Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Still, if and when she did settle down, it’d be with some high school science teacher who told corny jokes, not Jack . . . who definitely told corny jokes. Shit.
“Where’s your third musketeer?” Jack asked, interrupting Kennedy’s thoughts.
“Ian? Well, let’s see, it’s four o’clock on a Thursday . . . I’m going to guess he’s working. Some of us do that,” Kennedy said.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure he and Lara are doing it in his office,” Matt said.
Jack sat up straight. “Seriously?”
Matt shrugged. “Some of us do that.”
Jack laughed, and Kennedy shifted slightly in his chair, trying not to look—and feel—like a disapproving old man. He wasn’t a prude. Far from it. He just didn’t fully grasp the concept of being so overwhelmed with lust that one couldn’t wait until they were at home to have sex in as civilized—or uncivilized—a manner as one pleased.
There was a quick knock at the door, and Ian opened it before Kennedy’s “come in.”
Jack rose to greet him, and Kennedy listened with half an ear as they discussed who owed whom what after their poker game last summer.
All three of them actually owed Kennedy, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t need the money. None of them did. There was a reason he, Ian, and Matt were known as the “Wolfes” of Wall Street. They had a good deal more morals than the scam artists they were named after, and their partying had never veered toward the illegal hard stuff. But over the years, they’d had their fair share of late nights, dropped too many hundred-dollar bills on God knows what.
Kennedy wasn’t ashamed of it, not really. The old work-hard-play-hard adage may as well have been written in the Wolfe Investments offices. Kennedy’s family was old-money wealthy, but every dime he spent was his own, earned through determination, smarts, and long hours in this very chair.
But sometimes, at least lately, the whole thing had started to feel a little hollow. Mostly, Kennedy chalked it up to the fact that Ian and Matt had settled down with women so perfect for them that it was vaguely irritating to watch.
Not that he was jealous, but—well, hell. He was, a little. The two of them had always been wilder than Kennedy, and yet here he was, the tamest of the trio, feeling a little left behind.
His brother and friends had moved on to discuss when they could fit in a round of golf at Matt’s club out in Connecticut, when Kate marched into his office, armed with a stack of messages.
She was wearing what he thought of as her work uniform—neutral slacks and a white blouse, one button undone to reveal only a hint of skin at the base of her throat. The woman was the literal definition of buttoned-up.
Kate began handing out sheets of paper. A couple of years ago, she’d implemented what she referred to as her “hybrid” system, a combination of old-school paper messages as well as an email conveying the same message. It was her way of ensuring their I didn’t get it excuse didn’t fly when she had to deal with the aftermath of whatever message they’d forgotten or ignored.
“Dave’s called three times,” she said, handing a sheet of paper to Ian. “He broke his TV. Again. Needs a replacement before ‘the big one,’ his words.”
Kennedy smiled. Dave was Ian’s rough-around-the-edges foster father who, while never having raised a hand to Ian, had a bad habit of losing his temper in the middle of whatever sporting event was currently on in front of him and breaking the television with a various arsenal of projectiles. Beer bottles, a basketball, the remote. Ian replaced each and every flat-screen with an ever bigger, improved model without question. To Ian’s thinking, it was a small price to pay for Dave being the only man who’d given a troublemaking orphan even a hint of stability.
Ian sighed and took the paper. “I wonder if they have subscription models for televisions. You know, where Best Buy or some company can auto-replenish every month.”
“I’ll look into it,” Kate said.
“I was kidding.”
“I’ll look into it,” she repeated, handing a message to Matt. “Felicia called. Apparently, your mother’s refusing to let her join her book club.”
“Wait, my mom isn’t keen on my dad’s mistress joining her book club? That’s weird. What’s this?” Matt asked as Kate handed him another piece of paper.
She tapped a finger against the top of the paper. “A different book club. Carol Madigan is Joe’s sister-in-law. She lives fifteen minutes from Felicia, and they’ve got a book club dedicated mostly to Scottish romance novels. I think she’ll love it.”
“Scottish romance novels,” Jack said, looking a little in awe of Kate. “That’s a thing?”
“Definitely. Men in kilts? Delightful,” Kate said without looking up as she handed a piece of paper to Kennedy. “Claudia called. Said to remind you not to forget to keep Saturday afternoon open.”