“Do you like it?” Her long graceful fingers brushed the diamond-and-ruby pendant that Kat had last seen in Hazel’s portrait. “It was my mother-in-law’s. It has been given to all the wives of the W. W. Hales for generations.” Her gaze slid toward Hale. “Someday it will belong to the wife of my son.”
“That’s nice,” Kat muttered, desperate for something to say.
“I’m so glad you could come today,” the woman said.
“You are?” Kat blurted a little too quickly.
“Of course.” And then the strangest thing happened. She put her arm around Kat’s waist, steered her carefully to a quiet corner of the room. “We were so afraid when Scooter took a leave of absence from school that it would be hard on him. But, honestly, this is bringing us so much closer to our son. And the people in his life.”
She gave Kat’s waist a tiny squeeze.
“You’ll have to come up to the country house, dear. We don’t want Scooter losing touch with his friends. Or…anyone who might be more than just a friend.” She gave a smile, and Kat wondered what kind of alternate reality she had fallen into.
Marcus passed by, and Kat mouthed “help,” but he just offered Hale’s mother some champagne and continued through the room, wordless.
“And how do you enjoy Knightsbury, Katarina…or is it Kat? Which do you prefer?”
For all that she had done in her short life, Kat was not used to playing inside. She didn’t know how to smile and flirt, cajole and confuse someone into believing something was their idea (especially when it wasn’t). No, Kat was a thief, not a con artist, more her mother’s child than her father’s in at least that one respect. So it was with a pounding heart and sweaty palms that she told the woman, “Most people call me Kat.”
“It is a lovely name.” When Hale’s mother smiled, Kat felt a pang of familiarity. Hale was built like his father, with the same broad shoulders and tall frame. But right then Kat knew that Hale was actually like his mother. They had the same easy smile and bright eyes. Charm. They were both charmers. And Kat found herself liking the woman just as, years before, she hadn’t been able to help liking the boy. It felt a little like she was cheating on Hale. With his mother.
“Isn’t that something?”
Kat glanced at Genesis and nodded. “Yes. It really is.”
“It’s going to be quite impressive when we unveil it at the gala next week. You are coming to the gala, aren’t you?”
“Oh, I…” Kat looked at Hale, but his mother talked on.
“You simply must. It’s such an important night for Scooter. He and his grandmother were very close. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” Kat said. She didn’t admit that she’d learned it a little too late.
Hale’s mother smiled. “The company means a lot to my son, and if I’m correct, you mean a lot to my son. I’m the first to admit that he and his father and I have been slightly…estranged. He was a challenging boy. But now he’s a man, and I want to know him. And I believe it’s also important to know you.”
“It is?” Kat asked.
Mrs. Hale laughed. “There will be lots of girls who are interested in him now. There were many before, I’m sure, but now…well, let’s just say this kind of inheritance changes things.”
“Not for me,” Kat said, and she meant it.
“And that’s why I hope that we will be very close, Kat.” Hale’s mother smiled.
Kat’s head was buzzing. No. That wasn’t it. The buzzing was reverberating from the center of the crowd.
“The device shouldn’t be making that noise,” Silas said from across the room.
Kat was more than a little surprised at the speed and agility the old man showed as he raced toward the prototype. There was a loud pop just as he reached it, a burning, hissing spark that sputtered and flamed in a bright arc. Smoke filled the air.
“Foster, what is the meaning of this?” Hale’s father snapped as if Silas were deliberately wasting his time.
“I’m not sure,” Silas said. “I’ve personally tested this a dozen times in the past two weeks, and…I’m not sure.”
Kat looked around the lab at what, if Mr. Foster was correct, was one of the biggest days in the history of Hale Industries. Of the Hale family.
But she couldn’t see her Hale anywhere.
Marcus was coming toward her, a tray of shrimp puffs in his hand. But the look in his eyes was enough to stop Kat cold.
“Where is he, Marcus?”
“He’s gone to his office.”
“Where is it? Please tell me. I have to talk to him.”
“No, miss.” Marcus took her hand and squeezed. “You have to stop him.”
Kat wasn’t sure what was going on then, but she’d spent too much of her life as the girl with the plan to sit on the sidelines of whatever was happening. She pushed through the halls of Hale Industries, the cubicles and conference rooms spiraling out like a maze, and she didn’t know where to go. So she stopped, heart pounding. And listened.
“Gloria, red looks good on you,” someone said.
And there he was. Hale was strolling easily down the center aisle, slapping a man on the back and asking, “Hey, Jones, how’s the baby?”
“Hale,” Kat said, struggling to catch up. “I need to talk to you.”
“Go home, Kat,” he told her, never breaking stride until he finally came to rest in front of the woman who sat stoically guarding the corner office.
“Mr. Hale,” the woman said, a little too much emphasis on the word Mister for Kat’s liking. “I was not expecting you today.”
“Hello, gorgeous.” Hale smiled and sat on the corner of the woman’s immaculate desk. “I tried to stay away—I really did. But I knew you were up here, and I just had to come say hi.”
“Delightful,” the woman said. “And you brought a guest.”
She slid her icy glare from Hale to the girl behind him. Kat shifted and was acutely aware of the fact that the skirt Gabrielle had chosen for her was too short. She wanted to rappel down the elevator shaft and disappear.
“I had to show off the empire. So, have you missed me?” Hale reached down to polish the Hale Industries Employee of the Year plaque that sat beside the woman’s computer. “I’m sure you must have missed me.”
“It was a struggle, sir. But we’ve managed.”
“Glad to hear it.” Hale winked, then he walked toward the wide, sweeping stairs that led to the floor above.
“Go back to the launch, Kat,” Hale said once they reached the thirty-eighth floor. This time there was no receptionist, no guard. So Kat and Hale walked, unbothered, to the big mahogany double doors that read W. W. HALE V in gold embossed letters, and Kat recalled what Marcus had told her.
“So, this is your office?” Kat pointed to the words; but then Hale turned the doorknob, pushed, and bumped right into the heavy wood.
“Or not,” Kat said when, again, the door didn’t budge.
“Seriously, Kat. You can go. Now.”
“Not until you talk to me.”
Hale pulled a small leather-bound tool kit from the backpack he carried, and two seconds later, the door was swinging open.
“I’m through talking.” He pushed inside a room with plush couches and tall windows, silk curtains, and an oil painting of an English manor. It didn’t look like the heart of a cold, corporate world. It was more like a sitting room. A parlor.
Hale walked to the empty desk, plopped the backpack down on top of it, and rummaged inside.
“I like your office,” Kat tried again. She couldn’t bring herself to face him, so she reached out to let the curtains run through her fingers. “Did you use a decorator?”
“Yeah. My grandmother,” Hale said, and Kat went still.
She hadn’t thought about exactly where they were, but the reminders were everywhere. The tall bookshelves behind the desk were covered with family photos and books, plaques from assorted charities, and mementos of a life well lived. But only one frame sat on the desk. Kat reached for it, looked down on a fourteen-year-old Hale in a uniform she recognized, a burgundy cardigan over heavy gray trousers.
“I don’t miss those sweaters,” she said, remembering the way the wool itched against her skin during the three months that she had run from her world to Hale’s.