Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses) (26 page)

They’d shared a cup of tea, and she’d known what he was doing. He was explaining to her how to knit what had happened in her bed into the rest of her day—their day, their lives. He’d insisted, by making her a cup of tea, by scolding her for going without socks, that lovemaking would be normal and right between them.

When they’d sat in the kitchen listening to the rain, he hadn’t withdrawn, but his touches became the mundane interactions any two people in any kitchen might share. A brush of hands, of bodies, a pat on the shoulder.
His
hand,
his
body,
his
shoulder, and to Sid, no aspect of Mac Knightley would ever qualify as mundane.

When he took his leave, he’d held her, not for very long, but with a perfect, possessive snugness, one that said every inch of his body was open to her. A younger woman might have clung to him, might have looked for ways to prolong the encounter, would almost certainly have led him back upstairs.

By leaving her in peace, though, Mac was assuring her he’d be back, and Sidonie appreciated the solitude he’d given her before she had to fetch Luis from the stables.

Time to savor the day, and even savor the future.

That future needed to include gainful employment. Sid shuffled her stack of help wanted ads, so the one she’d found last night sat on top.

This one wasn’t for the blue- and pink-collar work typical for the area. Hartman and Whitney, described as a “midsized family-owned professional services firm” was looking for someone to head their Human Resources Department. The ad emphasized that general business management education was sought, as well as applicable experience.

Sid had the education, she had the experience, and the place was nearby in the county seat. The job could not be more convenient, and as long as the benefits were decent, it really didn’t matter much about the salary. She needed to pay the bills for a few months until the estate settled, no more, so off her application and résumé did go to the email listed in the ad.

The odd thing was, when she searched on the firm name, nothing came up. No website, no mentions in the press, nothing but a white pages listing. But then, Damson County was hardly a hotbed of commercial enterprise, and a website might still be seen by a conservative organization as unnecessary.

She wasn’t due at the stable for another hour, so she had time to check email, which included a short just-checking-on-you email from Thor, and a reply from Hartman and Whitney.

Sid opened the second message, expecting to find an auto-reply. She was dumbfounded to read that a Gail Russo—apparently open for business on a Sunday—was offering her one of three interview slots…the very next day.

“What to wear?” Bojangles was no help, and when Sid fetched Luis home from the stables, he was no help either.

“You look good in your baggy jeans and old T-shirts,” he said over a dinner of quinoa-feta salad and grilled chicken. “You have this one, Sid. I can feel it. My grandmother had the sight, you know.”

“And she grew tomatoes on the fire escape, a sure sign of prescience. I don’t know how dressy to be out here. In Baltimore, I’d know exactly how to play it, and an online search of any professional services firm in the city would yield something.”

“Maybe they do top secret work for the feds. Camp David isn’t that far.”

Not a bad guess for a kid who was inhaling his dinner. “Maybe, or they’re some kind of government contractor, but I saw no requirement to have security clearances.”

“You could call Mac. He grew up around here, and he might know.”

He
would
know. He grew up around here, and he paid attention. “I don’t want to tell him I’m interviewing. If he does know these people, he might put in a word for me.”

“This would be a bad thing? The man you intend to marry puts in a word for you?”

“Luis Martineau, you are jeopardizing your dessert.”

“Four bathrooms, Sid. You won’t listen to me.”

She took a bite of a very good salad. “What are we doing for your birthday?”

“Taking my driver’s test?”

“You haven’t had your permit quite long enough. We can go out for dinner, for starters, or maybe you’d like to step out with a young lady?”

Though step out where? To the pizza joint up past the feed store?

The change in topic at least got Luis off the man-she-was-marrying riff, but yielded nothing in the way of plans for his sixteenth birthday. Maybe Mac would have some ideas.

Sid fell asleep, a little nervous about tomorrow’s interview, but mostly pleased as hell with her day.

She had MacKenzie Knightley for her lover, a gorgeous, considerate, sexy man who seemed to like the very things in Sid others had objected to: her independence, her bluntness, her demanding nature. He understood about not being able to have children. Better than even that, she had an exclusive with him from the beginning, because he was a man who insisted on honesty and integrity.

Maybe Luis wasn’t so far off the mark after all.

“What the hell do you mean, you’re giving notice?”

Trent’s voice wasn’t raised, but the tone was incredulous. Papa Bear was rattled because he hadn’t seen this coming. Across the conference table, Mac exchanged a look with James that confirmed they’d have to handle this discussion.

“My arrangement here is the same as any other associate,” Gail Russo said. “I’m an at-will employee. You can let me go at any time, and I can quit at any time. I’m not jumping ship, though. I’ll stick around until I’ve trained a replacement who will take as good care of my people as I tried to.”

“As you did.” That from James, who watched Gail with the considering expression of a man who’d watched more than his share of women. “You won’t entertain a counteroffer, Gail?”

The question would soothe and flatter, which gave Mac time to think through his own reaction to Gail’s announcement. She’d been with them since they’d incorporated, she was their first hire, and she’d done a good job.

Not a great job, a good job. As good a job as an administrative assistant could do when company growth beached her in the position of head of human resources.

“I’m not leaving for another job.”

“You’re off to teach Zumba,” Trent said, his tone more bewildered than teasing. “Dammit, that’s three employees in three years, abandoning a perfectly respectable career in law for what? A room full of sweaty people dancing around and calling it exercise.”

“I’m going to graduate school,” Gail said, chin tipping up. “And I’ll get in some traveling, and I’ll wear sweats and slides, and sleep in on nice days, and I’ll equip myself with some useful credentials before I look for another job.”

“You have expertise, Gail. You have experience; you’ve worn as many hats here as anybody, and worn them well.” James smoothed his fingers over the back of Gail’s hand. A caress, not a pat. “We’ll miss you.”

She looked relieved to have his support, but guilt and defensiveness lurked in her eyes. “There’s more.”

“You talk Debbie into going to grad school, and I will hunt you down and drag you back here,” Trent said. “I can’t lose you and my best paralegal at the same time.”

“Debbie will be happy here as long as Gino is happy here.” Gail studied her nails, which were painted neon watermelon—something only James might have picked up on as a warning sign of impending change. “I’ve set up the interviews today, because none of you have court. This is considered a department head position, so you all have to meet the candidates.”

“How many are there?” Mac asked while he mentally rearranged his schedule. If Gail was leaving—and she was—then a replacement was imperative. Human resources was an aspect of the company that should remain largely invisible, like paying the bills. Nobody thought much about it, but if it wasn’t adequately tended to, all hell could break loose.

“I started with a half-dozen candidates, each scheduled for thirty minutes. Do you want to see the résumés?”

“Let’s not,” James suggested. “We can study the résumés later. The candidate’s first impression will carry the most weight with me, because you would not ask us to spend time with anyone who isn’t qualified on paper.”

“Not a bad idea,” Trent said. “Was there anything we could have done, Gail? I wasn’t teasing all those times I offered to send you to law school.”

The expressions crossing her face were hard to decipher, but regret was among them. Somebody had carried a torch for Trent, a quiet torch.

“I should have taken you up on that,” Gail said. “DC has good law schools with strong evening programs, and I can see where the practice of law fits well with a human resources background, but if I did that—”

“You’d be stuck here for life,” Mac interrupted, feeling some of Trent’s consternation. What was so bad about being stuck here for life?

Gail tidied up a stack of papers, the résumés probably. One was pink, several were cream stationery.

“Someday, I want a family, and the practice of law…”

Ah.

“If you two will leave us,” Mac said, “Gail and I will negotiate terms of severance.”

Trent’s expression shuttered; James looked relieved. Trent shook Gail’s hand; James kissed her cheek. They both wished her luck, and thank God, left Mac alone with his soon-to-be-former head of HR.

“You’re sitting there, thinking you’re letting us down,” Mac said.

“I am, but it isn’t only that.” Gail didn’t look exactly middle-aged—she wasn’t much past thirty—but she bore the signs of a woman whom life had overwhelmed. “I’m in a rut here, Mac. I do a good job, but anybody would do a good job for you three. I’m not—this isn’t as much of a relief as I thought it would be.”

Mac got out the corporate checkbook, more so Gail would think he was only half listening, when in fact, she had his whole attention.

“I’m not happy, and it’s my own fault. I’m lonely, and I want a family, and the good ones here are taken, with the exception of present company.”

“Now you’ll tell me I’ve always been your favorite?” He slid a folded check across the table at her and offered a smile to leaven the moment.

“You were always the guy who could solve the hardest problems,” she said, taking the check. “You were the guy I’d want in a foxhole with me, but you were the guy I worried about the most too. Still do.”

That surprised him, but he wasn’t about to unpack her comment, lest he find she—who wanted a family—had been carrying a torch for him too. All the ladies carried torches for James, making a perfect hat trick of emotional land mines upon which Mac would not step.

“Stay in touch, Gail. You helped us get off the ground, and we don’t forget who our friends are. You ever need a reference, you have three of them.”

She was about to tear up, so Mac took a leaf from James’s book, and kissed her cheek in parting. A few weeks ago, he might have simply shook hands, or even left without any parting gesture, but Gail was a lady in difficulties, and a little gallantry wasn’t too much to ask.

Though why on earth would she have worried about him?

* * *

Sid was relieved to conclude that Hartman and Whitney was a first-class operation. The grounds of the low-rise building housing the firm were landscaped with walking paths and with big trees, azaleas not yet blooming, and cheery beds of red and yellow tulips. A mailbox stood outside the main door, allowing Sid to send James a signed version of his land-use agreement.

The place had plenty of parking—city girls were big on free, well-lit parking—the windows were spanking clean, and the carpet in the lobby plush and spotless. The armchairs had none of the frayed seams and nubby upholstery of furniture left too long in public use, and the people coming and going were energetic, if not always smiling.

More to the point, Sid wasn’t left to cool her heels in the lobby with six other interviewees. Somebody knew what they were doing and cared enough to do it well.

A door opened behind the receptionist’s desk, and a smiling brunette emerged. “I’m Gail Russo, whom you’ll be replacing if you get the position. You must be Ms. Sidonie Lindstrom?”

The lady was well put together, dressed in a pale blue suit, and wearing makeup Sid considered “trying a little too hard.” Maybe Gail was a local gal, or maybe Sid shouldn’t have let her subscription to
Cosmo
lapse.

“Sidonie Lindstrom, pleased to meet you.”

Gail swiped a badge down a security reader, proving that whatever Hartman and Whitney did, they were willing to spend a little on keeping it confidential.

“You’re probably used to interviewing with HR first, Sidonie, or do you go by Sid?”

“Either is fine, and in truth, I haven’t interviewed in quite a while. I held my last position for more than five years, and had only a couple of other jobs before that.”

“We don’t have high turnover here.” Gail led Sid past a secretarial station and down a quiet hallway. “It’s a family-owned firm, and the partners try to make it a good place to work.”

“May I ask why you’re leaving?” And what did this family-owned firm
do
?

The smile Gail gave her was a little sad, but honest—not an HR smile.

“Time to move on. I’m going back to school, because most people in my position have a master’s, or at least some certifications. I don’t mind telling you that your credentials were the most impressive in the short stack.”

“Good to know.”

Sid was also glad to know the firm didn’t put a lot of money into window dressing, only to stuff its employees into rickety cubbyholes with no privacy and less visual appeal. The offices Sid glimpsed had touches of originality—a live ficus, pictures of the hubby and kids—and yet the whole place had a tidy, businesslike feel.

This
could
work.
She let open-mindedness blossom into hope, and determined to make as positive an impression as she could. Damson Valley was not where she’d hoped to grow old and gray, but the reasons to stay were piling up.

“The partners have not seen your résumé,” Gail was saying. “They don’t want to prejudice their first impression by what’s on paper. The clients and employees will be dealing with you, not your résumé.”

“Interesting approach. How many partners are there?”

“Three, and they’re all good guys, great guys. They’re waiting for you in the conference room down the hall. I’m happy to make the introductions, though we’re not particularly formal here at Hartman and Whitney.”

A test: Did the candidate have the self-confidence to walk into a room full of strangers and introduce herself?

Hell, yeah.

Sid paused outside the door to make sure she had extra copies of her résumé, then pasted a smile on her face, rapped twice on the door, strode into the room, and froze.

What
the
hell?

The Knightley brothers were getting to their feet, but not any version of the Knightley brothers Sid had seen before. They were in three-piece suits, cuff links and tie tacks gleaming, hair perfectly combed. James looked delicious in a pale green suit and cream shirt, while Trent made gray pinstripes look handsome. A whiff of clove and cinnamon told Sid who she’d see if she turned her head a fraction of an inch.

Mac was even more impressive than his brothers, in a dark blue ensemble that had to have been hand-tailored for him.

They were battle ready. Sharp in a professional way, and not at all like the nice fellows who had helped Sid knock down her hog house. These guys were savvy and confident. Everything, from their dress to their posture to the way they casually dominated the cushy conference room, screamed corporate competence.

As Sid absorbed that shock, she came to several other conclusions, none of them happy. She set her shoulder bag on the table with a thud and put her hands on her hips.

Despite the sense of dread roiling in her gut, Sid kept her voice level.

“Where are the horses, MacKenzie? You
told
me you were a horseshoer.”

* * *

“Sidonie.” James, God bless him, went toward Sid with a hand outstretched in welcome. Mac could read her though, and knew James would be lucky to keep that hand attached to his arm. “A pleasure to see you, and I have to assume you’re the first candidate for the HR job.”

She let him take her hand and steer her to the seat at the head of the conference table—Mac’s usual post—but she threw Mac a look over her shoulder that boded ill.

It boded bloody damned disaster for a guy who’d put off a dozen times having the I’m-a-lawyer discussion with her. Also the my-brothers-are-lawyers-too conversation, and the we-own-a-law-firm chat.

“I’m not sure I am here to interview for the job,” she said, visually measuring each man as he took a seat around the table. “I thought MacKenzie was a farrier, and clearly he is not.”

“He is.” Trent jumped in, treating Sid to his best I’m-your-lawyer-you-can-trust-me smile, probably the worst move he could make. “He’s also the managing partner here at Hartman and Whitney.”

“Which he owns with you two.” Her expression said,
You
two
shyster-meisters
. “So what kind of business is this? You don’t have a website, the ad was very general, and I got nothing specific when I googled you.”

Sid was too astute not to see the looks Mac’s brothers were tossing him. They were tap-dancing as fast as they could, but it was time to end this.

“We own a law firm, Sid,” Mac said. “James is in charge of corporate clients, Trent heads up domestic, and I have the criminal defense department. We recently put Hannah in charge of alternative dispute resolution and collaborative law. I also shoe horses, and James is a CPA.”

Sidonie studied her hands, hands that had touched Mac so sweetly, hands he wanted to reach for right now. When she looked up, the disappointment in her gaze was probably invisible to his brothers, but Mac saw it plainly.

Not even anger, which he might have known how to deal with, but disappointment.

Sid rose and snatched up her shoulder bag. “Gentlemen, I wish you all a good day. I’m sorry. As much as I need this job, I’m not what you’re looking for. Good-bye.”

She’d looked Mac square in the eye as she’d spoken the last word, two little syllables that sent Mac’s world straight to the bottom of the muck pit.

“Hire any-damned-body you please,” he said to his brothers as he followed Sid out. He caught up to her in the lobby, and when he laid a hand on her arm, she whirled on him.

“Shame on you, MacKenzie Knightley.” She kept her voice down, her tone civil. “You led me to believe you were a horseshoer. An aw-shucks farm boy who looked good with his shirt off and knew how to use his hands. You let me—” She looked away, tears glinting in her eyes.

Goddamned tears, because her husband had dumped her, Tony had died, Luis could be snatched away at any moment, and the guy who’d taken her to bed apparently couldn’t be trusted either.

“I don’t like lawyers,” she went on. “Lawyers have authored more misery for me and my family than all the biblical plagues combined. And while I could never hate you, I’ve grown to positively loathe surprises. This is not a nice surprise, MacKenzie.”