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Mom nods, her brisk, businesslike mode appearing. “I’ll have the details for you by tomorrow.”
“I knew you were the right fashion designer for the job,” I tease, then stand and stretch. Driving for two hours didn’t do wonders for my sore muscles. “Thanks, Mom.”
“Of course.” She tilts her head, studying me with a speculative expression. “I’m proud of you, Kit. We both are. I know your dad has noticed how hard you’ve been working.”
I smile back, but it takes some effort. “Thank you.”
I don’t think my parents will be proud of the secret I’m keeping from them.
32
“I’m here to see Christopher Kensington.”
I glance up from the papers I’m organizing, straight into a steely-blue gaze. I’ve never met Arthur Kensington before, but I recognize him instantly. His eyes are a cooler version of Kit’s.
His grandfather wasn’t on the approved list Kit gave me on my first day of work. There’s no visitor badge clipped to the lapel of his tailored suit. But I doubt that’s because Arthur wasn’t offered one. He’s Arthur Kensington. He doesn’t need one.
“I’ll check if he’s available,” I state, sneaking a quick look at Kit’s calendar as I reach for my phone. According to it, he’s free right now. No meeting with his grandfather was scheduled.
Arthur appears mildly entertained by my response, but doesn’t comment as I dial Kit’s direct line. He glances around the immediate vicinity instead. The two women walking down the hallway, staring this way, quickly avert their gaze and speed up their steps.
Kit answers on the third ring. “Kensington.”
“Hi. I—your grandfather is here. Should I, uh—are you available?”
“Mygrandfatheris here?” There’s a stunted, stunned cadence to the question that tells me this wasn’t a visit he simply forgot to add to his calendar. Or havemeadd to his calendar.
“Yes,” I confirm.
Kit clears his throat. “I’ll be right out.”
“Okay.” I hang up, meeting Arthur’s hawkish gaze, which has refocused on me. “He’s free.”
“I would hope so since he answered his telephone.” Arthur glances at the files I was paging through. “How long have you been working for my grandson, Miss …”
“It’s Collins. I mean, my last name is Tate. My first name is, uh, Collins. You can call me Collins.” Frantically, I count backward in my head, trying to come up with an answer to his question. “Almost four months?”
“Are you asking or telling?”
I swallow. “Telling. Four months.”
“Grandpa.”
Arthur and I both glance to the left, where Kit has appeared in the doorway of his office. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks, studying his grandfather.
“It was nice to meet you, Collins,” Arthur states, then continues toward Kit. “Do you always greet visitorsoutsideyour office, Christopher? It’s rather over-accommodating.”
“You’re the only one I over-accommodate, Grandpa,” Kit replies. “Most visitors have to wait until I’ve played a few rounds of solitaire for an unscheduled meeting.”
“I’ve heard reports that you’re more focused on your responsibilities than playing games.”
Kit raises one eyebrow, surprise—and some pride—flashing across his face. “Is that why you’re here? To see if your spies reported accurately?”
“You suggested I stop by,” Arthur states. “So, here I am.”
Kit hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Dad’s old office.”
“I remember.”