Page 61 of Better Hate than Never

He laughs nervously. “She said you’d guaranteed her avegetarian catered lunch, and I just assumed you’d forgotten to mention it, like the reschedule.”

My expression must be thunderous, because Curtis gives me a chidingdon’t be dramaticlook. “Keep your heart rate down. I said I’ll handle it.”

“I’m sure you will. It’s Katerina who’s got my blood boiling.”

Curtis looks confused. “Who?”

“Kate,” I explain impatiently. This little rescheduling stunt has her written all over it. “Kate Wilmot, the photographer. She’s the one who told you it was rescheduled, wasn’t she?”

“Oh, yes! Well, she didn’t say ‘rescheduled,’ actually. She just showed up this morning, saying she was here for the corporate headshots,” he explains, as I lower toward my chair. “She acted like she was supposed to be here, so I assumed you two had discussed it.”

Just as he says that, a familiar-looking woman darts past my door in a streak of messy upswept hair and fire-engine red.

I miss the chair entirely and fall straight on my ass.

“Oh goodness!” Curtis yells. “Are you all right?”

“Fine,” I bark. Rolling onto my knees, I spring upright and storm past him out of the office and down the hall, a poked bull charging its red flag.

Scouring the reception room, I search for Kate.

I’m not seeing things. It was her, in a red so vibrant I should be able to spot her instantly. But as I circle the office, wending my way down the halls, through our conference and break rooms, she’s nowhere to be seen.

And then my gaze settles on the one place she could be hiding where I couldn’t find her—the restrooms, right near the front desk.

“Everything okay?” Luz, our receptionist, asks.

I glance away from the row of single-stall, non-gendered bathrooms that line the wall, knowing Kate’s in one of them, and there’s fuck all I can do about that.

“Yes, Luz. Everything’s fine.” I sidle up to the desk and offer my most ingratiating smile. “Can you just do me one small favor?”

They smile back. “Of course.”

“Did you happen to see a woman dressed in head-to-toe red dart into one of the bathrooms just a moment ago? Our photographer for the day, Kate Wilmot.”

They nod. “Yes, I did.”

“When she walks out, kindly let me know?” I hesitate, then add, “Immediately.”

—

Of course, my office phone lights up when I’m on a spur-of-the-moment call with a client—one of our biggest investors, who needs reassurance about this latest green energy company that’s part of her portfolio. This is what I get for being transparent and open with my clients about their investments.

Much as Iwantto tell Lydia Bel Sur she’ll just have to hold on a sec while I take a call because I have my receptionist doing reconnaissance on the woman wreaking havoc in my office, I can’t.

Which means it’s not until I hang up with Lydia fifteen minutes later that I’m able to storm out of my office and immediately identify Kate’s whereabouts. A semicircle composed of at least a third of my team encircles Kate, who leans against the conference table in head-to-toe red, looking like a warning sign.

Rohan barks a laugh. “Christopher in a tricorn hat and breeches. This is priceless.”

I roll my eyes, knowing exactly what photo Kate’s sharing from the Independence Day party when my dad demanded everyone come in costume.

“You should see him in lederhosen,” Kate tells him, scrolling through her phone. “I have to dig around back at my parents’ house for that photo, but let’s see. Ah! Here’s a goodie. He’s... nine in thisone, I think?” Kate zooms in on the photo that fills her phone screen, which she angles for everyone to see.

“Oh my God,” Jia says, pointing at the screen. “Is that abowlcut?”

“It is,” I say casually, making everyone jump and turn except Kate, who slowly glances up and locks eyes with me. I close the distance between us, my employees parting to make a path.

Kate pushes off the conference table and stands to her full height, just a spare inch south of me, which means she’s got heels on. I don’t risk a once-over to find out the details.

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