Adding Up to You Read online

  So here she was, at the designated conference room on the second floor of the San Diego Mallory. All she had to do was go in and rattle off her readiness to discuss acquisition and renovation budgets, quarterly forecasts and long-term strategic planning—she’d been boning up, reading such fun and light fare as the corporation’s annual reports and tourism stats for a week now—and she’d be set.

  She had no doubts. She could do this. Hell, she’d once cleaned iguana cages at the LA Zoo, with the little buggers still in residence, so really, she could do anything. As she established herself here, she’d lighten up the uptight work atmosphere if she could. And she’d keep her sense of humor firmly in place, no matter what.

  In light of that, she’d wow this old Mr. Roth, wow and dazzle…whatever it took. She put her hand on the door handle and noted that her heart had picked up speed and she was feeling a little overheated. Damn the nerves she didn’t want to admit she had. Given that she’d promised herself never to let ’em see her sweat, she peeled off her jacket. Ready now, she opened the door and called out, “Honey, I’m home.” She took a step inside and…went utterly still.

  Twelve men wearing conservative dark suits sitting around a huge conference table stopped talking and turned her way. One of them was her father.

  Fabulous. So much for her private meeting with Weston Roth.

  Silence reigned for far too long as twelve pairs of eyes stared at her. She was just contemplating how to make a safe retreat when one of the suits stood up.

  “I’ll take it from here,” he said, which she resented the hell out of.

  No one would take “it” from here, not if they were referring to her.

  That man came forward, and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

  “Sure.” She smiled, having no idea who he was, but she could fake banalities as well as anyone. Attitude could come later in private.

  He shut the door behind them while Kenna feigned a huge interest in the art on the walls, idly wondering who purchased their art. Did they go to the auctions? Private sales? In either case, no doubt they got ripped off.

  The man who’d brought her out here simply watched her, she could feel his eyes boring into her back, so she turned around in order to eye him right back. His broad shoulders propping up the far wall, his long legs casually crossed, he looked for all the world as if he’d just strutted off the glossy pages of GQ magazine. Style, elegance and yes, dammit, the dreaded polish poured off him with ease. Clearly comfortable in his own skin, he smiled, and it wasn’t a particularly nice one.

  Kenna’s resentment against him rose. She should have known this wasn’t going to go well when she’d seen all the dark colors in the room. She had this theory that the colors people wore indicated their openness to new ideas, their ability to change. And what had she seen in the conference room? Unimaginative colors. Blah colors. She’d been the only splash of life in the room.

  “So…” He cocked his head. “Where should we begin?”

  “I’m not sure we have anything to begin.” How had it come about that she’d agreed to this insanity?

  Oh yeah, she’d decided she could do anything and might as well prove it to the world. Dammit, this whole mess was her own fault.

  How she hated to admit that.

  But one thing about growing up so quickly, about learning how to survive on her own, she’d also matured. Learned how to handle herself in just about any situation, including this one.

  With a flick of his wrist, he glanced at his gold watch. “You know, you’re not actually not that far off, time-wise. I have to admit to being a bit surprised on that score.” Mr. Cool wore perfectly perfect creased dark-gray trousers and a perfectly perfect matching silk shirt that complemented his tall, leanly muscled form. Even his shoes screamed sophistication and had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, most of which she’d picked up thanks to her Nordstrom’s discount or her favorite hobby—consignment shops. She couldn’t help it, she loved old things, particularly the glamour and style of the mid-twentieth century. Not that this man would know anything about that. He wore a pair of the latest wire-rimmed glasses, so completely in vogue she wondered if they were even prescription. Behind his lenses blazed a set of dark-blue, intelligent eyes that warned her not to underestimate him.

  Actually, Kenna usually enjoyed intelligent men. She loved to talk, loved to debate, but in her world—correction, her father’s world—intelligence couldn’t compensate for lack of a sense of humor or a basic interest in anything outside of business, both of which were incredibly important to her.

  This man, whoever he was, epitomized Mallory Enterprises just by standing there in his dark colors. He made her feel conspicuous and out of place. The only thing slightly redeeming him was that he seemed willing to talk to her at all.

  Until he said, “I’m okay with you running out of here, if you’d like. I’m not really up for dealing with the boss’s spoiled daughter anyway.”

  While that made her see red, a welcome color in this place, she managed to stay calm. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Sorry.” He pushed away from the wall, seeming even bigger now, and held out his hand. “Weston Roth.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t ancient, wasn’t a fuddy-duddy and she was quite certain she hadn’t wowed or dazzled. Looked like their working relationship was off to an interesting start. “Well, Weston Roth. What do you say we make our first compromise. I’ll forgive and forget the spoiled-daughter statement, and the fact that you’re a pompous ass for saying it, if you’ll forgive me for being all of seven minutes late.” She slipped her hand in his, a little surprised by how big and warm it was.

  He started to say something, but from behind the conference room door came the distinct sounds of men rising from their seats.

  Followed by muted voices and…footsteps.

  The dark suits were coming this way. Terrific. She didn’t want to deal with her father right now. “What do you say we take this little meet-and-greet into one of our offices?” she asked a bit hastily.

  “Sure.” He gestured with his head which way to go, and kept up with her stride for stride. His smug smile told her he knew who she was avoiding and why, and it made her want to trip him.

  She could handle this, she reminded herself as they walked. She could handle this and him.

  She could handle anything. And if she said it often enough, it just might be true.

  * * *

  SHE WALKED into his office ahead of him, eyes flashing and chin high in the air, as if she wasn’t wearing a skirt better suited for swinging from a pole than for a boardroom, and a silky tank that made Wes think of the beach.

  He gestured her to one of the two guest chairs in front of his desk. Usually he sat next to whoever he was meeting with, making everything more casual, which was how he liked things. But this time, he didn’t want casual. He wanted anything but, so he took the chair behind his desk, thinking he needed as much space from this woman as possible.

  Kenna sat and crossed her legs.

  Since she didn’t wear stockings—yes, he’d noticed in spite of himself—the unmistakable sound of skin sliding against skin distracted him for a moment, but only a moment before his boss’s voice sounded off in his head.

  Take care of my little girl. See if she’s as good as I know she can be.

  Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. “I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “I’ve been acting vice president for nearly a year.”

  “Let me guess. And you thought you had the job in the bag?”

  Hell, yes, he’d thought that. And it was a kick in the teeth to find out differently. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

  She leaned back and settled in as if she had all the time in the world. “Oh, yes. I have a feeling it’s very interesting.”

  “All right.” He propped his elbows on his desk. “I don’t approve of you getting this job simply because of who you’re related to. Without any merit.”

  “Without