“I—I have the first-aid kit. Let me see your cut,” Tara said when he neither confirmed nor denied Mitch’s statement. Her heels tapped out a brisk beat as she crossed the marble floor. She set a small plastic box on the desk, opened it and extracted the necessary items, then held out her hand.
Rand cursed himself for being a fool. Why had he thought he could walk back in here and have things be the same—specifically his formerly close relationship with his brother? He regretted that casualty more than any other, but he’d sowed those bitter seeds with his silence, and now he’d have to harvest the crop of resentment.
He laid the back of his hand in Tara’s palm and discovered that some things hadn’t changed. Even knowing she was a liar didn’t stop that same old zing from ripping through his veins. Her familiar sultry, spicy fragrance filled his lungs as she bent over her task. He welcomed the distracting sting of disinfectant as she gently cleaned the nick.
“Should I have the staff prepare your old suite of rooms at the house?” Mitch asked.
Rand’s living arrangements were only going to add fuel to the rumors. Was that Tara’s plan? Did she think she could use gossip to force him into a commitment? If so, she’d be disappointed.
Rand met Tara’s gaze then his brother’s. “I have a place lined up. Besides, you already have company.”
Mitch’s part of the will required him to play daddy to a child from one of their father’s affairs, a one-year-old half brother Rand hadn’t known existed until Richards handed out inheritance assignments. The boy and his guardian had moved into Kincaid Manor. Rand had yet to meet the kid. But in his opinion, the boy was better off not having Everett Kincaid in his life.
Tara quickly and efficiently bandaged Rand’s finger, then released his hand and packed away her first-aid supplies without mentioning their cohabitation. If she planned to use it as leverage, then why hadn’t she informed Mitch?
“Human resources has the first candidate for the director of shared services position downstairs. Which one of you is conducting the final interviews?” she asked.
“Show him or her to the conference room,” Rand directed and looked at Mitch. “Meet me there in five. You know Nadia’s current duties better than I do, and you’ll be better able to gauge which applicant can handle them. But I’m sitting in. The COO should join us, too.”
“There is no chief operating officer. Dad eliminated the position when you left.”
Rand banked the information to deal with later. No doubt that action had launched its own series of rumors. “Then we’ll handle the interviews together. As a team.”
Mitch remained motionless for a full ten seconds, his gaze direct and hard. Rand held his brother’s challenging stare and once again cursed his father for putting Rand in what should have been Mitch’s job. As chief financial officer, his brother was the logical choice if the COO position had been eliminated—even if Rand had been raised to be CEO of KCL and had the experience of the top job with the competition. Mitch nodded and left Rand’s office. Tara turned to follow him.
“Tara.” She paused then looked at Rand. He lifted his hand to indicate the bandage. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” She bit her lip and shifted on her sandaled feet. “Did you leave because of me?”
The pain in her voice slipped between his ribs quicker than his pen knife had pricked his finger. He hardened himself to the wounded shadows in her eyes.
She was a damned good actress. Too bad her talent was wasted on him.
“You were merely the straw that broke this camel’s back. You and my father deserved each other.”
She flinched. “But I—”
“What, Tara?” he barked when she didn’t continue.
Her chin and gaze fell. “Nothing.”
“Good. Because the subject of the past is closed. Clear?”
Her shoulders snapped straight. “Yes, sir. Anything else?”
Rand scanned his father’s—and now his—domain. He’d always hated this office. With its architectural glass-and-chrome desk, the bare, cold marble floors and the glass walls overlooking Biscayne Bay, the room looked more like a trophy case than a workspace. An empty trophy case. He eyed his father’s metal mesh ergonomic chair with disgust. The old man’s motto—“a real executive never looks like he’s working”—rang in Rand’s ears.
Not Rand’s management style.
“Get me some furniture. Desk. File cabinets. Shelves. Tables. Wood, for godsakes. This pane of glass is useless. I want a decent chair—leather—rugs on the floor and comfortable visitor seating that doesn’t look like acrylic urinals. And send the IT team up to connect my laptop to the company network. My father may have refused to work with a computer, but I won’t work without one.”
“Yes, sir.” Her words snapped as sharp as a salute.
“I need hard copies of the press releases for the past five years, a current financial statement and a list of KCL’s officers and division heads within the hour. That’s all for now.”
She pivoted sharply and headed for the doorway, but then stopped and faced him again without speaking.
“Spit it out, Tara.”
“When are you moving in?”
Ah, yes, the other part of this ridiculous farce. Why had she demanded sex and cohabitation? What did she expect to gain if not a rich husband? He didn’t buy her too-busy-to-date story. A woman who looked like Tara wouldn’t lack dates or sexual partners if she wanted them.
But this time the scheming witch would fail.
“Tonight.” Damned if the hunger for her didn’t hit him hard in the gut. He desired her and he resented the hell out of her ability to yank his strings. “I want my own bedroom.”
“But—”
“You’ll get laid, Tara. But I won’t sleep in your bed, hold you afterward or pretend we’re a happy couple. I’m living under your roof because you’ve given me no choice. Don’t forget that. Not for one second. I certainly won’t.”
She paled, nodded and quickly left him, driving home the fact that he really was a chip off the old block.
A real son of a bitch.
The voices in the KCL cafeteria petered out as soon as Tara entered. Heads turned and she found herself under the scrutiny of more than a hundred pairs of eyes.She recognized a few familiar faces scattered among a sea of new ones and forced a smile. The buzz of conversation suddenly resumed. Apparently the employees who’d tapped into the gossip grapevine felt duty-bound to update those who hadn’t.
Mitch’s words replayed in her head. You and Tara disappeared on the same day.
She hadn’t known. She’d deliberately sought a job outside the travel industry and had skipped the business and travel sections of the newspaper so she wouldn’t hear talk about the Kincaids. She hadn’t even read Everett’s obituary. And now she and Rand were returning to KCL on the same day and working together. Tongues would wag for sure—especially if word of their living arrangements leaked out. That was one part of the plan she hadn’t thought through.
Chilling doubt crept over her. Had she made a mistake?
No. When she’d been with Rand, he’d made her feel special, as though he couldn’t get enough of her or wait to see her again. She’d felt the same way about him. He’d been a part of her life that had been carefree, happy and fun. Her life was none of those things now. She was tired of being alone and she wanted to feel connected again.
She only hoped those old feelings were still there, waiting to be nurtured back to life. From the quiver of awareness she experienced each time he was near, she had to believe that was the case. And today for the first time in ages she’d awoken looking forward to the day instead of counting the hours until it ended.
She crossed the bright and spacious cafeteria, and headed toward the food line. Kincaid’s had always pampered its employees with first-rate amenities. Tara had loved working here.
Despite rumors from the business community to the contrary, she’d always believed Everett Kincaid to be a decent guy. Her former boss had offered her the gentle affection she’d never received from her own absentee father. When her mother was diagnosed it had seemed natural to seek Everett’s advice. He’d offered a solution. Move in. Let him take care of everything. But the idea of sleeping with him when she still loved his son…
She pushed down the icky feeling and reminded herself Everett had been lonely and looking for companionship and a woman who didn’t have her sights set on being the next Mrs. Everett Kincaid. Tara had been a logical choice. They worked well together and respected each other. And Tara had needed the kind of financial help only someone with Everett’s deep pockets could afford.
But Tara ultimately hadn’t had the stomach to accept his offer, and she hated herself for being weak when her mother needed her. Weak where Rand had been strong.
The hum of conversation died again as Tara picked up a tray and silverware. She glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance and saw Rand. Almost as one the other employees’ gazes bounced from him to her and back again, like spectators of a tennis match waiting to see the next shot.
He spotted her and stalked in her direction. Tara’s appetite fled, but she went through the motions of ordering shrimp scampi, grilled asparagus and rice pilaf even though her antennae were attuned to his approach. She calmly said hello to a few of the familiar line staff as if her heart weren’t beating at twice its normal rate.
“My desk is gone,” Rand said from close behind her—too close for a boss-employee relationship. She could feel his body heat and smell his crisp Lacoste cologne. Her mouth dried.
Conscious of their audience, she neutralized her expression, put a few inches between them then turned and met his gaze. “I had your office emptied while you were conducting interviews. Your new desk, along with everything else you requested, will be delivered at two. IT has your laptop.”
“Good.”
She gaped at him. Years of bottling up her emotions bubbled over. “Good? I worked miracles and all you can say is good?”
One dark eyebrow lifted at her vehemence. Okay, so maybe she’d been soft-spoken and eager to please when they’d dated before, and according to her mother, Tara had always had a tendency to avoid conflict and confrontation. But Tara wasn’t the same starry-eyed girl Rand used to know—the one who’d been overawed at being pulled from the reservations center downstairs and moved to the executive suite on the top floor. Wrangling with her mother’s multitude of doctors had given her a backbone.
“Thank you for being so efficient, Ms. Anthony,” he said in a voice heavily laden with sarcasm.
She turned her back on him, but out of sight didn’t mean out of mind in this case. Rand shadowed her through the line, his presence following her like a heat lamp.
When they reached the cashier he extended his arm past her, offering his company ID, which acted as both identification and debit card. “Put both meals on my account.”