All's Fair in Love and Blood: A Romantic Comedy Novel Read online

  “Um, thanks.” I wasn’t sure what to say. “Maybe we should eat.” Food was always a good go-to.

  “Another thing I like about you. You’re real and you eat.”

  “I’ll try not to get any crumbs down my bra tonight,” I teased. “This dress doesn’t unzip.”

  “I would figure out a way to come to your aid if you needed me to.” He didn’t sound like he was teasing at all.

  I gripped my white metal chair. “I think we’ll be safe t . . . tonight,” I stuttered, on the verge of hyperventilating.

  “I hope you feel safe around me. Shall we eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “The food here is great, and I thought you would appreciate that there’s no roof. You can look up as high as you want to. Sky’s the limit.”

  I was touched he remembered our conversation from the reception. I found, though, that I didn’t want to look up at all. I wanted to look straight across the table, into Kane’s eyes. They seemed to hold unknown possibilities. Possibilities, perhaps, that I never imagined within reach. Or was I reading them wrong? This was all so new to me.

  “Thank you, Kane.”

  “For what?”

  “A different outlook.”

  With that, we ordered gourmet cheeseburgers, and Kane insisted I try their frosé—a frozen cocktail made with pinot noir, strawberries, and lemons. I didn’t do a lot of alcohol, but he promised it was life changing. I had a feeling it was Kane who possibly held that power.

  After dinner, and with only a minor incident of me dribbling spicy ketchup down my lip, we got to business.

  “Did you still want to go over the quarterly report?” Kane asked.

  “Yes,” I hesitated to say.

  Kane tilted his head. “You don’t have me convinced.”

  “It’s important I learn these things.”

  “I’m happy to teach you what I know.”

  I pulled out the file folder from my bag and laid it out on the table.

  Kane took the file and pulled out a few pieces of paper. “Let’s start with the balance sheet.”

  “Okay.”

  “The balance sheet,” he began, “is sometimes referred to as the statement of financial position. It includes the company’s assets, liabilities, and net worth.”

  Sounded straightforward enough. Maybe.

  Kane went on in detail about every aspect of the report, stopping whenever I had a question. I had many. And he seemed to know all the answers.

  “You love this stuff, don’t you?” I commented.

  He flashed me a dazzling smile. “I guess it’s in my blood. My dad used to take me to work with him when I was a boy, to teach me the ropes. He was a VP for a manufacturing plant here in Atlanta until he died about ten years ago.”

  I could hear the fondness he had for his father in his voice. I knew from listening to Eva that her first husband, Kane’s father, had died in a car accident.

  “You must miss him.”

  “All the time. He was great man. Always fair and a hard worker. He wanted me to be the same kind of man.”

  “From what I can tell, you seem to be both.”

  “I’d like to think so, but I’m more cutthroat than he was. I love the thrill of victory more than I should. He used to tell me that a good man knows when to lay it all on the line. A better man knows when to dial it back. I’m still learning that last part.”

  I liked that. “Your father sounds like a good dad.” I was kind of jealous. Not that Auggie was a bad man, but I felt like I hardly knew him. He never gave me life advice like that . . . really any advice. For the most part, he had left me to my own devices. Thankfully, I’d had Naomi to go to for life’s burning questions.

  Kane looked off into the distance. The sun was beginning to set and it was spectacular against the Atlanta skyline. The sky burned in oranges and pinks. It almost looked as if it was setting the city on fire.

  “He was my hero,” Kane said more to himself.

  “It must have been hard for you to see your mother remarry.”

  His gaze drifted my way. “I like Augustus. He’s been a valuable mentor, a fair boss, and I would even consider him a friend; but . . . I’m not naive to his less than desirable track record when it comes to women. And although my mother isn’t the warmest of women, I don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  I grabbed the napkin in my lap and wrung it tightly. “I’m afraid that’s inevitable. If it makes you feel any better, it won’t be because of infidelity. Unless you count work being his mistress.”

  “Not really, but that’s not your fault.”

  “I hope you won’t hate me when their marriage falls apart.”

  “Scarlett, I don’t know you well yet, but I can’t imagine ever hating you.”

  The way he’d said yet made me feel fuzzy all over, and I knew it wasn’t from the little alcohol I’d consumed. It gave me hope there would be future dinners and more time to get to know him.

  “What about you?” he asked. “How do you feel about all your father’s marriages?”

  I let out a deep breath. “I’ve become sort of numb to it all. Auggie’s never going to change, so there’s no use getting upset over it.”

  “But it does upset you,” he stated.

  I looked down at the napkin I’d strangled to death, wanting to say so much but not knowing how to put it into words. Of course, it upset me but there was nothing I could do about it. My only hope was to someday make Auggie take more notice of me than his company and the women who drifted in and out of his life like the waves of the ocean.

  “I hit a nerve; I’m sorry,” Kane whispered.

  “Please, don’t apologize,” I spoke into my lap.

  Kane reached across the small table and tipped my chin up with his finger. I was met with a smile. For a moment he seemed lost in thought. “Your eyes are truly stunning.”

  My cheeks burned.

  “Am I being too forward with you?” he inquired.

  “No, it’s just I’m not used to such compliments.”

  “That’s a shame.” His finger dropped, and he sat back. “Scarlett, let’s make a deal not to speak about our parents’ relationship or let them affect our budding friendship.”

  Oh. Friendship. Of course, that’s what he wanted with me. I was silly to think anything different. Not only was he older than me, but he probably had hundreds of beautiful, more experienced women begging for his attention. Actually, I knew he did at the office. I’d overheard a group of women in the break room talking. One of the women had said, “That Kane, what I wouldn’t give to know him biblically.” Her friend had laughed and responded, “I’d love to raise Cain with him.” The first woman had replied, “I’m sure he has a little Cain in him. Look at the man.” I’d walked out after they started making wagers about who would be the first to sleep with him.

  “Sounds good to me.” I had no idea what else to say.

  He held out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”

  I thought it was strange but placed my hand in his. Once again, a surge of something wonderful and unknown coursed through me. His hand closed around mine. But he didn’t shake it—he just held on to it for several moments.

  “Do we have a deal, darlin’?” His seductive southern drawl came out.

  “Yes,” I stammered to the beat of my unsteady heart.

  He gently placed my hand on the table. “How would you like discussing cash flow over ice cream? I know a great place not too far from here.”

  “Sounds riveting—at least the ice cream part.”

  Kane laughed loudly out into the warm evening air. “I like you, Scarlett.”

  I like you too, Kane. Probably a little too much.

  Personal Mission Statement

  I tapped my pen against a blank notepad as I reclined under the shade of a maple tree in the courtyard. Despite being protected by the shade, the heat and humidity of Georgia on the first day of June were a force to be reckoned with. I hoped, though, that the scenery would
help clear my mind. I needed to write a personal statement for my medical school application. I had fifty-three hundred words available to me to impress the admission committees who held my fate in their hands. Many of my professors had drilled into me that medical schools were looking for people, not only scores. My excellent grades and MCAT score would go only so far.

  I liked to write out my words before typing them. For some reason, I connected more to paper and pen than to a keyboard. Naomi would say I was an old soul. More like weird for my generation.

  I wrote out the prompt from the American Medical College Application Service: Use the space provided to explain why you want to go to medical school.

  Could they have been any more vague? I knew it was done on purpose, but sheesh, they could help a girl out. Sure, I knew why I wanted to go, but it wasn’t actually why I was going to medical school.

  I stared blankly at the prompt and shifted in my indigo sundress. Naomi and I had gone shopping the night before to update my wardrobe. I’d decided I wanted to look more my age when I came into the office. And I found that certain dresses hid my stomach pooch quite nicely. You know, in case I ran into a certain someone, who I hadn’t seen yesterday. Not that I expected him to seek me out daily now. Okay, so maybe I’d hoped. But I couldn’t afford to think like that.

  Focus on your essay.

  I tapped some more on the notepad and stretched out my legs, which could have used some sun. I could tan nicely if I ever took the time, but it had seemed unnecessary since I had stayed away from clothes that showed large amounts of skin, almost as if I were afraid or ashamed of my body. I stared at my legs and really looked at them. My calves were actually shapely. Not like a runner’s, but womanly enough. And I had nice knees—not too knobby with only a couple of scars where I had fallen over the years. Yet they were smooth and well moisturized. My thighs were another story, but I couldn’t see them. Though I was probably too critical of them.

  I needed to direct my focus back to my essay. I stared at the paper for so long I had to take my glasses off to rub my eyes. I could feel the humidity frizzing my long curls. That was a bummer, as I had tried to do something with my hair today. I’d used curl cream last night and then done the whole pineappling routine on my hair before I’d gone to bed. I’d woken up to some amazing curls this morning that had needed only a light spritz of hair spray. However, the Georgia weather was too much for it.

  I was about to give up and go inside when someone plopped down next to me on the grass. I didn’t need my glasses to tell me who—his spicy ginger scent hit me full force. It mixed in well among the smell of magnolia and gardenias. I put my glasses back on, so I could see him clearly. I didn’t want to miss out on anything.

  He took off his suit coat and undid his tie before saying, “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “You have?”

  “Once again, you sound surprised.”

  “I would keep counting on that.”

  He chuckled. “Duly noted. So, what are you doing out here in this blazing heat?”

  “My medical school application personal statement.” I flashed him the nonexistent essay. “As you can see, I’ve gotten really far.”

  He grabbed the notepad and read the prompt out loud. “Use the space provided to explain why you want to go to medical school? This is a masterpiece,” he teased.

  I took back the notepad. “I know,” I groaned.

  “What’s your hang-up?”

  I curled my legs under me and debated about what to say. I wondered how much Kane spoke to my father. Or what he might divulge to him.

  Kane tucked some of my errant curls behind my ear. “Is this one of the secrets you’re hiding behind those beautiful eyes of yours?”

  I could have sworn he was flirting with me, but then I remembered he wanted to be friends. To prove that point, when he’d dropped me off after having dinner a couple of days ago, he’d patted my hand in a friendly fashion before I got out of his car. Not that I thought he was going to kiss me good night or anything. Still, it was an awkward goodbye to be sure. Even he’d seemed uncomfortable with it, like he didn’t know what to do. He probably didn’t have any women friends. I couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to stay only friends with him. He was in luck this time—I’d never had a boyfriend, so I was an expert at being friends only, even if I knew I would long for more.

  “It’s not really a secret. It’s complicated.”

  “Ah. Well, once again, you’re in luck. I’m even better with complicated than I am with numbers.”

  I laughed. “I should have known.”

  He nudged me. “So, lay it on me.”

  I laid the notepad next to me. “Maybe later.”

  His brow creased, but he didn’t seem upset. In fact, the way his eyes lit up, he seemed to find it intriguing, as he would say.

  “Okay. You want me to earn your trust. I can admire that. And I’m up for the challenge.”

  “I’m not challenging you.”

  “I beg to differ. How about this? I’ll give you some pointers, having myself written a grad school application essay that was worthy of a New York Times bestseller.”

  “You don’t think much of yourself, do you?” I teased.

  “On the contrary, I think highly of myself. I have the superego down.”

  “I don’t think that’s exactly what Freud was talking about.”

  His brow quirked. “You’ve studied Freud.”

  “It feels like I’ve studied about everything preparing for the MCAT.”

  “Let me guess, you scored a 528.”

  I bit my lip. “Close. 522.”

  He whistled low. “No wonder your father is so proud of you. That’s impressive, Scarlett.”

  I picked some of the grass around me. “Did my father tell you he was proud of me?”

  “He didn’t say those exact words, but you can tell when he talks about you. He’s impressed.”

  “Hmm.” I flicked the grass away.

  “You know it matters much more how you see yourself than how he sees you, right?”

  I rubbed the back of my damp neck. “That sounds good in theory.”

  Kane grabbed my notepad and pen and handed them back to me. “If you want to write a killer essay, you need to believe in yourself. I want you to write down ten of your best qualities.”

  “Now?” I was panicked at just the idea of trying to think of ten qualities, especially in front of him.

  “Yes. Or maybe we can go inside first. It’s hot as hell out here.” There was a bead of sweat dripping down his beautiful face, getting lost in his stubble. His five-o’clock shadow came early.

  “Okay.” Walking inside would give me some time to think about what he was asking of me.

  He immediately stood and held out his hand to help me up. I hesitated—not because I didn’t want his help, but when I touched him, it did things to me. It was like opening up a gift I’d wished for but never imagined I would receive and honestly didn’t quite know what to do with now that I had it. The feelings he invoked made me crave things I wasn’t sure I was meant to have. I wasn’t talking only about Kane. It was the prospect of romance in general. Something I’d never really experienced outside of falling in love with fictional characters. Real-life romance and intimacy were foreign to me. It was embarrassing to admit, but I’d been kissed only once, and I was pretty sure it was on a dare.

  Kane didn’t seem bothered by my hesitation. He only reached farther for me. No one had ever made such an effort. His gesture had me giving him my hand and, unbeknownst to him, part of my heart. He had no idea how much his kindness meant to me.

  He easily lifted me up and I landed dangerously close to him. At least, it was dangerous for my wildly beating heart.

  “Wow. You’re tall,” stupidly escaped my mouth. He really was. He had at least eight inches on my five-foot-six frame.

  Kane didn’t seem to mind my awkwardness, judging by his smile. “I can’t help it,” he played along. He was stil
l holding my hand. It was very friendly of him. If only he knew he was short-circuiting my system. My heart had never pumped so much blood.

  “Maybe we should go inside.” What a dumb response. And hello, Scarlett, that’s where we were already going. I was burning and not from the sun.

  Before he could respond, one of my ex-stepsisters, Ophelia, called my name.

  “Scarlett,” she purred in her heavy southern accent.

  Kane and I quickly broke apart and faced the beautiful but wicked ex-stepsister. She was runner-up Miss Georgia, a brunette bombshell, and stereotypical mean girl with a stage mom to rival them all. Her momma was stepmother number three and had assured my father she could turn me into a beauty queen. At the age of eight, mind you. I never made it onto any stage. I was barely back to talking to people at that time. Ophelia, who was four years older than me, made sure I never forgot that or how talented she was—she was a classically trained musician. Not only that, but she had graced the covers of many magazines. She’d even done some commercials.

  My father was using the PR consulting firm she worked for. Unfortunately, she was the consultant.

  Ophelia looked Kane up and down as if she were formulating her game plan on how to make him another one of her conquests. “Kane, it’s so nice to see you again. We hardly got to speak at the wedding.”

  “What a pity,” he responded.

  I could hear the sarcasm in his voice; it made my lips twitch.

  Ophelia looked between us with her big blue eyes. “Did my eyes deceive me, or was I interrupting a private moment between you?”

  “We were only talking,” I responded, not liking her incredulous tone. I mean, I got it. I still couldn’t figure out why Kane wanted to get to know me either.

  “Actually, you did interrupt us. Excuse us; we have some important business to discuss.” Kane was curt and to the point.

  She crossed her arms. “This is an unexpected development. Aren’t you two related now?”

  “Ophelia, is it?” Kane obviously knew that would get to her, that he was so unimpressed as to not quite remember her name. “Whatever you think is or isn’t happening between us is none of your concern.”