Conflict of Interest

chapter 4


Had it really only been twenty-four hours since her sales pitch? At least Scott had been serious about bringing her on fast. And she still couldn’t believe he’d hired her in the first place. Her company had sent the contract over before lunch the day before, and he’d signed and returned it early enough to insist she start on Tuesday.

And here she was. Kenzie smiled at the receptionist as she approached the front desk. Her stomach was doing somersaults at being back in their offices, memories of the weekend before still teasing her. But work was work. “Is Mr. McAllister in?” She’d seen his SUV in the parking lot—part of the reason her imagination was running wild—but there was no reason to let anyone else know that.

“I’ll tell you one more time. Call me Scott.” He strode around the corner, pausing with an eyebrow raised when he saw her.

The way his gaze raked over her sent a rush of anticipation through her veins. She clenched her jaw, trying and failing to ignore the reaction.

A crooked smile played on his face before vanishing, and he brushed past her. “You’re here for the day, correct?”

He was walking away from her? She spun and followed him toward the elevator, letting the confusion show in her voice “Yes.”

“Nothing important or outstanding vying for your attention?”

“Only if you consider getting to know you important.” She stared at his back.

“I hear it is sometimes.” He pushed the down button. “That means I can get some actual work done. Are you coming?”

“I, uh…” She stepped into the elevator with him, not sure what to make of the abrupt attitude. “Apparently.”

He was wearing jeans and a Hulk T-shirt. He glanced at her, and then went back to staring at the blips of light counting down floors as they descended. “I told you, casual office environment.”

“This is what I wear to work. You’re going to have to learn to do the same.” The fragmented conversation made her stumble, but she wasn’t going to let him take verbal control.

“I doubt I’d wear the skirt as well as you. What are the odds you have sneakers in your car?”

“Pretty good.” Or at least she’d regain control as soon as she figured out what they were talking about. They stepped into the parking garage she’d left only moments earlier. “I suspect you already know this, but we’re moving away from your office.”

“Grab them.”

She bit back a snarl at the order, and took her time strolling two rows over to her car to grab her running shoes. What had happened to the man who didn’t seem capable of taking anything seriously?

He waited by his SUV, patiently holding her door, not saying anything else until they were both inside. “We only have a couple more hours of good light. After eleven or twelve, it turns to shit.”

Maybe he was actually going to try and make this publicity thing work. The language was going to have to go. She made a mental note. “The lighting where?”

Harsh sun assaulted her when they pulled into morning traffic, and she dropped her sunglasses into place. Within a couple of minutes he had maneuvered them out of the downtown pack of cars, and they were heading in the opposite direction of the last of the straggling commuters.

“The beach.” He merged onto the interstate, heading west toward the airport. “You can play twenty questions with me along the way.”

None of this information was helping. “I’m not dressed for the beach because, even if I wasn’t expecting to be in an office today, we’re in Salt Lake. No beaches.”

His expression cracked, and he laughed. “Sorry, I can’t keep a straight face any more. This whole ‘I’m too important and busy to be polite’ thing doesn’t do it for me. How do you even pull that off? Is it like a switch—on is flirty and fun Kenzie, and off is carrying the weight of the world in her laptop bag?”

The question dug deeper than she wanted to admit, mingling with the accusations of Riley’s she still hadn’t been able to forget. At least he hadn’t called her frigid. She flopped her head back against the seat and exhaled. “It’s not a switch, but the situation is different now. Why are we going to the … beach?”

He kept his attention on the road, still grinning. “Okay, I’ll concede there are no crashing waves, and you probably don’t want the sand between your toes, but it’s a lake, and I think that means the land around it qualifies as a beach. I’m drafting out a location in a game, and I need pictures, visuals, and a hands-on experience.”

At least he hadn’t pushed the other issue. “That doesn’t sound like an executive’s job. Why don’t you have someone else do it?”

He spared her a glance, brows raised in disbelief. “For the same reason I do game testing. If I surrender my favorite parts of work just because someone sticks a nameplate and a title on my office door, what’s the point of being in charge?”

“Oh.” She didn’t have a comeback. Instead, she watched the scenery shift and change as they headed past the mountains and into another valley. They left the traffic behind, following the twisting interstate.

A large building loomed into sight as they approached their destination. She recognized Saltair—it looked like a castle from Arabian Nights. If Disney had animated it. And then left it on the back lot to collect dust. “I haven’t been out here since I was in high school. The Foo Fighters I think.”

He pulled onto the dirt shoulder outside the chain-link fence surrounding the building. Once upon a time the spot had been a tourist venue. Now it was only used for concerts, meaning the rest of the time the entire area was abandoned. No one had much interest in playing on a beach that was more sagebrush than sand, or in a lake filled with salt and brine shrimp.

He turned to her. “I was at that show. You don’t really strike me as a mosh pit kind of girl.”

Even just thinking about being jostled like that gave her a headache. “I’m not. We were in the balcony. Amazing show, though. So much energy.”

He grabbed a duffel bag from the back seat of the SUV. Oh, the things she’d imagined doing back there. Heat rushed through Kenzie, and the way his gaze raked over her made it difficult to ignore.

He turned away and pushed his door open. “You might want to leave your jacket in the car. And your shoes.”

She paused with one sleeve down her arm. Why had she worn a sleeveless shirt that morning? Sand on her dry clean only jacket, or sun on her bare arms? Why was she even debating? She took off the jacket. “Do you have some place I can hang it?”

He started to say something and then shook his head. His hands brushed hers and lingered a few seconds when he took the jacket, sending a pleasant chill across her skin. He hopped out of the car, opened the back door, and hung her top from a hook before closing everything up again.

A few seconds later, her door swung open. He was on the other side, holding out his hand. “Coming?”

She accepted the offer, his rough palm gentle against hers, and landed in the dirt next to him. A cloud of dust floated around her feet, and she sighed. The rocks would be murder on her heels. She grabbed her sneakers and dropped them on the ground. She slipped out of one heel and dipped her toes into the running shoe. As she started to tilt, she realized she was rapidly losing her balance.

“Watch it.” His arm wrapped around her waist.

Her hand flew to his shoulder out of instinct. His sturdy grip was hot and enticing, holding her up, and he smelled faintly of aftershave. Sunlight warmed her cheeks, and for a moment all she felt was him pressed against her.

She swallowed and straightened up. “Sorry, I’m not usually a klutz.”

“No worries.” His voice was thick. His hand lingered on her hip.

She used him for balance—at least that’s what she tried to tell herself—reluctantly pulling away when she finished changing her shoes. Sneakers, stockings, and a sleeveless silk blouse; she was glad no one else could see how ridiculous she looked. “I still don’t know what we’re doing.”

He headed toward the water, talking over his shoulder. “I’m working. I assume you’re trying to find out why I’m a f*ckup and planning to tell me how to fix it.”

Her brow furrowed, and she quickened her pace to keep up with him. So much for him being a willing participant. “Then tell me about yourself.”

He stopped several yards back from the water and dropped his duffel bag on the sand. Maybe sand wasn’t the right word. It was gritty, but unrecognizable patches of green and brown dotted the entire landscape. “I like long walks on the beach, the company of a gorgeous woman who can hold her own in a conversation, and hot wax. Or candles, something like that.”

Candle wax? She inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, momentarily distracted. “Not what I meant.”

He pulled a camera and lens from the bag and hooked them together. The screen on the back of the camera flickered on, reflecting a miniature version of the lake. “Then you should have asked what you meant.” There was no irritation in his voice. He moved closer to her, arm brushing hers, and held the camera in front of her. “What do you see?”

It took focus not to lean into the contact. “A lot of water?” She didn’t know what she was supposed to be seeing. Other states had scenic lake fronts, but this was just a bunch of gray and blue that stretched into haze.

She made a conscious effort not to rest her head against his shoulder. They were working. “What did you do—not what’s in the information you sent me—that pissed off this board member of yours?”

He pursed his lips and angled toward the island in the distance. He snapped a few shots before shifting position again. “A lot of water. Nice.” He changed the view screen so it displayed one of the shots he’d just taken and showed it to her.

He’d captured an angle of Saltair so the clouds drifted behind and around it, the sunlight striking the gold towers and gleaming, making the entire thing look like it was surrounded by mist and on fire. It was just a trick of light, but it was amazing. She looked between the building and the photo. “How did you do that?”

He shrugged, shouldered the bag, and started walking again, camera hanging from a strap around his wrist. “It’s all about perspective. His last wife—number three maybe—tried to pick me up at a party a couple of years ago.”

Why didn’t the casual way he confessed surprise her? “A couple of years?” She gazed at their surroundings as they strolled along the sand. In the distance, a pair of gutted and vandalized buildings loomed against an otherwise barren landscape. “Were you working with him then?”

“Nope. He bought in about a year later.”

“So what makes you think he still holds it against you?” The arrogance was both intriguing and confounding. “You can’t be the only guy she did that with. And if he blamed you for the breakup, why would he invest in your company?”

Scott glanced at her, a small smile playing on his face. “Yeah, he does. You should see some of the shit he puts me through while trying to hold my job over my head. This bullshit with you is just another hoop to jump through.”

She was a bullshit hoop? The words dug deeper than she expected. Still, she could spin it to her advantage. If he needed her around, she wasn’t going to be the one to beg. It was his dime. She stopped. “I don’t have to be here. This isn’t going to work anyway if you’re not going to try.”

“What?” He spun, already several steps ahead of her. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It is.” She crossed her arms. “You pretended to fall asleep during my presentation, and you’ve dodged every attempt I’ve made to do my job this morning.”

He clenched his jaw. “Because I’m difficult and need fixing. Isn’t that why I hired you?”

“It’s certainly a convenient excuse.” She turned away. “I’ll be in the car, doing work for people who want me to be working. Find me when you’re done traipsing through the sand.”

“Kenzie.” His call hit her back.

She kept walking, irritation pumping through her. It wasn’t hurt. Not even close. She didn’t care if he thought little to nothing of her job, as long as he let her do it. The non-ache grew as she reached the SUV and realized he still hadn’t stopped her.

“Wait.” His hand wrapped loosely around her arm.

The contact sent a pleasant jolt through her, one she didn’t want to be feeling. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.

He let go abruptly. “I didn’t mean to be insulting.”

His sincerity was salve in wounds she didn’t want to acknowledge. Contrite was exactly what she needed, and she had to push her advantage. She spun back to face him. “That’s what we’ll start with. You need to learn to think before you speak.”

He shrugged. “I always think. I just don’t expect people to take it so personally.”

Of course. She blew a loose strand of hair out of her face.

He watched her silently, brown eyes wide and pleading.

Damn that look. “Okay, we’ll try again. You have to work with me, though.” She locked her gaze on him, trying to convey how serious she was.

He separated his camera and lens, and nestled both back in their bag. “Then you have to do the same.”

She scowled. “That’s kind of what I do. Like it’s my entire job.”

He traced a finger down her arm. “All right, we’ll talk. You can assault me with questions to figure out how to manipulate me, and I can use metaphor and obtuse examples to subconsciously convince you I’m perfect as is.”

His touch was enticing, and a warm tremor ran through her. That sounded fantastic. And counterproductive to her job. “That’s not cooperating.”

He winked at her. “You won’t know any better if I do it right.”

Her tentative grip on the situation was slipping. “That’s not how this works.” Gawd he was so infuriating. And fascinating. How did he get away with it? The easy way he ignored convention and slid into whatever he wanted regardless of what was appropriate.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Your hair looks gorgeous in this light. It catches the golds just right.”

His compliment warmed her further, and she mentally told her pleased reaction to calm down. “This isn’t helping me do my job.”

He tilted his head to the side, the corner of his mouth pulled into a disarming half-smile, and his brown eyes raked over her face. It took him a moment to answer. “Me neither.” He clicked the locks off on his SUV and stepped around her to open the back door. “Come on.”

She could tell he had a plan—that he wasn’t just flitting from one thought to the next without direction—but damned if she could figure out what it was. The ordered part of her loathed it. The part of her that wanted to be more reckless was fascinated to watch him work. “We’re leaving? That didn’t take long.”

He slammed the door shut and locked the car again. He stepped next to her and nodded toward the buildings in the distance. “Not unless you’re really miserable. That’s what I’m actually here for.” He held up a folded blanket, the navy fleece absorbing the sunlight. “But I need to take a lot of pictures. This is so you have a place to sit without getting your skirt dirty.”

Her cheeks warmed at the consideration, and as she studied the graffitied walls in the near distance, her blood warmed with other thoughts. It was a shame she couldn’t practice her being non-frigid now. An abandoned spot out in the open but with no one around for miles except distant freeway traffic? The memories of his hands on her skin, his fingers pulling her hair, were all enough to send her thoughts into overdrive.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You coming?”

It didn’t take much self-control, but it did fill her with regret to bite back the answer of “not yet, but I’m hoping to soon” that she would have given him on Saturday. Instead, she forced out a simple, “Sure.”