“Probably a first even for you.”
“I’m usually not that stupid.” Or gullible.
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Matt drawled.
“You’ve got a well-known weakness for hourglass blondes.”
“Did you just come in here for a comedy break? Because, if that’s the case, I don’t have the time. I’ve got deadlines.” Deadlines he didn’t give a damn about at the moment and couldn’t seem to get focused on trying to meet anyway. He walked over to his desk and started shuffling paper.
Matt hopped off and turned to face him. “Want to tell me about it?”
“In a word? No.” Then he added, because he couldn’t let it go at that, “She’s all wrong for me.”
Matt shook his head. “Doesn’t matter.”
Noah’s head jerked up and he asked incredulously, “Doesn’t matter?”
“Yup, you’ve got it bad, little brother. Resistance is futile.”
“Yeah, right.”
Matt sauntered toward the door, turning back when his hand was on the knob. “Call me when you’re ready to acknowledge the power of the force—the female force, that is. In the meantime, stop trying to wipe the floor with everyone who crosses your path around here.”
“Right, thanks,” Noah grumbled.
Matt nodded his head. “Great. I’ll consider the advice delivered then.”
When his brother had gone, Noah dropped the papers he was holding. Matt knew nothing about it. Still, he’d give it another week. With any luck, he’d be able to get a grip for that long. Then he’d consider his options.
The weekend after their return from the Caymans, Kayla was moping. Ultimately, she and Noah had wound up taking different flights back to Boston because she was able to get on standby on an earlier flight. And, frankly, the urge to flee had won out over the impulse to stay and appear unmoved.
Because when Noah had said it was over, she knew he didn’t just mean their mini-vacation in the Caymans. Their ill-advised affair was over, too.
On Saturday, Samantha called and asked if she could crash on Kayla’s sofa bed that night because she’d be in Boston to catch a concert. The next morning, Kayla found her already awake in the living room, Samantha having let herself in late the night before with a spare key.
Samantha took one look at Kayla’s face and guessed something was wrong. Though she got peppered with questions, Kayla dodged most of them. The confrontation with Noah was still too fresh and ugly.
Instead, she faced her computer screen and forced herself to edit a story for work. However, by lunchtime she’d given up. She’d edit a sentence and find her mind wandering, replaying and analyzing the argument with Noah and questioning her judgment.
She wondered now if she’d been too suspicious and had jumped to conclusions. Maybe she should have questioned him before opening the letter, instead of deciding to confront him afterward. And, given Noah’s history with the press, she supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d been annoyed when he’d caught her prying.
At that last thought, she stopped short. What was she doing? Maybe it had been wrong to look at his mail, but she was still a reporter—one who’d been doing a story on him and Whittaker Enterprises. Sure she’d been incensed by Sybil’s phone call, but he hadn’t denied treating her as no more than his latest blonde and letting everyone know it.
And, to add insult to injury, he’d had the nerve to make her fall in love with him.
She was an idiot.
She dropped her head against the computer monitor, then hit her forehead repeatedly.
“Kayla, what are you doing?” Samantha asked with a mixture of exasperation and amused alarm.
Before Kayla could answer, the apartment buzzer rang.
“I’ll get it!” Samantha said. At the intercom, Kayla heard her say, “Who is it?”
“Allison Whittaker,” came the reply.
Kayla raised her head and Samantha said, “It’s—”
“I heard,” Kayla responded, then sighed. “Tell her to come up.”
Ten
When Allison entered the apartment, she said, “Sorry to drop in on you like this without warning.”
“It’s okay. It’s a Whittaker trait that I’m already familiar with,” Kayla said dryly.
Allison gave Kayla a knowing look as she shrugged out of her leather jacket. “My husband thinks I’m crazy for coming.” Samantha reached for her jacket and Allison stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Allison, Noah Whittaker’s younger sister.”
“I’m Samantha, Kayla’s little sister,” Samantha replied, taking the outstretched hand. “Glad you’re here. She’s been in a funk all morning.”
Allison broke into a toothy smile. “It’s always the baby sister to the rescue. What would they do without us?”
“Dunno. I ask myself that all the time.”
“Samantha!” Good grief, Kayla thought, did her sister have to tell the Whittakers everything? “And I was not in a funk.”
“Yes, you were. I heard you. Under your breath, you were saying that word that’s a one-letter difference from funk.”
Kayla rolled her eyes. Wasn’t she entitled to feel a little blue every once in a while?
Noah’s sister stifled a grin. “I wish I’d had a sister when I was growing up. Instead, I got the Marx Brothers—Chico, Harpo and Groucho.”
“Which one’s Noah?” Samantha asked as they went into the living room.
Allison cast them a sidelong look. “At the moment, he’s definitely Groucho.”
Kayla felt a strange thrill go through her. Covering the sudden feeling of discombobulation, she asked, “You stopped by because…?”
“I’m paying it forward.”
At Kayla’s confused look, Allison waved a hand. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say, we Whittakers like to assist each other, whether the help is wanted or not.”
As Allison sank into the armchair, Samantha joined Kayla on the couch and said, “So, Groucho. Noah. Interesting.”
Kayla shot her sister a wide-eyed quelling stare.
“Yup, Noah’s been hard to live with,” Allison said. “Or, I should say, hard to work with.”
“Does he know you’re here?” Kayla asked, then immediately wished she hadn’t done so.
Allison shook her head. “No, and he hasn’t confided in me either. Except, when I stopped by his office the other day, he got stony and monosyllabic when I mentioned Sybil’s headline about the two of you in the Caymans together. He claimed nothing was going on, at least not anymore.”