Page 13 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

“ T op left.”

Collins’s head snaps in my direction, ponytail swishing against her shoulder as she hastily stands. “What?”

I leave the doorway and walk deeper into the supply room. “You’re looking for the hanging folders, right? Top shelf, on the left.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“You brought one to match it to.” I nod toward the single folder tucked under her left arm.

“No, I mean, how do you know where the files are stored?”

I walk over to the pen section and open a box of my favorites, sliding two out and slipping them into my pocket.

“Because I was my own assistant for a week. Who do you think did the filing until you started?”

“I figured you had a temp or something.”

“Well, you figured wrong.” I smirk. “I’m very picky about who I work with.”

“Uh-huh. You’re known for your … discerning taste.”

My grin grows as I close the box.

“You came in here to get pens?” She sounds highly suspicious of that fact.

Maybe because I barricaded myself in my office all day. I didn’t even leave for lunch; I had it delivered.

“My favorite kind ran dry, and my assistant wasn’t at her desk. So, yeah, I came in here to get pens. How many do you need?” I ask, approaching the folder section.

“You don’t need to do that,” Collins says quickly.

“I know I don’t. I do whatever I want, remember?”

“Remember what?” She tilts her head, a serene smile fixed on her face.

Damn, do I like this girl. I like that it’s late, and we’re alone, and she’s still determined to act like an encounter I know for a fact she enjoyed never happened.

I’ve been the definition of respectable since she started working here. And fuck do I miss riling her. I’m so sick of that patient, practiced expression on her face.

“My grandfather knows the chief of neurology at Manhattan General,” I tell her, “if you want that selective amnesia looked at. How many folders?”

Collins blinks rapidly. My guess? She’s trying to decide if chastising me will encourage me.

“Your memory issues are getting increasingly worse, huh?”

She glances at the ceiling. Probably praying for patience. “Twenty,” she grits out.

“Coming right up,” I reply cheerfully.

I count the numbers aloud until I have the right amount, then head for the door.

She hurries after me. “I can take those.”

“You sure are possessive of your folders,” I state, slowing my strides so she can catch up.

I hear a huff. Thankfully, the smile’s off my face by the time she draws even with me.

Automatic lights flicker on as we walk. Every desk we pass is empty.

Acquiring an office on this floor is equivalent to making partner at a law firm. It’s the goal you work toward, an achievement you can rest after. After years of long hours, most other employees are trying to make it home in time for dinner with their families.

“It’s quiet,” Collins comments, glancing around. “Is it always like this?”

“I’ve only been here a week longer than you, Mo—” I clear my throat, hoping that syllable got lost in the sound.

“Everyone’s trying to enjoy the end of summer.

Or they’ve got kids headed back to school.

It’ll pick up more later into the fall. Everyone on this floor worked hard to get here. They’re enjoying the benefits.”

Almost everyone , I add under my breath.

“You don’t think you deserve to be here? ”

My eyes jump to Collins.

She smirks. “My memory might be going, but my hearing’s excellent.”

I smile reluctantly. Her joking would thrill me under other circumstances. But I’m embarrassed she heard what was meant to be an inside thought.

“I don’t think I don’t deserve to be here.

But I … I wish I’d started in an office a couple of floors down.

That I wasn’t the boss of employees who had worked here since before I was born.

But I also know people would treat me differently no matter what.

Not a single person used my dad’s old office after he left.

It was being saved for the next Kensington. Could have been Lili. Ended up me.”

We’ve reached Collins’s desk. I set the folders down in a neat stack, pulling one of the new pens out of my pocket and spinning it around a finger.

“Unless I ask for your help with something, you don’t need to stay past five.”

“I work faster when it’s quiet,” Collins says. “Just wanted to get ahead of a few things before tomorrow.”

I nod. “Okay. Night, Collins.”

“Night,” she replies.

Back in my office, I loosen my tie before sinking back into my swivel chair. I stare at the legal pad covered with scribbles and a depressing number of strikethroughs that made a new pen necessary.

Tomorrow’s the second meeting with Beauté—the makeup company my father is interested in acquiring. I had a meeting yesterday with the team I’m helming to discuss strategies, but ultimately, it’s my call how we try to acquire them.

There’s a knock on my door when I’m halfway through a fresh page of ideas.

“Come in,” I call out, attempting and failing to ignore the burst of adrenaline. It has to be Collins.

Sure enough, she appears a second later.

“I thought you were leaving.”

She nods. “I am. I just wanted to finish the notes from the Viridian Ventures meeting first.”

Collins adds the notes to the proper stack on my desk without any coaching from me. She’s picked up my sorting system—picked up everything —with impressive alacrity.

“You’re working on the pitch for tomorrow?” she asks, nodding toward the legal pad.

I sigh. “Yep.”

“They’re a big deal?”

“Honestly? No. There’s potential. But little capital and barely any distribution. They need money to increase inventory and circulation. And advertising. But mostly, they need an overhaul. Time and dedication to cultivate a unique brand, which can be a more valuable investment. And a riskier one.”

“Why’d you pick them, then?”

“I didn’t,” I admit. “My dad did. So, if we acquire them and they succeed, it’ll be thanks to him. If they don’t accept our offer or they do and then sink, it’ll be nepotism’s fault I failed.”

“You’re more cynical than you used to be,” Collins comments, reaching toward the pad. She sinks down into one of the chairs opposite my desk and starts scanning my handwriting.

“Than last week , when we met for the first time?”

Collins manages to roll her eyes while reading, which is actually quite impressive. “This is for the makeup company? Beauté? ”

“Yeah,” I respond, surprised. She wasn’t at the initial meeting with them.

She hears the question in my voice. “They emailed you a copy of the presentation and included me on it. I was curious, so I looked through it.” She flips back to the first page.

“If you want them to sell you their company, which they’ve presumably invested a lot into, you need to offer them something they can’t find somewhere else.

And avoid phrases like ‘not a big deal’ and ‘risky investment.’ You’re good at making outlandish ideas enticing.

Focus on that. Tell them to dream big and then explain how you can make it a reality. ”

“Did you just compliment me?”

She reaches for my pen and circles something.

“You should start here. Suggesting specific improvements to their current marketing strategies. It shows you’ve done your research—you’re flattering them by praising decisions they’ve made—and also allows you to share concrete examples for what Kensington Consolidated has to offer.

Constructive criticism. Do you have the numbers for what they paid for advertising last quarter? ”

“Yeah, I do.” I flip through some papers, then hand her the spreadsheet. “You’re good at this.”

She tilts her head as she scans the numbers. “You’re not the only one in this office with a business degree, Kensington.”

I stare at her. “You majored in music.”

Too late, I consider it’s strange that I know that.

Collins doesn’t appear to notice. Or care.

“ And business. As you know, it’s possible to double major.

My parents didn’t think playing the piano was a practical career choice.

And they were right. I lasted six months as an accompanist at a local school, giving home lessons once a week, and played at the bar of a fancy hotel a few evenings a week, barely scraping together enough to pay rent, before I started applying for office jobs in Chicago. ”

“You did it though. For six months, you did it.”

She runs the tip of the pen along her lower lip. I decide not to tell her I was doing the same thing ten minutes ago, so we’re essentially making out right now.

“I guess,” she finally says in a contemplative tone that makes it clear she’s never considered that perspective. That she saw it as a simple failure.

“What was the office job?”

“Good to know you looked at my résumé before hiring me.”

I smile. “You came highly recommended. I didn’t need to look at your résumé.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I was a paralegal at a law firm.”

I resist the urge to ask if she preferred it to her current job and question, “Why Chicago?” instead.

“I went to college fifteen minutes from the house I grew up in—a free ride to an Ivy was too good to turn down. After graduating, I wanted somewhere different. Boston and New York both felt too close. So, Chicago made the most sense. Same city feel, more distance.”

“Did you like Chicago? Aside from your ex?”

“It was … okay.”

I lift one eyebrow. “Not the rave review you gave Perry.”

Collins raises one back. “ What is your issue with Perry?”

“He and Flynn don’t get along.”

“Because of something Perry did?” She asks the question like she already knows the answer, and it chafes. It means Perry told her the full story.

“No. ”

She nods and looks back down at the legal pad. “We’re, uh, getting drinks on Friday night.”

The hits you don’t expect always land the hardest.

I’ve been jealous every single time I’ve seen Collins Tate with another man. But this packs an extra punch. Because I’ve had her— I had her —and now she’s going out with someone else. And unless I fire her or quit, there’s not a thing I can do about it.