Bringing Down Sam (16 page)

Which was why, moments after he’d left the bedroom, she got up and dressed. She needed at least one layer of separation between her and him when she told him how she’d really come into his life.

Maybe he’d laugh. Maybe he’d say it didn’t matter.

Maybe he’d toss her out on his ear.

“Damn it, why did I let myself get sucked into this mess?”

A better question:
How am I going to get out of it without ruining any shot I have with the man?

She wanted that shot. Because she wasn’t just attracted to Sam. As crazy as it seemed, since she’d only known him a matter of days, Eve was developing deep feelings for him. She didn’t just want the amazing sex they’d proved they could have together. She liked him, his laughter and his crinkled up smile, his ability to set people at ease, his easy-mannered nature that made him a friend to everyone. He made her feel safe, made her believe he genuinely liked her, not just that he wanted her in his bed or on his arm like a trophy—as other men in her life had done.

She wanted more.

She just hoped that, once she’d told him the truth, he’d want that, too.

Sam was cursing the person at the door even before he heard the raised voice calling for him to open it and recognized that voice as his father’s.

“Shit,” he muttered. He knew better than to ignore the knock; his father was not the type to give up without a fight. With Sam’s car parked right outside the building, his father would know he was here.

He reluctantly opened the door.

“I saw your car outside and knew you were home,” his father said as he pushed his way past Sam into the apartment.

“Of course you did.”

“Why did it take you so long to answer?”

“Maybe because I wasn’t in the mood for visitors?” Sam said sarcastically as he shut the door and turned to watch Jacob Kenneman enter his living room.

His father glanced around, and Sam read his expression. The slight look of disappointment on the old man’s face as he spied the place—the small room which was about the size of a bathroom in his father’s house—nearly made the interruption worthwhile. Then again, remembering just what his father had interrupted, Sam knew nothing did.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to talk to you about the magazine,” his father replied as he walked to the sofa and sat down. He avoided Quigley, who was crouched in a corner, obviously not pleased that yet another invader had entered his territory. “You didn’t have much to say last night, but now you’ve had some time to think about it.”

“I haven’t spent a moment thinking about it,” Sam replied, remembering all the other things he’d had on his mind since the previous night. Well, the
one
thing he’d had on his mind. Eve.

His father shot him a look of exasperation. “Samuel, when are you going to start focusing on things that are important.”

He was trying hard to do just that, Sam thought, as he listened carefully for any noises from the bedroom.

“There’s more to life than writing books no one will remember in a year. You rarely talk to me. Do you ever see your sister or your mother?”

“Their schedules are as busy as mine,” Sam shot back, not bothering to dispute the first part of his father’s statement. Then, knowing he was tossing some salt, he couldn’t help adding, “But I did see my brother today.”

His father’s face reddened. “You mean…”

“Yes. My brother. Jake.”

He didn’t add,
Your illegitimate son, the one you ignored for the first few decades of his life.
It was, of course, understood.

“Sam, I…”

“Not gonna go there with you.”

Maybe Eve was right and Jake was trying to reach out in his own strange, twisted way. Maybe Sam would even try to reach back. But that had nothing to do with Jacob Kenneman and frankly, Sam didn’t give a damn what his father thought about it.

“Very well,” his father replied, his jaw a wee bit stiffer than it had been when he’d arrived. “Back to you. Do you have anything else in your life other than these books? You haven’t been dating anyone.”

“How do you know? Doing some spying?”

“I’m sure I would have seen something in the gossip rags if you were, considering the negative attention you’re getting from your writing.”

“Did you not notice the woman on my arm last night?”

“The bimbo?” his father said with a disbelieving eye-roll. “Spare me. There’s no way you’ll make me believe you’re interested in her--she might be the type of woman who’d interest the Sam who wrote your book, but she’s not for you. I know you better than that.”

Sam’s fists clenched and his face grew heated. Then he remembered his own initial impression of Eve, which she’d gone out of her way to cultivate, and had to admit he had inside knowledge his father didn’t. Mainly that Eve was one hell of a smart, talented, determined woman who didn’t much resemble the twit she played for the cameras.

The older man looked around the room. “You’re hibernating, Sam. Your anger at me has turned you into some reclusive hermit and that’s not who you really are.”

Sam chuckled. He truly couldn’t help it. “You have no idea who I am. Or what I’m doing with my life.”

“Well, maybe I’m trying to,” Jacob replied grudgingly. “Maybe I’ve found a way for us to come to some kind of understanding. You can get back to what you do best, high level management.” He leaned forward on the couch. His tone more conciliatory, he urged, “Come work with me, Sam, back in the company, and I’ll put you in charge of
His World
, as well as the four other magazines I now control.”

Sam leaned against the corner of his entertainment center, crossed his arms in front of his chest and stared down at his father. It all suddenly made sense. Jacob Kenneman would never just come out and say, “Son, let’s have a beer and try to mend fences.” No, tossing several million dollars at a handful of publications he had no interest in, and no use for, just to get Sam’s attention, was much more his father’s style.

Jacob remained silent, waiting for his response, not quite meeting Sam’s eye. Sam had to smother a chuckle as he watched his father attempt to keep the cuff of his gabardine trousers away from Quigley. Quig had decided he wanted to use the older man’s for a scratching post.

Finally, he said, “So, you did it not to punish me, but to...entice me? To buy your way back into my good graces?”

His father stiffened, offended that Sam had implied the powerful Jacob Kenneman would ever have to stoop so low as to entice the affection of his son. 

“Wait, I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I didn’t mean to sound snide. But, Father, the truth is, I am absolutely happy writing. I have no desire, nor any intention, of ever become a suit again.”

His father’s gray eyes narrowed and Sam sensed he was about to show his cards. “Well, I’m sorry to hear you say that, Sam. I had hoped you would take up my offer, since you’re more experienced than your cousin.”

“You weren’t serious!”

“Oh, yes, I was. Completely serious. Robbie is going to be Editor in Chief of
His World
.”

Once dressed, Eve ran her fingers through her disheveled hair and took a few deep breaths while she waited for Sam to return. She wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping, but as the conversation going on in the living room grew more heated, she didn’t really have much choice.

It wasn’t hard to figure out Sam’s father was the one who’d stopped by. Or that the conversation was of major importance.

 “You’re a businessman. Surely you can’t justify throwing a new acquisition right down the drain!” said Sam.

“Your cousin has some interesting ideas,” the senior Kenneman replied. “He thinks the key to turning circulation around is to re-focus the entire magazine. If bench-pressing, red-meat-eating men won’t lay out the money to subscribe, maybe more sensitive, emotional men will.”

Sam groaned audibly in disgust. “Sensitive, emotional men? Robbie wants to turn
His World
into a magazine for wimps?”

“Not wimps,” Jacob retorted, a hint of disdain in his voice. “Just a different type of man. A man who can shed a few tears at a movie, who admits he needs his mother.”

Even from the bedroom Eve could hear the choking sounds Sam made as his father continued.

“A man who drinks champagne instead of beer, and is proud to say he likes the opera, or the ballet.”

“Oh, God, why don’t you just rename it
His
Metrosexual World
.”

Eve bit her lip, almost chuckling at Sam’s disgruntled tone.

“Do you have a better idea, son? Do you want to come in and whip this magazine into shape—make it marketable enough to compete? Just say the word and we’re a team again!”

From the bedroom, Eve could visualize the expression on Jacob Kenneman’s face. She heard the satisfaction in his voice as he sprang the trap toward which he’d been leading his son. Knowing Sam, he understood that his father was using his own feelings about
His World
against him. Sheesh, and she thought she was the one with a manipulative father!

But there’d been something else in the older man’s voice, a hint of tenderness, perhaps just raw emotion, that made her suspect he wasn’t trying to manipulate Sam for the purpose of hurting him. In his own, twisted way, he was doing what he could to restore his relationship with his son. It was a crazy way to do it, and risked antagonizing him more than anything else, but maybe it was a case of desperate times and desperate measures. But she had the feeling Sam was just still too emotionally raw to see the truth behind his father’s actions. Where Eve was beginning to see desperation and love, he would almost certainly see manipulation and control.

He’d revealed a lot during their conversations. It wasn’t hard to see that Sam had genuine regrets about his relationship with his family—his father, his brother. Despite his anger toward them both, his feelings ran deep. So maybe it was time for Sam to sort out his feelings for the people who had been in his life the longest before he tried to make room for her. And maybe that meant not taking their relationship up to the next level until he had.

She couldn’t deny she just wanted to get her explanation and apology over with. But she also didn’t want Sam to toss his father out on his ear when he was trying to make amends, just because he knew Eve was waiting in the bedroom.

“Come on, work with me, son,” his father cajoled.

Sam didn’t really want to continue arguing with the older man, especially knowing Eve was waiting for him in the other room, probably able to hear every ugly word that was being said. But he couldn’t just pretend this conversation hadn’t happened, or that his father wasn’t making a huge mistake. How could he allow
His World
to sink? Because the magazine would almost certainly go down the tubes under the inept management of his nice-but-misguided cousin. With the Internet cutting into all print publications, and
His World
just now starting to make serious inroads with a younger, more technologically hip audience, now definitely wasn’t the time to take a huge step backward in terms of content. It was a disaster in the making. And Sam had too many friends on the staff, and respected the purpose and mission of the magazine too much, to let that happen.

“You can’t do this,” he insisted.

His father crossed his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “So tell me what I should do instead. Come on, let’s sit down and hash this out like two executives. Tell me what you’d do to make this magazine financially viable again.”

That sounded like an invitation to do more than take a job, and for a second, Sam was incredibly tempted. Because he did have some ideas—good ones, he thought—and would have, under normal circumstances, with anybody other than his father, liked to share them. Damn, his old man was good at what he did. He knew just what buttons to push, just what carrots to dangle. And while their conversations often left Sam dizzy with the constant game of push-and-pull, usually leaving him in need of an aspirin or an antacid, he couldn’t deny his father was an interesting guy.

Right now, Sam didn’t want to give his father the satisfaction of caving in to his high-pressure tactics, but he did see the situation as it really was. Jacob Kenneman had bought the magazine, and was a good enough businessman to listen to ideas to make it succeed.

But talk about your shitty timing.

Swiping a frustrated hand through his hair, and gazing down the short hallway toward his closed bedroom door, he snapped, “Give me a few minutes to change, then we can go somewhere, grab a cup of coffee and talk.”

And hopefully Eve would still be here waiting for him when he got back. In bed.

But before he even had the chance to walk into his bedroom—where he’d almost certainly be tempted beyond belief to crawl into that bed beside her again, his father and the magazine be damned—he saw the closed door open. Eve walked into the room—fully dressed—offering him a reassuring look that said she’d overheard and understood.

She approached his father. “Hello again, Mr. Kenneman,” she said, smiling brightly, as if she hadn’t heard a word of their heated conversation.

Jacob looked startled at the interruption. “I didn’t know you had a guest, Samuel.”

“Why did you think I wasn’t answering the door?” Sam muttered half under his breath.

“We met last night, didn’t we?” Jacob Kenneman said, turning his full attention toward Eve. To give him credit, he didn’t seem the least bit worried that she’d heard the things he’d said about her. Because his father was always good at playing the gentleman in mixed company and pretending unpleasant things didn’t happen. “Miss...”

“Barret. But please call me Eve.”

He nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, of course. Well, please forgive me, Eve,  if I’d known Sam had company, I wouldn’t have interrupted.”

Sam snorted in disbelief.

“It’s all right, Mr. Kenneman,” Eve insisted. “Sam, I’ve just remembered a previous obligation. I have to go.”

“No way,” he insisted.

 “Son, Eve wants to leave...” Suddenly the older man’s eyes narrowed, and he stared intently at Eve. “Evie wants to leave,” he muttered softly, so softly Sam almost didn’t hear him.