About That Night

Thirty

RYLANN SPENT MOST of the following day reviewing the ATF investigation reports in a new case she’d just picked up—eleven guys in a suburb selling illegal firearms out of a warehouse, yes, yes, very bad stuff—while secretly trying not to wonder where Kyle planned to take her that evening. He’d been very mysterious about his plans, which seemed to be his modus operandi, the only hint being when he’d asked if she could leave work at four thirty.

“Ooh…I bet he’s whisking you off on a private jet, taking you somewhere exotic and romantic,” Rae said over the phone early that afternoon.

Rylann was in her office, talking with the door shut while eating lunch. Naturally, she’d told Rae all about her big date.

For a brief moment, it struck Rylann how surreal it was that a private jet was even a possibility. Sure, she’d seen the penthouse and the two-thousand-dollar suits, but for the most part she didn’t think about Kyle’s money. Frankly, since they’d spent the majority of their time as a couple inside her apartment, the fact that he had millions of dollars, and would one day inherit a half-billion more, hadn’t mattered all that much.

But now that she was thinking about it…

Wow, that was a shitload of money.

“I’m guessing no on the private jet,” she told Rae. “Airplane travel requires security clearances and passenger lists. We’re going incognito on this.”

“Lists, schmists,” Rae said dismissively. “Rich guys do these things on the sly all the time. You think they fly coach on United with their mistresses?”

“Hey. Am I the mistress in this situation?”

“No, just the lucky bitch who has a hot billionaire heir whisking her off someplace secret tonight. Oh, wait—did I say that out loud again?” Rae chuckled. “So what are you wearing?”

That had been a particular challenge, seeing how a certain somebody had given her zero hints about where they were going. Rylann had decided to keep it simple. “A black wraparound dress and heels. If he takes me white-water rafting or cow wrangling, I’m screwed.”

Rae laughed. “Oh, please let it be the cow wrangling! I can just see you, riding horseback in your heels and twirling a rope over your head, while on your cell phone threatening to subpoena somebody.”

“If it’s the cow wrangling, this will be my first—and last—date with Kyle Rhodes.”

“Please. One flash of those dimples and I bet that man could talk you into just about anything.”

And the scary thing was, Rylann was beginning to suspect that might actually be true.

PER THE “INSTRUCTIONS” Rylann had received via text message earlier, at four thirty she walked out the revolving door of the Federal Building, briefcase over her shoulder, and began heading north.

Her cell phone rang just as she hit the first intersection. “Okay, Dimples,” she answered. “Now what?”

Kyle’s voice was whiskey-rich in her ear. “Walk two blocks to Monroe and turn left. There’s an alley behind Italian Village—you’ll see me there.”

“Whatever this is, you get bonus points for making it very cloak-and-daggerish,” she said, dodging a pothole in her heels as she crossed the street.

“Never met an ex-con in a strange alley before, Ms. Pierce?” he teased.

Indeed, she had not. After hanging up, Rylann walked the two blocks and then crossed the street. She spotted the restaurant, Italian Village, and headed to the alley. When she turned the corner, she slowed her step at the sight before her eyes.

An elegant black limousine waited for her.

A driver stood at the rear right-side door and nodded as she approached. “Good afternoon, miss.” He gallantly opened the door for her.

“Thank you.” Rylann bent her head and saw Kyle sitting inside, wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt casually rolled up around his forearms.

He gestured to the windows. “Tinted, for privacy. And you don’t need to worry about the driver; he’s worked with my family for years. So your secret is safe.” He held out his hand. “Shall we?”

With a smile, Rylann took his hand. She climbed in, slid across the seat, and set her briefcase on the floor by her feet. “Come on. Now can you tell me where we’re going?” She buckled her seat belt as the limo began to move.

Kyle stretched his long legs out in front of him. “I don’t know. I like keeping you guessing like this.”

“I hope I’m at least dressed okay.”

His eyes slowly traveled over her, taking in the V of her dress and her bare, crossed legs. “A helluva lot more than okay, counselor.”

Her body went warm from the look in his eyes. “No cow wrangling, then.”

The edges of his mouth twitched. “You? I’d pay a half-billion dollars to see that.” He put his hand on her knee, caressing her skin lightly with his fingers. “So about tonight…I’ve been wondering if this is one of those ideas that sounds better in my head than it is in actual execution. I hope you won’t be disappointed.”

“If that’s the case, I promise I’ll fake excitement so well you’ll never know the difference.”

“I appreciate that. Okay, here’s the deal: you probably don’t realize this, but exactly nine years ago on this very day, May 16, I spotted a certain dark-haired, sassy, first-year law student across a crowded bar. Seeing how it’s our anniversary, of sorts, I thought we should go back to the proverbial scene of the crime.”

It took Rylann a moment. “You’re taking me to Champaign?”

“Yep. I rented out the second floor of the Clybourne.” Kyle reached up and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “I promised you a date when I left your apartment that night, Rylann.” His eyes held hers meaningfully. “I might be almost a decade late in delivering on that, but here we are. Finally.”

Tiny sentimental tears sprung to Rylann’s eyes.

And here he’d been worried that she’d be disappointed.

She smiled softly, then leaned forward to brush her lips over his. “It’s perfect.”

A LITTLE OVER two and a half hours later, the limo pulled to a stop in the alley behind the Clybourne. Kyle took out his cell phone and dialed. “We’re here,” he said when the voice on the other end answered.

He hung up and saw Rylann watching him with amusement.

“More with the cloak-and-dagger routine?”

“You wanted to stay off the radar.” Kyle pointed to the bar. “So here’s how this will work. Dex used to be the manager here, and knows the guy who’s now in charge. That guy is going to take us up the back employee staircase, and then we’ll have the whole second floor to ourselves.”

“It’s the last week of school—the upstairs bar would normally be packed. Do I even want to know what you had to do to arrange this?” she asked.

“Let’s just say that the manager and I came to an understanding.” Actually, he’d told the manager that he’d give him half the bar’s expected food and beverage sales for the night plus 20 percent, plus an extra five thousand bucks for setting up the place per his exact instructions. But she didn’t need to know that.

He saw the back door to the bar open, and a guy in his early twenties waved at the limo. Kyle looked at Rylann. “Ready to go back in time?”

She laced her fingers through his. “In case I forget to tell you later, this was the best first date I ever had.”

“Did anyone ever tell you that you can be really sweet when you want to be?”

“I try not to let too many people know about that. It cuts against the bad-ass prosecutor reputation.”

He tugged her hand and pulled her closer. “I’ve already seen the Bozo the Clown hair, counselor. We have no more secrets.” With a quick kiss, he pushed open the door of the limo and stepped out. After checking to confirm that the alley was empty, he helped Rylann out and led her to the bar’s back door.

The manager grinned as he shuffled them through, then extended his hand to Kyle once they were inside. “Joe Kohler. I’ve been stoked about this all week. Frankly, I thought the whole Twitter thing was hysterical.” He shook Rylann’s hand next. “And the mystery lady.” He pointed to Kyle. “Whoever you are, you better treat this guy better than the last girl did.” He gestured toward the stairs behind them. “Follow me.”

Kyle shrugged when he saw Rylann’s bemused expression. “One of the high-fivers.” With his hand in hers, they followed Joe up the narrow staircase to the second floor.

“I brought in one of the waitresses to help me set up the place according to your instructions,” Joe told him. “Figured we could use a woman’s touch with this sort of thing.”

Rylann raised an eyebrow at Kyle as they got to the top of the stairs. “Instructions?”

Joe led them around a short corridor, into the main bar area. “Hope you like it.”

Kyle rounded the corner with Rylann, pleased when he saw they’d gotten it just right. White pillar candles—over a hundred of them—covered the tabletops and bar, casting the entire space in a warm, romantic glow. In the far back corner of the bar was a table covered with a white linen tablecloth, two crystal glasses, and an ice bucket that chilled a bottle of Perrier-Jouet Fleur de Champagne Rose—a recommendation from his sister, the wine expert.

With a stunned expression, Rylann took it all in. “This is…incredible.” She walked over to the table with the champagne, then looked over her shoulder at Kyle. “This is the table I was sitting at that night.”

Nodding, Kyle headed over. “I’d watched you for a while before making my move. There was a guy with red hair sitting across the table from you, and I was trying to decide if he was your boyfriend.”

Rylann smiled. “That was Shane. God, I haven’t spoken to him in years.” Her eyes swept over the place, the flickering candles having transformed the normally semi-seedy college bar into a romantic setting. She stepped closer and curled her fingers into his shirt. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Kyle brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Anytime, counselor.”

“I CHOSE POORLY,” Rylann said, eying Kyle’s plate from across the table. “I should’ve gone with the curly fries instead of the regular.”

“Yep, you should’ve.” Kyle picked up one curly fry and generously set it on her plate.

She looked offended. “One fry? That’s all I get?”

“You’ve got to live with the consequences of your decisions. How else are you going to learn?” He smiled and popped another curly fry into his mouth.

The Perrier-Jouet had begun to take effect, bringing a pretty flush to Rylann’s cheeks. While normally not a huge champagne drinker, even Kyle had to admit this one wasn’t half-bad. True, one probably didn’t often pair a three-hundred-dollar bottle of bubbly with cheeseburgers and French fries, but that was about as fine as the dining got at the Clybourne.

Kyle’s cell phone buzzed with a new message, and he checked to make sure it wasn’t Sean, the executive from Silicon Valley he’d hired to be his second in command at Rhodes Network Consulting. “Sorry. My business line has been flooded with calls ever since the Twitter announcement,” he said to Rylann. “Sean’s going through all the messages now. I told him to call me if there’s anything that can’t wait until tomorrow.”

She leaned in interestedly, reaching for her champagne glass. “So what’s the next step for you?”

“I set up meetings and begin pitching to potential clients. The two graduates I hired from U of I start work on Monday, and then we’ll be ready to rock and roll. After that, I cross my fingers and hope there are some people eager to get in bed with the Twitter Terrorist.” He flashed her a cheeky grin. “Metaphorically speaking.”

Rylann cocked her head inquisitively. “I’ve been curious about something. What was it that made you change your mind about the corporate world? Back when we first met, I remember you saying that you wanted to teach.”

It was a perfectly innocuous question. And Kyle knew he could answer it vaguely, the same way he’d answered that question many times before. But as he sat across from Rylann, one day away from the nine-year anniversary of his mother’s death, he thought maybe it was time to open up about that part of his life. He kept telling himself that he wanted all of Rylann—perhaps, then, he needed to let down a few of his own walls.

So he cleared his throat, trying to decide where to start. “My perspective on things changed after my mother died. It was a rough time for my family,” he began.

KYLE. THERE’S BEEN an accident.

For as long as he lived, he’d never forget those words.

He had known instantly from his father’s voice that it was serious. His grip had tightened around the phone. “What happened?”

“It’s your mother. A truck hit her car when she was coming home from a drama club rehearsal. They think the driver might have fallen asleep at the wheel—I don’t know, they haven’t told me much. They brought her into the emergency room thirty minutes ago, and she’s in surgery now.”

Kyle’s stomach dropped. Surgery. “But…Mom’s going to be okay, right?”

The silence that followed lasted an eternity.

“I’ve sent the jet to pick you up at Willard,” his father said, referring to the university’s airport. “A helicopter will meet you at O’Hare and take you directly to the hospital. They said we could use the heliport.”

Kyle’s voice was a whisper. “Dad.”

“It’s bad, son. I feel like I should be doing something, but they…they say there’s nothing…”

Shock began to set in at that very moment, when Kyle realized his father was crying.

The drive to the airport, the forty-minute flight to Chicago, and the helicopter ride to the hospital’s rooftop had all been a blur. Some hospital staff member—Kyle couldn’t have picked his face out of a lineup two minutes later—rushed him to a private waiting room in the trauma surgical unit. He’d burst through the door and found his father standing there with an ashen expression.

He shook his head. “I’m so sorry, son.”

Kyle took a step back. “No.”

A tiny, drained voice spoke out from behind the door. “I didn’t make it in time, either.”

Kyle turned and saw Jordan standing in the corner of the room. She had tears running down her cheeks.

“Jordo.” He grabbed her and pulled her into a tight embrace. “I just spoke to Mom yesterday,” he whispered against the top of his sister’s head. “I called her after my exam.” She’d been so damn proud of him.

His heart squeezed painfully tight as his eyes began to burn.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” Jordan said against his chest.

There was a knock on the door, and a doctor dressed in blue surgical scrubs entered the room.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he said in a somber tone. “I wanted to ask if you would like to see her.”

Jordan wiped her eyes, then turned around to face the doctor. Both she and Kyle looked expectantly at their father.

He said nothing.

“Some people find it comforting to say good-bye,” the doctor offered kindly.

Kyle watched as his father—a self-made mogul praised for his business acumen and decisiveness, whose face had been on the covers of Time and Newsweek and Forbes, a man whom Kyle had never once seen hesitate in any decision—faltered.

“I…don’t…” his father’s voice trailed off. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep breath.

Kyle put his hand on his father’s shoulder, then turned to the doctor with their answer.

“We’d like that. Thank you.”

Kyle quickly realized, right from those very first moments in the hospital, that his dad was having a hard time handling the many decisions that needed to be made with respect to his mother’s wake and funeral. To help alleviate that burden, he moved into his father’s house and took over most of the arrangements. It was a grim, emotionally draining time, and certainly not something he’d ever envisioned himself going through at the age of twenty-four—selecting readings and prayers for his mother’s funeral, and the outfit she would wear in the casket—but together, he and Jordan managed to do what needed to be done.

After the funeral, his original plan had been to stay at his dad’s place for another week or so, helping him sort through all the phone calls, sympathy cards, flowers, and e-mails that flowed in every day. Given the empire Grey Rhodes had built, there was an incredible outpouring of people who wanted to offer their condolences, and Kyle and Jordan did the best they could to keep up with all of it.

But when that first week passed, things still seemed no better. His father showed little interest in receiving visitors or speaking to friends and family on the phone, preferring instead to spend the days alone in his study or go for long walks around the estate grounds.

“Maybe he needs to talk to someone. A professional,” Kyle said to Jordan one night when they were sitting at their parents’ dining room table, picking halfheartedly at a lasagna someone had dropped off the day before. They could feed a small nation for a month with the number of casseroles, lasagnas, and baked macaroni and cheeses they had stacked in the refrigerator and freezer. No matter that their father could practically buy a small nation.

“I already tried suggesting that to him,” Jordan said. “He says he knows what’s wrong: that Mom’s dead.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly shook them off.

Kyle squeezed her hand. “It’s just the grief talking, Jordo.” He had half a mind to march into his father’s study right then and tell him to pull his shit together for Jordan’s sake, but he doubted that would help. And he certainly understood his father’s pain; they were all struggling to make sense of their mother’s death.

He decided to stay in Chicago for another week. And then two weeks became three. There weren’t really any good days, just bad days and slightly better days. Eventually things progressed to a point where his father was willing to see friends and family, which Kyle assumed was a good sign. But his dad continued to show absolutely no interest in his company—and the business-related calls, voicemail messages, and e-mails began to pile up, all unanswered.

Thus, it came as no surprise when, three weeks after his mother’s funeral, Chuck Adelman, the general counsel of Rhodes Corporation, called Kyle and asked to meet with him. In addition to working for the company, Chuck was his father’s personal attorney and had been one of his best friends since college. Kyle agreed to meet him for lunch at a restaurant only a few blocks from the company’s downtown headquarters.

“Your father isn’t returning any of my calls,” Chuck led in after they ordered.

“From what I can tell, he’s not returning anyone’s calls,” Kyle said matter-of-factly.

Chuck spoke in a quiet tone, his eyes kind. “Look, I understand. I was there when your parents first met—it was Hash Wednesday, and we were on the quad. Your father spotted your mother sitting under a tree, on a blanket with her friends, and said, ‘That is one totally groovy chick.’ He walked over and introduced himself, and that was it for both of them.”

“Oh my God. My parents told Jordan and me that they met in a bookstore, fighting over the last Classical Civilizations textbook. They were stoned at the time?” Having gone to the University of Illinois for six years, Kyle knew exactly what people did on the quad on Hash Wednesday.

Chuck paused. “Of course, a bookstore. It’s all coming back to me now.” He pointed. “The calculus textbook. Now that’s a cute story.”

“Classical Civ.”

“Probably best if we never mention this part of the conversation to your father.”

“Agreed,” Kyle said. “Now, aside from scarring me for life and ruining every sanitized, wholesome image I had of my parents’ first meeting, why else did you want to meet today?”

Chuck rested his arms on the table, getting serious. “He can’t do this, Kyle. He’s the CEO of a billion-dollar company.”

“And as CEO, I would think he’s entitled to some personal time,” Kyle growled protectively. “My mother just died three weeks ago.”

“I’m not trying to drag him into the office. But if he could at least make himself accessible. Pick up his cell phone once in a while. Let people know that he’s still in command,” Chuck said. “The other board members are starting to wonder what’s going on.”

“Surely they understand these are unusual circumstances.”

“They do. But that doesn’t change the fact that this is a privately owned business. Your father is Rhodes Corporation.” He shifted in his chair, as if debating how to continue. “As general counsel for the company, I’m obliged to mention that in the event your father was ever to become incapacitated, he named you as his legal representative. Which means that you would be in charge of running his affairs, both personal and business—including the controlling management of the company.”

Kyle felt the burning in his eyes. He’d known, obviously, that his father had always wanted him to work for Rhodes Corporation but had had no idea that he had this much faith in him. It was an honor, and also an incredible responsibility, but most of all he could not believe that things had gotten to the point where he and Chuck needed to have this conversation. True, his father wasn’t himself these days. But no matter how messed up the situation was, there was one thing they needed to get straight, right then and there.

“No one is declaring my father incapacitated,” Kyle said, looking the general counsel right in his eyes. “That man built an empire—he’s a genius and an extremely powerful businessman. I dare anybody to say otherwise.”

Chuck’s expression was sympathetic. “I’m not the enemy here, Kyle. I’m trying to help. You’re right, he did build an empire. And now somebody needs to start running it. Otherwise, people will begin to say all sorts of things, whether you and I like it or not.”

Kyle got the message, loud and clear. And during the thirty-minute drive along Lake Michigan back to his father’s north shore estate, he debated what approach to take. Ultimately, he decided the direct one was best.

When he got back, he walked straight into the study and found his dad sitting at his desk, scrolling listlessly through photographs of an older-model car on his computer. Since his mother’s death, his father had expressed some interest in restoring a classic car, something he used to do as a hobby before his company had exploded with the Rhodes Anti-Virus.

“Find anything?” Kyle asked as he took a seat in front of the desk.

“A guy up in McHenry is selling a ‘68 Shelby,” Grey said in a subdued tone.

Every time his father spoke, it struck Kyle how unlike his father he seemed. Dispirited. Listless. Somber. A stark contrast to the dynamic, almost larger-than-life man Kyle had known for twenty-four years.

“McHenry is only about an hour away. Maybe we can drive out there tomorrow and take a look at it,” Kyle said.

“Maybe.”

Kyle had been suggesting excursions like this for the last three weeks, none of which had come to fruition. Although his dad talked about rebuilding a car, he didn’t seem to have much interest in taking any steps to actually pursue that. Then again, he didn’t have much interest in anything.

Grey turned to Kyle with a tired smile. “Maybe you could drive out there and look at the car for me. You need to get out of this house as much as I do.”

“Actually, I did go out today. I met Chuck Adelman for lunch.”

Grey’s face went flat. “Really. And what did Chuck have to say?”

Kyle decided it probably wasn’t the best time to bring up the Hash Wednesday revelation. Frankly, the image of his father wearing bell-bottoms, smoking a joint, and calling his mother a “totally groovy chick” was wrong on so many levels he wanted to erase the whole thing from his memory. “You need to start returning calls and e-mails,” he said bluntly. His father was a grown man—perhaps a little tough love was in order.

“Chuck is overstepping his bounds. He shouldn’t have gotten you involved in this.”

“I think it would be good for you to get back to work, Dad. It’ll be something to take your mind off things.”

“I don’t want anything to take my mind off things.”

Kyle sat quietly for a moment. “It’s not dishonoring Mom if we move forward with our lives. That’s what she would want us to do.”

Grey turned back to his computer. “I gave up so much for that company. Not anymore.”

The comment took Kyle by surprise. Because his father had grown up with little money, he’d always been particularly proud of his success. Talk to the man for five minutes, and he would find some subtle way of bragging about the fact that the Rhodes Anti-Virus protected one in every three computers in America. “What are you talking about? You love that company.”

Grey shook his head. “Not as much as I loved her. She was…everything. I just hope she knew that.”

His father began crying. Kyle started to rise from his chair, but his father immediately held out a hand.

“Don’t. I’m fine,” Grey said. He wiped his eyes, quickly composing himself.

“Dad—”

“I put off so many things,” Grey said, cutting him off. “That safari trip, for example. How many times did your mother talk about that? She did all the research and planned this two-week vacation to South Africa and Botswana for us. What did I say? That things were too busy for me and that we would go next year.” He struggled to control his emotions. “Guess I broke that promise, didn’t I?”

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “She also wanted to take a couples cooking class at six o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but that was tough for me to do with the traffic coming back from the city. So I told her we’d do it next year instead. I could go on and on about all the missed moments.” He looked over at Kyle, his face filled with regret. “I know what you’re trying to do, and I appreciate it, son.” His eyes were a distant, cool blue. “But the whole damn company can rot for all I care. None of it means anything without her.”

Kyle knew from his father’s quiet but firm tone that the conversation was over.

He left the study and called Chuck, and outlined his plan to the general counsel. Once his father was thinking clearly again, he could do whatever he wanted with Rhodes Corporation. He’d built the place, so if he ultimately wanted to sell it and spend the rest of his life rebuilding 1968 Shelbys in his five-car garage, that was his prerogative. But that decision was not going to be made by the man currently sitting behind his father’s desk—because that man was not Grey Rhodes.

Consequently, the following afternoon he met with the company’s eight executive vice presidents. He deliberately chose to meet with them in his father’s office and, just as deliberately, sat behind his father’s desk while he explained what the plan would be for the foreseeable future.

“The eight of you will carry on with the day-to-day responsibilities of your divisions,” he told them. “Any decisions that need to be made by the CEO should be presented to me, with your recommended plan of action. I’ll make sure my father responds.”

Kyle doubted that any of the executive VPs in that room actually believed that Grey Rhodes would be making such decisions, but they had all worked with his father for years, respected him, and were fiercely loyal. Without any dissent, they offered their support to Kyle and said they would help in any way they could.

In many ways, being the de facto CEO of Rhodes Corporation was not as difficult as Kyle had imagined. Granted, he had Chuck’s advice and counsel, as well as that of the executive VPs, but he was surprised by how much he enjoyed taking on a leadership role—even a covert one.

“You could really do this, you know,” Chuck said to him one evening at the weekly “state of the company” meeting Kyle had set up for the two of them. For convenience, and to avoid the questions that might arise if they met too often in Grey’s office, they were back at the restaurant where Chuck had first approached him about taking over for his father. “You have great business instincts.”

Kyle flipped through a report he’d received earlier that day from the vice president of content security, detailing the initial sales results of a new subscription-based endpoint and e-mail protection service they’d recently launched. “I’m just the computer geek. Jordan’s the one who got the Rhodes business gene.”

Chuck looked pointedly at the open report Kyle held. “You sure about that? You’ve had your nose stuck in that sales report so long, your steak’s getting cold.”

“Maybe I’m just watching my girlish figure.”

Chuck chuckled. “Or maybe that business gene got passed on to both Rhodes twins.”

Things continued on this way for several weeks. The party line at Rhodes Corporation was that the CEO had decided to work from home and spend more time with his family following his wife’s passing. Kyle kept in contact with the executive team behind the scenes, often responding to e-mails or reviewing proposals and reports in the late evening while working out of one of the guest suites in his parents’ house. On several occasions, he attempted to broach the subject with his father, but got no further than he had on the day his dad told him to let the company rot.

When August rolled around—the month Kyle normally would’ve been returning to grad school—and still nothing had changed with his dad, he decided enough was enough. Neither rational arguments nor tough love could convince his father to get professional help, so that meant there was only one option left.

The guilt trip.

Kyle huddled with Jordan one night in the kitchen as they devised their plan. “It should be you,” he whispered, keeping one eye out in case his dad walked in. Since the man never left the house, he was always around somewhere. “And you need to lay it on thick, Jordo. Quivering lip, big crocodile tears, whatever it takes. Dad never could say no when you cry.”

Jordan looked indignant. “When have I ever tried to manipulate Dad with tears?”

“Oh, I distinctly remember a time when somebody cried for days after being told she couldn’t have a Barbie Dream House because it was too big for her bedroom.”

“We were seven at the time,” Jordan said. “The circumstances are a bit different now.”

“Did you get the Barbie Dream House?” Kyle asked pointedly.

With a mischievous smile, Jordan shrugged. “Santa came through for me.” She glanced in the direction of their father’s study, turning more serious. “Okay, I’ll do it. I just hate that it’s come to this.”

“He needs help, Jordo. You and I simply aren’t enough to fix this.” Perhaps that was one of the reasons he and Jordan had let things drag out this long—neither of them had wanted to admit that.

An hour later, Jordan emerged from their father’s study with a reddened nose and a relieved smile. She gave Kyle the thumbs-up sign.

Later that week, their father had his first appointment with a psychiatrist, who prescribed an antidepressant, set up weekly counseling sessions, and also referred him to a local grief support group. The changes didn’t happen overnight, but slowly Kyle began to see more and more glimpses of the old Grey Rhodes. First there was the quip about the number of lasagnas still stored in the freezer, then there was the day Kyle came back to the house after a meeting with Chuck and found his father on the phone with the director of a battered women’s shelter, making arrangements to donate their mother’s clothes.

One evening shortly thereafter, Kyle sat at the kitchen counter, eating Thai takeout and reviewing the August financials the CFO had sent over. Sales of the new endpoint and e-mail protection service had continued to climb steadily since its launch, and customer feedback had been overwhelmingly positive.

“Are those the most recent financials?”

Kyle turned around, so surprised by the voice he nearly choked on his shrimp pad thai. His father stood by the subzero refrigerator—how long he’d been there was anyone’s guess.

Kyle swallowed the pad thai. “Yes.” He took a sip of the evening cocktail he’d poured himself—vodka on the rocks—and tried to look nonchalant as his father took a seat on the bar stool next to him.

Grey turned to him with a keen gleam Kyle recognized well. He pointed to the financials. “Maybe you should show me what the hell you’ve been doing with my company all summer.”

Kyle grinned. Thank fucking God. Without further ado, he handed over the financials to his dad. “About time. Reading this stuff is as much fun as watching paint dry.”

Grey chuckled. Shaking his head, he looked at Kyle for a long moment…then reached out and pulled Kyle in for a hug so tight he nearly fell off his bar stool. “Thank you, son,” he said in a choked voice.

“You’re welcome.” And Kyle would have been lying if he didn’t admit that he was pretty damn misty-eyed, too.

Not surprisingly, the next thing Grey wanted to talk about was school. “I know your classes started a couple weeks ago. It’s probably time you thought about heading back to Champaign.”

“I already called Professor Sharma and told him that I won’t be returning this semester.”

“No way. You’ve put your life on hold for too long already.”

Kyle had known that this moment would eventually come—at least he’d always hoped it would—and he’d thought a lot about his options. He could return to Champaign and spend the next few years in a cornfield, getting his PhD. Or, if he didn’t want to be so far away from his family, he could transfer to the University of Chicago, albeit a school with a less prestigious computer sciences program, and continue his studies there.

And then there was option C.

“You’re right—I have been putting my life on hold for too long,” he said. “Maybe it’s time I put these mad skills of mine to work. Luckily, I happen to know a guy who owns a company that might have something right up my alley.”

Grey’s eyes lit up with unmistakable pride—and then he stifled it. “I appreciate the offer. But we both know that’s not what you really want.”

The truth of the matter was, Kyle’s views on what he wanted had changed a lot over the last three and a half months. He, Jordan, and his dad were a team now. He had no doubt there would be more rough times ahead—he was already dreading this upcoming holiday season—but whatever happened, they would stick together. Working at Rhodes Corporation would give him the peace of mind of knowing that he was by his dad’s side, every day, even if his father didn’t need him. Not to mention, he knew it would make his father happy—and the guy deserved a little happiness right then.

But his motives weren’t entirely altruistic. Shockingly, over the past couple months he’d realized that he actually enjoyed working for Rhodes Corporation. Admittedly, the power had been illusory while he’d temporarily assumed his father’s role, but he found the thrill that came with being at the top and leading others to be rather…appealing.

“It’s too late. Two days ago, I applied for the open network security manager position. Between you and me, I think I’m a shoo-in.” Kyle stretched out confidently in the bar stool. “Assuming you can meet my salary demands.”

Grey raised an eyebrow. “Salary demands?”

“Hey, these mad skills don’t come for free.”

Grey shook his head, although his lips curved up in a smile. “Why do I get the feeling that this is going to be the first of many demands from one frustratingly stubborn Kyle Rhodes of the Network Security Department?” He pointed, trying to look stern. “You earn your way up the ladder like everyone else.”

Kyle gripped his father’s shoulder. They would undoubtedly butt heads many times over the course of their careers at Rhodes Corporation, but on this point they were in total agreement. “I’d expect nothing less.”

RYLANN DIDN’T SAY a word as Kyle told his story; she simply sat there at the table and listened. She sensed that he kept some of the most personal details to himself—it was obvious that he was very protective of his father’s privacy—but he told her enough to give her a clear picture of the lengths he’d gone to for his family nine years ago.

And that picture completely blew her away.

Twitter Terrorist, billionaire heir, ex-con, computer geek, bad boy—none of those terms came close to describing Kyle Rhodes. He was, simply, a good person, and a confident, intelligent man to boot, and she found that combination absolutely irresistible.

She’d told him—and herself—from the beginning that she wasn’t looking for a relationship. Nevertheless, these past couple weeks they’d spent together had led her to one inescapable conclusion.

That Kyle deserved the best damn girlfriend out there.

He deserved a woman who wouldn’t try to hide the fact that they were together. A woman who wouldn’t hesitate to go to her boss and tell her that she was dating the Twitter Terrorist. A woman who would never have any regrets, even if that decision impacted the career she truly loved.

And the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question was whether she was that woman.

“You look so serious, counselor. Too heavy a story for a first date?”

Seeing the genuine look of concern in Kyle’s eyes despite the teasing tone, Rylann quickly shook away her thoughts. She reached across the table and slid her hand into his. “Only if you don’t want me to come away from this date thinking you’re a really incredible guy.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “Nope. I’m okay with that.”

LATER THAT EVENING, Rylann nestled against Kyle in the back of the limo as they drove back to Chicago.

The driver had discreetly left the privacy partition up, and soft jazz music played through the speakers. When Norah Jones began singing “Come Away With Me” and Kyle slid his hand to her lower back, Rylann tilted her head and felt a sharp tug at her heart when his mouth met hers.

He kissed her softly, his lips brushing lightly over hers, and for once there were no words between them. After a long while, he pulled back and she opened her eyes, and the look they shared felt more intimate than any other moment in all the nights they’d spent together.

Later, when they entered Rylann’s apartment, she took his hand and led him to her bedroom. Slowly, he undid the tie of her dress at her waist, then pushed it off her shoulders and to the floor. He picked her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

His hands and mouth moved tenderly over her body until she ached for him. When he finally settled between her legs and entered her, filling her completely, he tangled his hands in her hair and whispered huskily in her ear.

“You’re mine, Rylann.”