Natural Blond Instincts (2 page)

K
ENNA SPENT
the week shifting her life from Santa Barbara to San Diego. It was surprisingly easy, because as it turned out, there were lots of people waiting in line to get her Nordstrom's job and fabulous employee discount.

She'd been far more expendable than she thought. A bit of a blow to her ego, but that made her more fiercely determined to succeed somewhere else. And that somewhere else might as well be within Mallory Enterprises. For now.

By the following Monday morning, she was a little more nervous than she would have liked as she made her way down the ornately decorated hallway of the latest Mallory acquisition, the San Diego Mallory. She supposed that could be directly related to the fact she had never really fit in with her family, so she had no idea what made her feel she could fit in here.

Well, screw 'em. She didn't need to fit in. She just needed to do her job and do it right. As a mood bol
ster, she wore her favorite pair of strappy high-heeled shoes with her suit, both in her favorite shade of fuchsia. Not exactly a Mallory corporate color, but she wasn't a black-suited, sedate sort of girl, so no use pretending.

She moved down the freshly polished floor, taking in the extraordinary antiques from all over the world that lined the walls of Mallory hotels, her watch mocking her—8:07 a.m….

She hated to be late, hated it. Her heels clicked as she picked up her pace, her purse banging her hip as she went. The building's striking architecture and stature were synonymous with the Old World charm and elegance that would appeal to the discerning business and social elite who made up the clientele of Mallory Enterprises. This hotel would fit right in.

Good for it.

Not wanting to skid into her first meeting, she slowed down and took a deep cleansing breath that didn't help as much as it should have. She tugged at the skirt that kept creeping upward, given the lack of a slip.

The lack was her mother's fault. Kenna had come down from Santa Barbara the night before and had stayed in her old bedroom at her parents' house. She hadn't lived there since the day she'd graduated
from high school, and there'd been a good reason for that—aside from getting cut off financially, that is. Her parents had complete and utter disregard for her privacy. Just this morning while Kenna had been in the shower, her mother had set out a black suit on the bed, complete with nylons.
Nylons.
Now there was an item of clothing that had not been invented by a woman.

She'd given her mother back the suit and nylons, and the look on her face had made Kenna want to wear underwear with holes in it.

Or a fuchsia suit.

But by then, she'd been running late, and hadn't spared the time to locate her slip in the mess of her as-yet-unpacked suitcase.

So here she was, at the designated conference room on the second floor of the San Diego Mallory. All she had to do was go in and rattle off her readiness to discuss acquisition and renovation budgets, quarterly forecasts and long-term strategic planning—she'd been boning up, reading such fun and light fare as the corporation's annual reports and tourism stats for a week now—and she'd be set.

She had no doubts. She
could
do this. Hell, she'd once cleaned iguana cages at the LA Zoo, with the little buggers still in residence, so really, she could do anything. As she established herself here, she'd
lighten up the uptight work atmosphere if she could. And she'd keep her sense of humor firmly in place, no matter what.

In light of that, she'd wow this old Mr. Roth, wow and dazzle…whatever it took. She put her hand on the door handle and noted that her heart had picked up speed and she was feeling a little overheated. Damn the nerves she didn't want to admit she had. Given that she'd promised herself never to let 'em see her sweat, she peeled off her jacket. Ready now, she opened the door and called out, “Honey, I'm home.” She took a step inside and…went utterly still.

Twelve men wearing conservative dark suits sit ting around a huge conference table stopped talking and turned her way. One of them was her father.

Fabulous. So much for her private meeting with Weston Roth.

Silence reigned for far too long as twelve pairs of eyes stared at her. She was just contemplating how to make a safe retreat when one of the suits stood up.

“I'll take it from here,” he said, which she resented the hell out of.

No one would take “it” from here, not if they were referring to her.

That man came forward, and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

“Sure.” She smiled, having no idea who he was, but she could fake banalities as well as anyone. Attitude could come later in private.

He shut the door behind them while Kenna feigned a huge interest in the art on the walls, idly wondering who purchased their art. Did they go to the auctions? Private sales? In either case, no doubt they got ripped off.

The man who'd brought her out here simply watched her, she could feel his eyes boring into her back, so she turned around in order to eye him right back. His broad shoulders propping up the far wall, his long legs casually crossed, he looked for all the world as if he'd just strutted off the glossy pages of GQ magazine. Style, elegance and yes, dammit, the dreaded polish poured off him with ease. Clearly comfortable in his own skin, he smiled, and it wasn't a particularly nice one.

Kenna's resentment against him rose. She should have known this wasn't going to go well when she'd seen all the dark colors in the room. She had this theory that the colors people wore indicated their openness to new ideas, their ability to change. And what had she seen in the conference room? Unimag
inative colors. Blah colors. She'd been the only splash of life in the room.

“So…” He cocked his head. “Where should we begin?”

“I'm not sure
we
have anything
to
begin.” How had it come about that she'd agreed to this insanity?

Oh yeah, she'd decided she could do anything and might as well prove it to the world. Dammit, this whole mess was her own fault.

How she hated to admit that.

But one thing about growing up so quickly, about learning how to survive on her own, she'd also matured. Learned how to handle herself in just about any situation, including this one.

With a flick of his wrist, he glanced at his gold watch. “You know, you're not actually not that far off, time-wise. I have to admit to being a bit surprised on that score.” Mr. Cool wore perfectly perfect creased dark-gray trousers and a perfectly perfect matching silk shirt that complemented his tall, leanly muscled form. Even his shoes screamed
sophistication
and had probably cost more than her entire wardrobe, most of which she'd picked up thanks to her Nordstrom's discount or her favorite hobby—consignment shops. She couldn't help it, she loved old things, particularly the glamour and style of the mid-twentieth century. Not that this
man would know anything about that. He wore a pair of the latest wire-rimmed glasses, so completely in vogue she wondered if they were even prescription. Behind his lenses blazed a set of dark-blue, intelligent eyes that warned her not to underestimate him.

Actually, Kenna usually enjoyed intelligent men. She loved to talk, loved to debate, but in her world—correction, her
father's
world—intelligence couldn't compensate for lack of a sense of humor or a basic interest in anything outside of business, both of which were incredibly important to her.

This man, whoever he was, epitomized Mallory Enterprises just by standing there in his dark colors. He made her feel conspicuous and out of place. The only thing slightly redeeming him was that he seemed willing to talk to her at all.

Until he said, “I'm okay with you running out of here, if you'd like. I'm not really up for dealing with the boss's spoiled daughter anyway.”

While that made her see red, a welcome color in this place, she managed to stay calm. “Who the hell are you?”

“Sorry.” He pushed away from the wall, seeming even bigger now, and held out his hand. “Weston Roth.”

Okay, so he wasn't ancient, wasn't a fuddy-
duddy and she was quite certain she hadn't wowed or dazzled. Looked like their working relationship was off to an interesting start. “Well, Weston Roth. What do you say we make our first compromise. I'll forgive and forget the spoiled-daughter statement, and the fact that you're a pompous ass for saying it, if you'll forgive me for being all of seven minutes late.” She slipped her hand in his, a little surprised by how big and warm it was.

He started to say something, but from behind the conference room door came the distinct sounds of men rising from their seats.

Followed by muted voices and…
footsteps.

The dark suits were coming this way. Terrific. She didn't want to deal with her father right now. “What do you say we take this little meet-and-greet into one of our offices?” she asked a bit hastily.

“Sure.” He gestured with his head which way to go, and kept up with her stride for stride. His smug smile told her he knew who she was avoiding and why, and it made her want to trip him.

She could handle this, she reminded herself as they walked. She could handle this and him.

She could handle anything. And if she said it often enough, it just might be true.

 

S
HE WALKED
into his office ahead of him, eyes flashing and chin high in the air, as if she wasn't wearing
a skirt better suited for swinging from a pole than for a boardroom, and a silky tank that made Wes think of the beach.

He gestured her to one of the two guest chairs in front of his desk. Usually he sat next to whoever he was meeting with, making everything more casual, which was how he liked things. But this time, he didn't want casual. He wanted anything but, so he took the chair behind his desk, thinking he needed as much space from this woman as possible.

Kenna sat and crossed her legs.

Since she didn't wear stockings—yes, he'd noticed in spite of himself—the unmistakable sound of skin sliding against skin distracted him for a moment, but only a moment before his boss's voice sounded off in his head.

Take care of my little girl. See if she's as good as I know she can be.

Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. “I'll get right to the point,” he said. “I've been acting vice president for nearly a year.”

“Let me guess. And you thought you had the job in the bag?”

Hell, yes, he'd thought that. And it was a kick in the teeth to find out differently. “Do you really want to know what I think?”

She leaned back and settled in as if she had all the time in the world. “Oh, yes. I have a feeling it's very interesting.”

“All right.” He propped his elbows on his desk. “I don't approve of you getting this job simply because of who you're related to. Without any merit.”

“Without merit?”

“There are people within this very hotel who resent—”

“You mean you.
You
resent.”

“—people who've worked extremely hard to get where they are—”

“And I haven't. Or so you assume.” She nodded, then leaned in, too. Steepled her fingers together and spoke over them. “I'm afraid you're just going to have to deal with whatever your hang-ups are about working with me, Mr. Roth, because I'm here now.”

“Yes,” he agreed tightly. “I am going to have to deal with it. But so will you. We're in the middle of—”

“Renovations. Employee contracts.”

So she'd done a little bit of research. He didn't feel overly impressed. “And more. We'll have to learn to deal with this together.”

“Sounds like fun.”

A headache began at the base of his skull. “Your
father wants us to comanage this place in order to get you the experience you need to move up the ladder at Mallory Enterprises.”

She blinked, for one brief flash, clearly startled.

He wasn't touched. “The way I see it, that puts us directly at odds. On the one hand, we need to work together to see that this place shines and makes us both look good. On the other hand, we're competitors for the next rung up on that ladder.” Was she even paying attention anymore? It was hard to tell. Her eyes—deep forest green and full of secrets—were right on his, but she seemed preoccupied. “Kenna?”

“Yes?” As if still upset by his spoiled-daughter comment—yeah, right, like her attention span was that long, he'd read her résumé—she ran her tongue over her lower lip, eating off a good amount of her gloss, which, he hadn't noticed before, smelled like peaches and cream.

Much.

“Are you listening?” he asked politely.

“Oh, I'm listening. You think I'm going to try to take your job.”

“Actually, no, I'm not worried about you taking my job.”

“Well, then, what are you worried about?”

Yeah, what the hell was he worried about? He
only had to share the position he'd always wanted with the boss's daughter, leaving him in the ever-so-unenviable position of having either to make her look good for her father, or make her look bad to further his career. Great. Excellent. And to think he'd thought this whole thing a bad idea.

She came to a slow stand. “I went to business school and—”

“I know your qualifications.”

“Then you also know I grew up within this world…”

Yes, he knew. As opposed to his life, which had started in the gutter.

“Not that I ever imagined myself working here since—” She chewed on her lower lip—no longer glossed—and looked at him with an expression he couldn't place.

Mistrust?

She
mistrusted
him?

Now why the hell that got to him, he had no idea. “Since what?”

“Since nothing. Forget it.”