“Be here at twelve-thirty.”
Remy chuckled low. “Atta girl.”
Incensed at the dark satisfaction in his voice, Zandra scowled. “I’m in the mood for Mirage,” she said peevishly, knowing how much he hated the modern fusion cuisine served at the trendy downtown restaurant.
But instead of balking at the suggestion, Remy merely drawled, “Whatever you want, babe. See you soon.”
“Fine.” Zandra hung up, then swiveled toward the window and glared at the cerulean summer sky as if it were to blame for her problems.
It’s just lunch, she assured herself. It’s not like he can debauch me in public.
But then again...
The phone on her desk buzzed a second time.
“Zandra?” Christine spoke through the intercom. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”
Zandra frowned, swiveling back toward her desk. She wasn’t expecting anyone that morning. “Who is it, Chris?”
There was a pause. “Landis Kennedy.”
Zandra froze, her spine stiffening in shock as the blood drained from her head.
Staring at the phone as if it were a venomous snake poised to strike, she said tightly, “I don’t have an appointment with Mr. Kennedy.”
“I know, but he says it’s important that he see you.”
Zandra closed her eyes, her fingers curling on the arms of her chair. After all these years, what could he possibly want from her?
“Zandra?” Christine prompted. “Should I send him back?”
I’d rather you send him to hell where he belongs, Zandra thought darkly.
“Yes,” she relented through gritted teeth. “Show him to my office.”
Releasing her death grip on the chair, she took a slow, deep breath and prepared to face her past.
Moments later Landis Kennedy strode through the door of her office as if he had every right to be there, every right to intrude.
He wore an expensively tailored suit, and his short black hair was wisped with gray at the temples. His face was broad and handsome, with shrewd dark eyes and a square chin.
He seemed shorter than Zandra remembered, not the hulking monster of her childhood nightmares. But a monster he was and always would be.
When she deliberately didn’t stand to greet him, he sat without invitation and smoothly crossed his legs. His pants were meticulously pressed, and his dark Italian loafers were polished to a high gleam.
“What do you want?” Zandra asked coldly.
He gave her a chiding smile that made her skin crawl. “Now is that any way to greet your long-lost father?”
The word curdled in Zandra’s stomach. Father. What had Landis Kennedy ever known about being a father? He’d terrorized her from the day she was born until she turned sixteen and left home to live with her grandmother. The last time she’d seen him had been at her mother’s funeral ten years ago, after which she’d told him to stay the hell out of her life. Years later, she’d boycotted his lavish wedding to a widowed socialite, and when he became a city alderman, she’d tossed away the invitation to his swearing-in ceremony.
“Why are you here?”
He met her icy glare, his eyes raking over her face before he glanced away. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You look just like your mother.” It was an accusation. A bitter indictment.
Zandra swallowed hard, fighting to keep the painful memories at bay. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
His gaze swept around the tastefully furnished room before returning to hers. “First, I wanted to inform you of my decision to run for mayor of Chicago.”
Zandra leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, offering no congratulations or words of encouragement.
“Once I announce my candidacy,” he continued, “every facet of my life will come under intense scrutiny by the media and my opponents. I can’t afford to have any skeletons in my closet that could be a liability to my campaign. Which brings me to you and your—” he paused, lips thinning in distaste “—brothel.”
Zandra arched an amused brow. “You mean my
Remy chuckled low. “Atta girl.”
Incensed at the dark satisfaction in his voice, Zandra scowled. “I’m in the mood for Mirage,” she said peevishly, knowing how much he hated the modern fusion cuisine served at the trendy downtown restaurant.
But instead of balking at the suggestion, Remy merely drawled, “Whatever you want, babe. See you soon.”
“Fine.” Zandra hung up, then swiveled toward the window and glared at the cerulean summer sky as if it were to blame for her problems.
It’s just lunch, she assured herself. It’s not like he can debauch me in public.
But then again...
The phone on her desk buzzed a second time.
“Zandra?” Christine spoke through the intercom. “There’s a gentleman here to see you.”
Zandra frowned, swiveling back toward her desk. She wasn’t expecting anyone that morning. “Who is it, Chris?”
There was a pause. “Landis Kennedy.”
Zandra froze, her spine stiffening in shock as the blood drained from her head.
Staring at the phone as if it were a venomous snake poised to strike, she said tightly, “I don’t have an appointment with Mr. Kennedy.”
“I know, but he says it’s important that he see you.”
Zandra closed her eyes, her fingers curling on the arms of her chair. After all these years, what could he possibly want from her?
“Zandra?” Christine prompted. “Should I send him back?”
I’d rather you send him to hell where he belongs, Zandra thought darkly.
“Yes,” she relented through gritted teeth. “Show him to my office.”
Releasing her death grip on the chair, she took a slow, deep breath and prepared to face her past.
Moments later Landis Kennedy strode through the door of her office as if he had every right to be there, every right to intrude.
He wore an expensively tailored suit, and his short black hair was wisped with gray at the temples. His face was broad and handsome, with shrewd dark eyes and a square chin.
He seemed shorter than Zandra remembered, not the hulking monster of her childhood nightmares. But a monster he was and always would be.
When she deliberately didn’t stand to greet him, he sat without invitation and smoothly crossed his legs. His pants were meticulously pressed, and his dark Italian loafers were polished to a high gleam.
“What do you want?” Zandra asked coldly.
He gave her a chiding smile that made her skin crawl. “Now is that any way to greet your long-lost father?”
The word curdled in Zandra’s stomach. Father. What had Landis Kennedy ever known about being a father? He’d terrorized her from the day she was born until she turned sixteen and left home to live with her grandmother. The last time she’d seen him had been at her mother’s funeral ten years ago, after which she’d told him to stay the hell out of her life. Years later, she’d boycotted his lavish wedding to a widowed socialite, and when he became a city alderman, she’d tossed away the invitation to his swearing-in ceremony.
“Why are you here?”
He met her icy glare, his eyes raking over her face before he glanced away. A muscle jumped in his jaw. “You look just like your mother.” It was an accusation. A bitter indictment.
Zandra swallowed hard, fighting to keep the painful memories at bay. “You still haven’t answered my question.”
His gaze swept around the tastefully furnished room before returning to hers. “First, I wanted to inform you of my decision to run for mayor of Chicago.”
Zandra leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs, offering no congratulations or words of encouragement.
“Once I announce my candidacy,” he continued, “every facet of my life will come under intense scrutiny by the media and my opponents. I can’t afford to have any skeletons in my closet that could be a liability to my campaign. Which brings me to you and your—” he paused, lips thinning in distaste “—brothel.”
Zandra arched an amused brow. “You mean my
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