About That Night (32 page)

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.”

THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Rylann dressed for work as Kyle fielded a steady stream of phone calls in her living room. He finally took a break and walked into the bathroom just as she finished straightening her hair.

“From the sound of things, I’d say there are
lots
of people eager to get in bed with the Twitter Terrorist,” she teased.