“Who will also make donations,” Mrs. Flannigan promised. She tossed out a few names, people famous enough to make even Dean’s head spin, but when that discussion was over she turned to Dean.
“Now that our real business is out of the way, I think you and I need to have a chat.”
The way she looked at him sent fear rattling along his nerve endings. She had too much life and energy to remind him of his grandmother, but she was so influential on Wall Street that one word from her could send his stock into a free fall.
Seated on her sofa, with after-dinner drinks, he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back on the cushion as if totally unconcerned.
“So chat.”
“Winslow was right about you taking your staff somewhere now—right now—to motivate them to get this project done. I’ve had my assistant investigate Grennady and it’s quiet. Peaceful. But the country still has enough things for your employees and their families to do that it could be like a working vacation.”
“It sounds great, but—”
“No buts, Dean. This time next month my word isn’t going to be enough to stave off the inevitable.”
“I know that.”
“So you have no choice but to try something different.”
“I’m just not convinced that taking them out of their work environment will jump-start their creativity.”
“Look at it this way, keeping them where they are hasn’t worked in three years. I’m going to be bold enough to suggest that you have nothing to lose.”
Kristen unexpectedly reached out and took his hand. It shocked him that she’d think he’d need support for what was, essentially, a simple business conversation. Then he realized how sweet it was—especially considering that she’d been protecting herself all night.
When she thought he needed her, she was there for him.
No one had ever been there for him.
It didn’t matter that she mistakenly believed Mrs. Flannigan’s stern voice somehow cowed him. It hadn’t. No one cowed him. What mattered was she took his feelings into consideration over her own.
An indescribable feeling invaded his chest. A warmth that rose until it filled his blood and every happiness-starved cell in his body.
All the feelings he’d had skating returned. Especially the sense that his world was opening up and he could trust her.
He couldn’t follow the feeling. He wouldn’t risk hurting Kristen. But for once in his life he wanted to soak it in.
The conversation shifted to a painting over the marble fireplace. Kristen and Mrs. Flannigan walked over to it, with Mrs. Flannigan telling the story behind the purchase.
Though he spoke with Arthur, Dean let his gaze follow Kristen around the room, knowing she wasn’t faking her interest in the art, or her immediate love of Mrs. Flannigan.
And he suddenly, desperately wanted to kiss her. Even more desperately than he had the night before.
The evening wound down. As they made their way up the hall toward the foyer with the elevator, John approached them, holding their coats. Dean helped Kristen with hers before putting on his own.
“Oh, look at this,” Mrs. Flannigan said, pointing at a huge spray of flowers on the hall table. “You’re not exactly under the mistletoe in that arrangement, but you’re beside it.” She nudged Dean. “If you wanted to kiss her, Arthur and I wouldn’t mind.”
A rush of need swooshed through Dean’s bloodstream. It was the perfectly logical way to get the kiss he’d wanted for nearly two days. He’d already vowed he wouldn’t get involved with her, wouldn’t hurt her...but didn’t he deserve one kiss?
Of course he did.
Kristen laughed. “Mistletoe has to be overhead for it to be a legitimate reason to get a kiss.”
Then she strode toward the elevator, Mrs. Flannigan following behind, chuckling, and Arthur behind his wife.
Dean glanced at the flower arrangement, then looked up at the group, all of whom had their backs to him. And he did something he had never done. He pilfered some mistletoe.
In the limo, Kristen went back to being quiet. He let her because it was the right thing to do. They drove up Fifth Avenue, Christmas decorations glittering in the frigid night air, and he took a long drink of air. The same decorations that had reminded him of his past twinkled in the light of the streetlamps and unexpectedly warmed his heart, even as apprehension tugged at his soul.