Page 10 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

M y dad’s studying the sailboat painting displayed on the wall when I approach my office, holding my morning cup of coffee.

It’s strange, seeing him silhouetted by skyscrapers instead of palm trees. As a kid, I visited my father in a building that overlooked the Hollywood sign.

When he and Mom announced they were moving back to New York full-time—rather than splitting time between coasts, like they’d done for decades—I had no clue what to expect. I thought I’d be one of two Kensingtons, not three, working in this building.

I’ve always preferred the East Coast to the West, so it’s nice, having my parents’ permanent address be in the same city.

But working with my dad? I have yet to decide how to feel about that.

We’ve always been close. Always been similar.

Dad was the one stifling laughter when Mom was disciplining me after my latest escapade.

And despite all the trouble I’ve participated in—or caused—over the years, he’s never expressed anything except total confidence in my ability to work here.

He’s always encouraged Lili’s chosen career as a landscape architect, and I know he would have supported me if I’d pursued chemistry beyond earning a degree in the discipline.

Everyone would have paid attention to my arrival at the company regardless. But me starting and Crew Kensington returning? It’s made the usual comparisons to my father endless.

I stare at him for a few more seconds, then rap my knuckles on the door to announce my arrival.

Dad startles, glancing over his shoulder and smiling once he sees me. “Morning, Kit.”

“Hey, Dad,” I reply, heading for my desk.

“I was just …” He chuckles, running a hand through hair that’s starting to gray at the temples. “Just looking around. Reminiscing a little.”

This was my father’s office before he left the company. Something I’ve been reminded of often and repeatedly since inhabiting it.

“You can have it back,” I offer, setting my coffee down in its usual spot on my desk and gesturing around the room.

Despite its prime location, this corner office has sat empty ever since my dad swapped boardrooms for movie sets.

Out of respect or regret or some ruling, it was reserved for a future Kensington.

A shrine to the speculation concerning my father’s departure—sensitive history I’ve never been told in its entirety.

My dad’s new office is at the opposite end of this floor, right by my uncle Oliver’s.

“No, it’s yours now.” Dad nods toward the piece of art he gifted me for my eighteenth birthday. “I like what you’ve done with the place.”

“Thanks.” I lean back against my desk, tucking my hands into my pockets.

Since I started work, I’ve only seen my dad in the office twice. He stopped by on my first day with Oliver, and then he attended the presentation for a newspaper in Phoenix we’re considering acquiring. I’m assuming this visit has a purpose beyond a simple social call.

“Good weekend?” he inquires.

“You mean, aside from helping Bash schlep his boxes?”

Predictably, my brother did not pack after the party he threw in my penthouse.

I woke up on Saturday morning to a stranger fast asleep under the piano and my favorite scotch atop it, the bottle almost empty.

It took me ten minutes to drag Bash out of bed, then another twenty to toss everything he’d stored at my place over the summer into cardboard boxes left over from my move before our parents showed up to accompany him back to New Hampshire.

Dad smiles. “Aside from that.”

“Are you asking as my dad or as my boss?”

I’m mostly kidding. I slept, went for a run in Central Park, and got dinner with a few college buddies who also ended up with jobs in the city. All legal activities.

“I’m still figuring out how to be both,” Dad admits .

Nice to know I’m not the only one struggling to redefine our relationship forty—actually, more like sixty—hours a week.

“I answered emails, then,” I state.

Dad shakes his head. I catch the flash of a grin that appears before he schools his expression to seriousness.

Everyone who knows my parents says Lili’s exactly like my mom while I’m a copy of my dad. And they’re rarely only referring to appearance.

My dad tosses the manila folder he’s holding onto my desk. “I really came to give you this. Take a look when you have a minute. Possible acquisition.”

I pick the folder up and scan the first page. “A makeup company?”

“Beauty is a billion-dollar business, Kit. Take a look at their earning potential. They’re small now, but there’s a lot of growth in the market. The founders are coming in this afternoon for a meeting. I’d like you to take point on it.”

I glance up at take point . A big endorsement for my second week. “This afternoon?”

He lifts a brow. “Is that a problem with your schedule?”

Yes . I’ve already got a packed agenda. Not only will I have to find time to review this information, but I’ll have to reschedule all my afternoon meetings. I’m talking to Kensington Consolidated’s COO right now though, not my dad. Yes isn’t the right answer. Or a possible answer.

“Not at all. What time is the meeting?”

“Three p.m.”

I nod. “I’ll have my assistant add it to the calendar.”

“Your assistant?” He glances at the empty desk outside my office.

I clear my throat. “Yes. She’s starting today. ”

My dad nods. “Good. I’m glad you hired someone.” He heads for the door. “I’ll see you at the meeting?—”

“It’s Collins Tate,” I blurt.

He pauses. Inclines his chin. “What?”

“My new assistant. My new assistant is Collins Tate. Lili’s freshman roommate at Yale? She came to Lili’s graduation party? Her parents are both professors?—”

“I remember.” My dad finally cuts off what was far too much information.

“The assistant position was only posted internally,” he continues. “How did she … ah. Lili?”

“Lili,” I confirm. I have no qualms about tossing the blame on my sister. She is the reason Collins was hired. “She found out I didn’t have an assistant and knew Collins needed a job. She’d just moved to New York from Chicago.”

“Was she an assistant in Chicago?”

“She …” Honestly, I have no idea what Collins did in Chicago. “She’s smart, Dad. She’ll be fine.”

He appears unconvinced. “It’s an important role with a lot of responsibility. She’ll be managing your calendar, taking your calls, assisting with any projects?—”

“She’ll be fine,” I repeat.

“I know your sister is … willful?—”

I snort at the understatement.

A quick smile crosses my dad’s face. Lili’s a wrecking ball of willful.

“But she chose not to be involved with the company. The decisions you make here are your decisions, Kit, understood?”

I’m plenty capable of telling my sister no. Pretty much have a lifetime record of it. But if I say that, I’m worried my dad will wonder why I didn’t say no to her about Collins working for me.

And even though I spent the weekend second-guessing my choice to hire her, I’m also oddly panicked by the thought of her not working for me.

I know Collins thinks pestering her for years was nothing but a game to me, but she’s wrong.

It wasn’t entertainment, and it wasn’t simply about sex.

Collins has never treated me like a blank check or stepping stone.

I like her, and that means I’d rather have her as my off-limits assistant than go another two years without seeing her.

“Hiring Collins was my decision,” I say firmly. “She’s competent and qualified, and she needed a job. And I’d prefer to work with someone I know than a complete stranger.”

He nods slowly. “Just be careful. Mixing the personal and the professional can get messy.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Which is why you work with your brother and hired your son?”

Dad grins. “Touché.” He starts toward the door again, only to stop and snap his fingers. “Before I forget, I’m supposed to tell you to be at your grandfather’s at seven sharp on Saturday.”

I sigh. I almost successfully forgot about that dinner. “Yeah. Okay.”

“ Seven , Kit,” he reminds me sternly. “Don’t be late.”

“I won’t be.”

Dad looks dubious, but nods. “Good.”

“She’s really serious about this guy,” I comment. “We never had solo dinners with Cal.”

“Well, Cal was already familiar with the family.”

I don’t think that’s why, and I doubt Dad does either.

“What do you think of Charlie?” I ask.

“I like him.” He gives me a sidelong glance. “But don’t mention that to your sister. She’s too young to get serious about a guy.”

“She’s twenty-five. Isn’t that how old you and Mom were when you got married ?”

Dad shakes his head. “That was different.”

“Uh-huh, sure. How?”

“Because I had to marry your mother in order to date her.”

I laugh. “Sounds like you had some serious game, Dad.”

“We’ve been together for over two decades, son. Obviously, I did something right. See you this afternoon.” He leaves, shutting the door behind him.

I take a seat at my desk and start tackling the outrageous number of emails that piled up over the past two days. I should have answered some over the weekend.

But I haven’t changed that much.