Welcome To My Family. Roz Denny Fox

she thought, pulling herself up short, his office decor wasn’t her business. Instead, she drifted over to look out the bank of windows. My, but he had a beautiful view. Gazing at the complex, Kat realized it was a veritable park. Low, angular buildings nestled discreetly among tall trees. Broad walkways would be perfect for jogging. Maybe he did jog. Perhaps that was what kept him fit. She sneaked a peek at his lithe, narrow-hipped profile. Nice. Yummy. Feeling her blood sing in her veins, Kat spun away to explore yet another wall—this one filled with awards.

      “So,” he suddenly challenged from behind her. “Your father is Timothy O’Halloran. Damn. I just knew it.”

      Kat whipped around. “What does my pop have to do with this job?”

      “Nothing. You’ve listed him as next of kin.” Slater sat in the swivel chair and picked up a pencil. Gripping both ends at once, he stared at her; she felt like a bug being studied. “You did phone Dempsey the other night. That’s commendable. Frankly, I can’t help wondering which of your father’s bad traits you’ve inherited.”

      Kat’s initial sizzle of interest gave way to anger that burned a path to her cheeks. “Now, wait a darn minute! If you’re in any way related to Louie Kowalski, you have some nerve bringing up bad traits. My pop was a respected electrical engineer at Motorhill up until he met Louie.”

      “Louie?” Slater’s face matched hers shade for shade. “My father is called Lou at the country club, L.J. in board of directors meetings and ‘Sir’ when he strolls around this complex. Never Louie. Or not until he ran afoul of Tim O’Halloran, that is.”

      This information set Kat back on her heels. Somehow, it wasn’t what she’d expected to hear. Now she didn’t wait for an invitation but plopped down in one of Slater’s wing chairs. “Your father’s on the board here?” she whispered.

      “He stepped down from the presidency last January.” Slater shrugged impatiently. “He’s board chairman, just like his father was before him. What isn’t like my grandfather is the irresponsible way L.J.’s behaved since he met Tim O’Halloran and his hoodlum pals. Instead of good works, he spends his spare time on poker or at the track.”

      “Seems to be a lot of that going around,” Kat said, shaking her head. “If it’s any consolation, it’s not normal behavior for my pop, either.”

      Slater drummed his fingers on her manila file. “Regarding the job. I take it you’re aware of how I feel about instituting this position in my company?”

      “One would have to be the village idiot not to pick up on that.” Kat looked away and caught her lip between her teeth. “So…” She worked to get a grip on her cartwheeling emotions. “Did you ever figure out what was wrong with your car?”

      Slater straightened. Once again she’d thrown him off balance. Damn, but he couldn’t stop looking at her lips…. The CEO in him beat a hasty retreat. As he stared at her, he saw that concern darkened her huge eyes, tugging on his sympathy. Plus, Slater noticed an appealing smatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose. “This is not a social chat we’re having, Ms. O’Halloran,” he said, attempting to regain control. “Nothing about that car concerns you. Got it?”

      Kat scooted forward in her chair but felt her skirt catch. It was a curse of being short; her feet never quite touched the floor when she sat in big, roomy chairs. “Got it,” she repeated, her reply sounding a trifle breathless, which might have been partly because his eyes followed the tug of her hands on a ridiculously short skirt. “I work here, but I don’t ask questions about the product.” She returned his frown. “Makes no sense to me.”

      “Speaking of your job. Is that your normal work attire?” Almost before the remark was out of Slater’s mouth, he cursed himself for saying a word.

      Kat laughed. She couldn’t help it. The family had coerced her into wearing a suit and he didn’t like their choice. “At the resort, I generally wore sweats. Weather permitting, shorts.”

      “No shorts,” Slater sputtered. “This whole notion of play at work is ridiculous. I don’t know what possessed the other automakers. It only lengthens the overall workday when you give longer lunches and extra breaks to accommodate recreation. Don’t workers want to get home to see their wives and kids anymore?”

      “Have you talked to staff at Motorhill? Or plant managers in Detroit? Absence goes down and productivity up where they have recreation programs. I interned at a facility where they started a new program. I can personally vouch that it did make a difference.”

      Slater declined comment. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers against his lips. “What equipment would you need to get something minimal going?”

      Kat was extremely glad she’d climbed out of bed last night to draw up a list. She extracted it from her purse and pushed it across his desk.

      As Slater perused it, his straight brows almost met over his nose.

      Kat chewed her lower lip again and waited for him to throw the list in his wastebasket.

      But when he spoke, Slater sounded calm enough. “Space isn’t an issue. I’ve got an empty warehouse and plenty of ground to grade for a ball field. Equipment is something else. I think it’s only fair to tell you, Ms. O’Halloran, I have an attorney checking for loopholes in the proposal our workers presented to the board. The minute he finds one, your program is history. Surely you understand my reluctance to invest in equipment.”

      Kat steepled her fingers in a gesture exactly like his. “Do you work out?” she asked bluntly, knowing he had to in order to remain so lean and trim.

      “Every day.” He glanced up. “I’d go crazy if I didn’t. I don’t, however, exercise during work hours. I belong to a twenty-four-hour gym.”

      “Which costs you two thousand bucks a year. Right?”

      He shrugged. “More or less.”

      “More would be my guess. However, the men and women who work here probably didn’t hatch from a long line of CEOs. Surveys show blue collar workers eat too much bread and too few fruits and vegetables. Heading in this morning I passed a score of people who were overweight. Exercise lengthens life. That, Kowalski, is fact. Exercise also sharpens mental acuity.”

      “I’m not disputing the merits of exercise. I just have more important things to worry about. Like if we don’t produce cars around here, those same people won’t even have bread on the table.”

      “Then Flintridge is in a financial bind.”

      “Who told you that?” He catapulted from his chair, smacking both hands flat on the desk.

      Kat shrank back into the oversize chair. “I heard there’s a rumor to that effect floating around Motorhill.”

      “Dammit,” he swore, slamming her folder closed. “Squelch it,” he ordered.

      “Me?” She leaned toward him. “I’ll admit I have family working at Motorhill. But they didn’t start the rumor. And I sure didn’t.”

      He eyed her coldly in what became a fierce glaring match that lasted until his intercom buzzed. Shifting his attention to a console on his desk, Slater flipped a switch. “Yes, Hazel, what is it?”

      “Have you forgotten you were meeting…someone for lunch?”

      He spared a glance at a wafer-thin watch. “Yes. Is she on the phone?”

      The response was affirmative.

      “Extend my apologies and tell her to order our salads. I’ll have a chicken Caesar.” He severed the connection with the confidence of a man assured that whatever he commanded would be done.

      Kat stood. It would be a cold day in hell before she ordered any man a salad via secretarial request. Or if she did, he’d be wearing it when he did manage to show up. “Does this conclude our discussion?” she asked. “Or shall I return after lunch?” She led the way to the door.

      “Let’s