As Kennedy opens her mouth to tear into him, I throw my head back and laugh.
“Cripple, Dave? That’s the best you’ve got? Not even gimp or stumpy or quarter-man? If you’re going to insult someone, have the decency to make it a clever insult. Otherwise, you don’t just look like an asshole—you look like a dumb asshole. Also, go fuck yourself, you entitled, parasitic, two-faced, bloodsucking prick.”
David does his best to ignore me and looks at Kennedy with an expression that tries for persuasive, but falls short.
“We’re good together, Kennedy.”
She shakes her head. “Not good enough.”
“We could’ve gone all the way to the White House. We still could.”
How romantic. Does this douche want a girlfriend or a running mate?
“I like this house just fine. We’re done, David. Good-bye.”
And just like that, he gives up. If putting your fingers up in front of your forehead in the shape of a capital L was still a thing, I’d do it right now—’cause this guy is a loser.
He turns toward the door, but he only takes two steps before he turns back around. “I know you didn’t sign an NDA, but if you even think of speaking to the press—”
“Are you serious?” Her tone is biting. “I’m not going to be speaking to anyone. I have important matters to deal with—airing your dirty laundry isn’t one of them.” She raises her arm, pointing at the door. “Now get the hell out.”
To help him along, I open the door wide. “Bye-bye, Dave.”
I let it swing closed with a bang after he walks out.
I move toward Kennedy, stretching my arms above my head. “Well, I certainly feel better now that that’s out of the way.”
I thought she’d giggle; at least smile. But she just kind of collapses onto the couch—elbows on her knees, head in her hands.
I kneel down in front of her, rubbing my palms up her legs. “You okay, Sparkles?”
Weary eyes meet mine. “Sparkles?”
With two fingers I trace her collarbone, then show her the residual glitter from last night’s festivities. That gets me a small smile as she says, “I’m exhausted.”
I stand. “I’m sure you are. So . . . relax, take a bubble bath, take a nap, recharge—then be at my place tonight at six. I’m making you dinner.”
Kennedy’s eyes drag closed. “Brent . . .”
“I’m not as talented in the kitchen as Harrison, but I can hold my own.” Lifting her chin gently, I tilt her head up. And my voice goes soft. “I want to feed you, Kennedy. I want to talk to you—and I want to kiss you again for a long time, knowing you’ll actually remember it in the morning.”
That brings the fire back into those stunning brown eyes. “We did kiss last night!” Her finger jabs my thigh. “I knew it!”
“Technically, you kissed me. Attacked me, actually—and I’m not complaining.” I lean down and press my lips to her forehead. “I just really, really want to return the favor.”
Before she can say no, I walk to the door. Her voice stops me as I reach for the knob.
“What are we doing? I mean, what is this, Brent?” And she sounds genuinely curious.
“We’re starting over. This is a new beginning.”
“But the case—”
“We won’t talk about the case,” I reassure her. “We’ll be grown-ups. Compartmentalize—there’ll be no conflict of interest.”
“Maybe I don’t want to start over.” She sighs. “There’s so much between us, I don’t know if a new beginning is possible.”
“Then we’ll talk about that tonight too. Six o’clock, dollface. Don’t be late.”
? ? ?
I head over to the National Mall to run my favorite route. High-octane energy sparks along every nerve ending like I’ve never felt before. The adrenaline rush before a lacrosse game was similar, but this is more. Because I’m so psyched for tonight.
Two hours later, I walk through my front door to find Harrison dusting in the living room. I toss my keys onto the table. “Harrison, my good man.”
He turns, a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise in his eyes. “Yes, Brent?”
I throw an arm around his young shoulders. “You know the Swedish au pair down the street who you’ve been crushing on the last six months?”
He gulps. “Jane?”
“That’s the one. I know for a fact that tonight’s her night off.” I slap three hundred-dollar bills into his palm. “It’s time to carpe diem, buddy. Take the car, take her out, show her a good time, and if you get lucky—go to a hotel. If you don’t get lucky—spend the night at your father’s. Whatever you do, don’t come home.”
He looks at the money in his hand, brows touching. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m having company tonight.” This is the first time I’ve ever asked him to make himself scarce; usually I’m encouraging him to watch. So I spell it out.
“Kennedy’s coming over. I’m making her dinner. Though you’re always impeccably discreet, I want her to be completely comfortable, so we’re free to talk about our feelings.”
Talk.