Page 70 of Companion Required

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Kennedy

For the first time in his life, Kennedy felt lost.

Which was odd in itself, because everything concerning the merger had come together beautifully, better than anyone could have dreamed. Erin, Karl and the rest of the management team had been stoked at the idea, and had loudly voiced their approval at their first meeting on his return. In the past, Erin had often questioned why they’d not spread the wings of their expertise into the domestic security market, and now a ready-made, successful company would be joining their ranks not as an acquisition, but as a partnership, with the company’s talent working alongside them. Even Sloan had quietly nodded his approval, although Kennedy knew him well enough to recognise the stalwart countenance of a defeated man. Before long, Kennedy would need to havethechat with Sloan. The last thing he wanted was to have the man walk and, moreover, Sloan needed to understandwhyhe was critical to the merger’s success.

With meeting after meeting happening—some at ungodly hours—he’d had little time to think about anything else. And usually work provided an excellent distraction.

Not anymore, though. Things had slowed. Sometimes during meetings, his thoughts would drift back two months, to a certain naked man heading for the shower after a session or two of mutually satisfying sex, or to Kieran’s body laid out on the beach, beautiful in mouth-watering scarlet swimming briefs, soaking up the Bali sun. But more than all of those, he missed Kieran’s sparkling eyes and incredible smile that lit up in amusement, grinning playfully at something Kennedy had either said or done. And the thought kept hitting him hard, punching a hole through his chest, especially when he arrived home late each night, when he stood for a moment on the threshold of his empty house, knowing he could have had everything.

And all he’d needed to do was ask.

Ask if Kieran would like to be a part of his life. They could have stayed in touch, met up occasionally for drinks and dinner, seen how things went in the real world. But Kennedy had made his cold, plain intentions clear from the outset, something he always did in his business life, and now he felt empty, eviscerated. Mainly because Kieran had honoured the very rules Kennedy had damned himself with. Moreover, would Kennedy be happy having Kieran around occasionally, or did he want something more? Hell, who was he kidding? Could he handle casual with Kieran? The question didn’t even need asking. But before he made any personal call to action, would Kieran even be interested?

“What do you want, Kennedy?” came the gentle American-accented female voice next to him, a soft hand landing on his sleeve.

“You know, I have absolutely no idea,” came Kennedy’s detached voice, from somewhere inside him.

“Me either. Let’s get one of each and then we can all share.”

When Kennedy raised his eyes, he saw the businesspeople around him, seated at the restaurant table, chatting amiably. Kyle Crystal, the vice president of Cold Steel, sat opposite with his wife, Jerry. Sloan and his fiancée, Mary-Anne, sat next to them with Giorgio sitting to his left. Kelly-Anne Marie Milletto sat next to Kennedy, on his right, her hand almost possessively resting on his sleeve. Only Kennedy had sat unaccompanied with’ no significant other to bring. As usual.

Kelly-Anne had been the one speaking to him, mulling over the dessert choices. Kennedy had warmed to her immediately. Probably five or six years older than him, Kelly-Anne Marie had amazing perception. Giorgio had been spot-on with his assessment of his wife.

When Kennedy looked at the young, blond, perfectly sculpted waiter to Mary-Anne’s right, the young man’s smile and prolonged eye contact with Kennedy could only mean one thing.

“One of each sounds great,” said Kennedy, pulling the small, laminated dessert menu up to his face to cover his view. The over-attentiveness of the waiter had begun to rankle. “There’re only six of them, after all.”

“I’m all for that,” said Mary-Anne, grinning at her mother. “Custard apple crumble, apricot layer cake, brandy crème brûlée, New York cheesecake, chocolate brownie with caramel ice cream and English spotted dick—whatever the heck that is. Yuck. Sounds like an STD. Sloan here’s not really a dessert person.”

“Yes. I’ll pass, if that’s okay? Until it’s time to order coffee.”

Kennedy noticed Sloan whisper a few words to his fiancée, peck her on the cheek then stand up from the table. No doubt he was heading outside for a cigarette. With the chill November air and the heavy rain, only an ardent smoker would brave the weather. Maybe now was Kennedy’s opportunity.

He decided to wait for desserts to arrive and for everyone to sample the fare before making his move. Once again the young waiter stood to Kennedy’s left—in between him and Milletto—to deliver the food, subtly rubbing his thigh up against Kennedy’s arm as he placed each dish onto the table.

A year ago Kennedy might have been flattered, might have even taken the young guy up on his advances, but that switch had been flicked off.

Once everyone had sampled the sweets, Giorgio wanted to order coffee, so Kennedy excused himself from the table to go and fetch Sloan. He found his colleague standing under the restaurant canopy, overlooking the car park. When Kennedy moved to stand next to him, Sloan nodded, before continuing to stare out at the heavy rain clattering on the regiment of cars.

“Popular tonight,” said Sloan.

For an amused moment, Kennedy realised he and Sloan rarely talked about anything other than work issues.

“Me?” asked Kennedy. “You mean with our colleagues and their other halves?”

Sloan snorted and nodded at something behind Kennedy. When Kennedy turned, he noticed the young waiter who had been flirting with him standing twenty feet away, leaning against a wall beneath a canopy, smoking a cigarette. On noticing them, he raised a hand in greeting. Kennedy waved back.

“You were here first. I think he might be checking you out, not me,” said Kennedy.

“If only I were gay, things would be so much easier,” said Sloan, puffing a plume of smoke into the night.

Kennedy was not about to let that one go without a comment.

“You think it’s easy?” asked Kennedy, folding his arms. “So here’s a few home truths. First off, Sloan, with a face and body like yours, you’d have seen a shitload of action. But the all-you-can-eat coming-out buffet soon gets cold and old, and eventually even us gays want to settle down—most of us, anyway. And right then, gay or straight, we’re all on the same playing field. But please don’t think for one minute that being gay and in a relationship is any easier. You met Patrick. What part of our relationship looked easy to you?”

Sloan laughed. One thing Kennedy liked about him was that he’d never had a problem being around Kennedy and Patrick as a couple. But even Sloan had not been able to refrain from commenting with irritation on Patrick’s total lack of interest in their business and their significant successes.

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