First rule of business: arrive five minutes early. My father had burned the lesson into my skull. Over the years, I realized he wasn’t wrong about a few of his business principles. I found this particular one gave me an advantage. An automatic way to make the footing unsteady for my competitor.
I didn’t know if it was possible to rattle Lucien Martin during this meeting. I also didn’t have a clue what he already knew about me. What he had heard about my night out with his daughter. Did he know his bodyguard had wrenched her away from me at gunpoint? It was the reason I had stuck with last names when setting the meeting. There was a good chance he assumed he was going to have drinks with my father.
I didn’t believe in chance. I didn’t think for a second he hadn’t blown into town without knowing who his biggest competitor would be—my father. It wasn’t a coincidence they were interested in the same hotels, more specifically the boutique hotel.
I straightened the cuff on my sleeve. I didn’t like the way it was pressed. I had to get Lucien to back off before my father used the full force of his business to shut him down. Under any circumstance, I didn’t give a shit who my father decided to run into the ground. But this time I did. I wasn’t interested in Kennedy being caught in the crosshairs of our fathers’ business war.
I checked my watch. One minute.
I ordered a gin on the rocks and waited for Lucien. I dug in my pocket for a cigarette but then remembered the way Kennedy’s nose turned up when she saw the pack. I opted to leave them where they were.
The bar I choose was old-school New Orleans. Heavy wood walls. Brass fixtures. A direct nod to the established families in the area. There was a side door that wafted with cigar smoke every time someone opened it.
The server delivered the gin drink on a tray and didn’t say a word when he noticed the seat next to me was still vacant. Maybe business was done differently in Philadelphia. Lucien was nearly five minutes late. I shook the ice in the glass when the door opened.
The sunlight was a startling contrast to the inside of the bar. My chest tightened when I saw Kimble enter first. I assumed he was Lucien’s top security aide. His head swiveled left then right. He nodded when he spotted me in the center of the dining room. He held the door open.
And then she walked in.
I rose to my feet, not taking my eyes off her.
She looked just as shocked as I was. She faltered in her high heels. My arm extended quickly to catch her. My fingertips grazed the smooth skin beneath her forearm. I lingered too long. Kimble cleared his throat. Shit. He needed to back off and let us fucking breathe.
She gave me a nervous smile. “I thought I was meeting with your father.”
“I thought I was meetingyourfather,” I answered. “Why don’t you sit?” I offered her a seat.
Kennedy fidgeted with the cocktail napkin on the table.
“You need a drink,” I stated. I ordered the waiter to the table. “You like champagne.”
She smiled. “I don’t think that’s standard for a business meeting.”
“There is nothing standard about this.”
“I guess not.”
“We both need a glass.”
I ordered a bottle to be brought over quickly. I sensed her anxiety. It wasn’t how I planned to see her again. Not like this. Not in place of our fathers. I’d never felt more like a pawn, even though I was the one who volunteered to play the game.
I waited until the champagne had been poured. Kimble stood near the entrance to the bar. I felt his eyes penetrating the space between Kennedy and me.
“How have you been?” I asked.
“Since the weekend?” Her eyes flickered.
I ignored her sarcasm. “Yes. After our evening ended abruptly. I’m sorry about that.”
She returned the flute to the table. “It wasn’t your fault. Since that night, there have been no more parties, and I haven’t had a single oyster.”
I chuckled. “That’s terrible news.”
“I did have a good time with you, Knight. But I don’t see it happening again.” Her cheeks turned a soft crimson. It was hard to keep my distance. I wanted to reach out and touch her hair. Stroke the side of her face. But I hadn’t forgotten Kimble carried a gun, and his attention was directed to me.
“Yet, here we are.” I grinned. “Together. Same table. Same bottle of champagne.” I loved watching her lips curl into a smile. “What did happen when you got home?” I wanted to know what kind of consequences Lucien Martin doled out. It was a good sign that she was out in public.
She shook her head. “Actually, nothing. Kimble promised not to say anything about it. My father has no idea about our after party.”