at her friend, Isabella Sanchez. Isa’s long, dark hair was a riot of curls around her pretty face. Her dark brown eyes were big and expressive, and her full mouth was turned up in a teasing smile.
But tonight not even her best friend could wangle an answering smile out of Kyra. “I’m just not in the mood, Isa. I shouldn’t have come out tonight. I’m only going to be a supreme downer.” She shook her head, set her glass on the scarred tabletop and leaned back in her chair.
“Girl, you’re letting him win.”
“He’s going to win anyway,” Kyra muttered, straightening up at the mere reference to Garrett Wolff. She’d already told Isa about the confrontation with her boss two days ago. And because she was a great friend, she’d promptly insisted on taking Kyra out to unwind.
Too bad it wasn’t working.
Not even the atmosphere of Rio’s, an upscale bar and restaurant, was enough to lift Kyra’s black mood. All around them people sat at round tables dotting the gleaming wood floor. Iron wall sconces shone with soft light, as did the cream-colored glass balls that hung on silver chains draped from beams in the ceiling.
Cocktail waitresses in black shorts and yellow T-shirts dipped and swayed as they moved through the crowd, carrying loaded trays of drinks and nachos. In the far corner a country and western band swung into a fast-tempo tune that had couples streaming toward the large square dance floor.
Against one wall a long, intricately carved mahogany bar was manned by three bartenders hustling to keep up with demand. A wall of mirrors backed the bar and reflected the room, so that it seemed to go on forever.
Isa reached across the table and patted Kyra’s hand. “Don’t let him get to you like this.”
“Can’t help it,” she admitted, and dragged one fingernail through the circle of water left by her glass on the tabletop. Staring blindly at the path of her scarlet nail, she muttered, “He’s going to fire me.”
“You don’t know that.”
She laughed shortly, despite the sinking sensation inside. “Sure I do.” Reaching out, she snagged a tortilla chip, then sat back in her chair and nibbled it. “He’s hated me
