And with that, Joseph Russo threw her a partial lifeline she might be able to use to save his job. “For clarification purposes, does the station have a policy regarding hair color?”

  His response came with a slow contemplative shake of his head. “Not that I’m aware of. But you’d think these are things you wouldn’t have to tell grown adults. They’re not a bunch of clowns and they’re not coming to work at a goddamn circus.”

  Such eloquence. Kennedy bit down on her bottom lip to tamp down a smile. “So that’s a no. Got it.”

  Strike one. The hair-color defense had just taken its first blow, but it was still a viable one. It certainly couldn’t be considered racially discriminatory.

  “All right, then. Is there any way you can prove what you’re saying is true?”

  “What do you mean? That she came to work with the different colors in her hair?”

  “No, that you refused to put her on air because of the color and not her hairstyle.”

  Joseph Russo did nothing to hide his frustration, his mouth twisting. “How am I supposed to prove that? I’m telling you that’s why I sent her home.”

  Kennedy wondered if he understood the deep existential meaning of he said, she said. It appeared she’d have to give him a crash course. “Which I understand, but not everyone is going to take you at your word. Some people will believe you’re using it as an excuse to cover your true motive. You wouldn’t, by any chance, have any other Black female employees with similar hairstyles?” She knew it was a stretch, but she had to try.

  The senior producer threw up his hands in exasperation. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, this whole thing is hogwash. No. Miss Montgomery is the only African American female on-air reporter at the station.”

  And then it happened: a strategically placed strand of hair became dislodged, revealing a patch of bald skin as it dangled in his face.

  Neither of them spoke for several moments. Kennedy refused to breathe, fearing she was one tittering laugh away from losing her shit—and the account. Then he did the only thing he could under the dire circumstances. He swept the errant hair back in place.

  Kennedy finally breathed. Crisis averted.

  “The only one, huh,” she mused aloud, picking up seamlessly where they’d left off. They might want to change that. But that was a conversation for another day and with the executive producers, who were usually in charge of staffing.

  “What about your off-air employees or the office staff?”

  “There’s an admin assistant but her hair is fine,” he muttered, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  “How so?”

  “How so what?” he asked, perplexed.

  “You said her hair was fine. What exactly did you mean by that?”

  Tugging self-consciously on his right earlobe, he shifted in his seat. “The color.”

  “I didn’t ask you about the color. I asked if there were any other Black females with a similar hairstyle as Miss Montgomery and you said the admin assistant’s hair was fine. All I want to know is what you meant by that,” she said patiently. Sometimes, if she gave them enough rope, they somehow managed to bind their hands behind their own backs.

  “Her hair is smooth but sort of wavy.”

  So no braids for the lone female Black admin assistant. Got it. However, she was picking up some definite hair bias. Straightened hair was fine, but braids were not.

  “Have you taken issue with any other employee’s hair color before?” He’d given her something to go on, but it would be an uphill climb if the one and only time he’d ever raised the topic of inappropriate hair color was with Miss Montgomery. But they’d go with the hair-color defense if that was all they had.

  It had nothing to do with hair discrimination—he’s just a crotchety old curmudgeon, Your Honor, sounded about right.

  His brow furrowed in concentration. “Actually, there was this kid about five years ago. He didn’t work at the station long. Young, longish hair, and a couple tattoos on his arms, but, for the most part, he kept them covered. He came to work one day with the bottom part of his hair dyed blue or purple. I can’t really remember which color. I’m pretty sure he was high that day too.”

  Promising. Kennedy picked up a pen and drew her notepad closer. “What did you do?”

  “I told him the tattoos I could deal with but that the weird-color hair had to go.”

  “And what happened?”

  “He quit right then and there and never came back. Said he was bored with the job anyway. Smart-ass.” The latter he muttered under his breath.

  “We’ll need to get in touch with the young man to verify your version of the events.”

  “I’ve got no problem with that. Human Resources can get you the information. The kid couldn’t have worked there more than a few months. I almost forgot about him.”

  That gave Kennedy pause enough to ask, “In general, how often do you think you’ve commented on your employees’ hair color or hairstyles?” Given the circumstances, she would have thought the incident would have been foremost in his mind. It was, after all, the best defense he had that he hadn’t broken New York State hair discrimination law.

  Joseph Russo blinked owlishly. “I—I don’t—I mean, I typically don’t comment on things like that.” After a beat, he added, “I may have complimented someone here and there. New hairstyle, a nice cut, that sort of thing. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

  “Have you ever complimented Miss Montgomery on her hair?”

  “No, I don’t believe so.”

  Oh, he knew. But what was becoming clear to her was that Joseph Russo had a thing with hair. He liked it presented a certain way. Neat and only in colors natural to humans.

  “This may end up being a case where we can prove you didn’t have any discriminatory intent in your objections to Miss Montgomery’s hair, but the takeaway could be that you’re too fixated on how and what your employees do with their hair, depending on what the employees who you’ve complimented have to say, if anything.”

  “What, so it’s now a crime to compliment someone on their hair?”

  Where had they stashed the machine that removed sticks from people’s butts?

  “What I’d suggest you do, once this is over and you have your job back, is keep those thoughts to yourself. You don’t want anyone accusing you of favoritism, and that’s what compliments of any kind tend to lead people to believe.”

  He opened his mouth to speak and then snapped it shut just as quickly, which was probably for the best. The less he said, the better things would eventually work out for him. He seemed to be straining against the restrictions his suspension placed on him, feeling helpless to say and do what he wanted. But that was because he knew that what he wanted to say wasn’t in his best interest. Financially or career-wise.

  “Here’s what we need to do. First, we’ll get in touch with the young man and get a statement from him regarding the circumstances around his departure from the station. And then we need to get a picture of Miss Montgomery’s hair on the day of the incident. Right now, the picture going around social media isn’t one with her hair dyed green and pink, and that’s what’s fueling the anger toward you. Once we have those two things, I’m positive the furor over this will die down and you’ll be able to return to your job with little to no fanfare.”

  The strain of the last week was etched on his face, giving him a tired, beaten look. Or maybe that was the way he always looked. Really, who could tell?

  “And maybe you could talk to her—Alexis,” he said. “I think she’d listen to you and withdraw the complaint if she felt you didn’t think what I said had anything to do with her race.”

  Reaching out to the plaintiff in situations like this sometimes backfired. Some women felt betrayed and believed she was siding with the enemy. But in the carrot-and-stick approach to diversity, she thought the carrot approach achieved better results. Faster.

  “Right now, you have a lot working for you without me having to speak to Miss Montgomery. But if at any point I deem it necessary, I’ll certainly reach out to her.”

  Mr. Russo nodded. “Thank you. I know you mean well, and I appreciate what you’re doing for me. I sincerely do.”

  Kennedy could tell the words hadn’t come easy but that he meant it. “It’s all in a day’s work,” she said lightly.

  14

  Later that week, Kennedy informed Nate that they’d be spending their second official date with one hundred and fifty other people. Left up to him, he’d have opted for something more low-key, like a dinner, a play...and a late dessert, preferably at his place. The pair of messages he’d received dashed his hopes for an intimate party of two.

  Kennedy: Ur in 4 a treat. On Sat we’re going to a launch party for Sahara’s new clothing line. And you won’t need a car, Sahara is sending a limo! See you in front of your building at 8 sharp.

  Kennedy: Oh, and in case it’s not obvious, jacket & tie are NOT optional.

  Still, he’d taken solace in the fact they’d have some alone time during the ride. So, imagine his surprise when he’d climbed into the back of the limo to discover she already had company.

  What his beautiful date had neglected to mention in her messages was that they’d be sharing a ride with her office manager, Jonathan, and his husband. Isn’t it great that Jonathan and Darrell are on the way? Now we can all arrive together, she’d said brightly while sandwiched between the two men. In turn, he’d plastered a smile on his face and warmly greeted the couple as he watched his only chance to have her to himself for the evening go up in smoke.

  The event was being held at a ballroom in the Ritz-Carlton near Central Park, and thankfully, the men excused themselves as soon as they’d all checked in at the door, announcing they were off to mingle with the stars. Guests at the event included several well-known actors, a few executives from the clothing manufacturer, and a sizable cohort from the music industry.

  For the occasion, Nate had hauled out his navy blue Armani suit that had last seen action at the party he and his siblings had thrown to celebrate their parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Beside him stood Kennedy in a dark gold dress that exposed almost every inch of her slim, flawless back, the hem falling several tantalizing inches above her knees. Tonight her eyes appeared more gray than blue, and an abundance of dark hair spilled over her shoulders and down her back in shiny corkscrew curls. She was nothing short of stunning, as evidenced by the eyes that tracked their entrance.

  “Now we just have to find the belle of the ball,” Kennedy said, her gaze scouring the room for Sahara. “And watch out for Aurora. She should be here soon.”

  Nate closed his eyes as he prayed for strength. Wonderful. Although, he had suspected Aurora couldn’t be far behind when he’d gotten into the limo and realized his date had been crashed, his place at Kennedy’s side usurped—at least for the duration of the ride. Come to think of it, he was surprised they hadn’t stopped by Aurora’s brownstone to pick her up too in the evening’s the more the merrier theme.

  His irritation must have been plain as day on his face because Kennedy shot him a quelling look. “Don’t look at me like that. She’s Sahara’s friend too. Did you honestly think she wouldn’t be invited? Now, try not to be such a stick-in-the-mud. We’re here to have a good time.”

  Clearly, they didn’t share the same definition of a good time. After not having seen her all week, having her all to himself tonight was what he considered a good time. Short of that, this would have to do, because he was at the take what he could get stage of their arrangement. “It would have been nice if you’d mentioned this in your text.” He couldn’t keep the slight edge from seeping into his voice.

  “There are over one hundred and fifty people here. What difference does it make if one of them happens to be your darling baby sister?” She huffed. “You’re acting as if the two of you aren’t close. You guys hang out more than any brother and sister I know.”

  “Yes, I love my sister and we get along great, but that doesn’t mean I want her on my dates,” he muttered.

  In the midst of avidly perusing the room, Kennedy went motionless. Then she very slowly angled her head until her gaze met his, something almost questioning in her eyes. “Only this isn’t a real date,” she reminded him, unnecessarily.

  Nate didn’t say anything, simply returned her stare, one eyebrow raised.

  Are you sure about that?

  A hum of electricity vibrated in the air, and despite the din of a party in full swing, an intimate bubble of silence formed around them.

  A moment later, a male voice behind them pierced that bubble with a warm and congenial, “Kennedy.”

  The pair turned in unison toward the intrusive presence. They’d been having a moment. Nate could already see their future dating life, a series of events in which men he didn’t know were constantly calling out Kennedy’s name, demanding her attention.

  * * *

  “Phil, it’s so good to see you,” Kennedy said, an affectionate smile wreathing her face. “Is Brenda with you?” she asked, taking a quick look around for his better half, as he lovingly referred to his wife.

  Returning her smile, he replied, “Not tonight, but she asked me to send you her best and hopes to have you over for dinner again soon.”

  “That would be lovely. I’ll be sure to give her a call,” Kennedy said, and then turned to her date to perform the introductions. “Phil, this is Nate Vaughn, Aurora’s brother. Nate, this is Phil Draper, a former client. He’s the VP of Marketing at ECO Apparel, the company that manufactures and distributes Sahara’s clothing line.”

  “Of course, Kurt Vaughn’s boy. Wonderful to meet you,” Phil enthused as the men shook hands. “As I’ve told your sister, I can’t get enough of your father’s work. I’ve seen every movie he’s ever made. They don’t make movies like they used to.”

  “I’ll be sure to let him know he has a fan in you,” Nate replied, smiling.

  Phil turned and regarded her fondly. “Kennedy worked with us for six months and the place hasn’t been the same since she left. We’d love to have her back. Maybe you can convince her.”

  Kennedy could feel herself blushing as warmth climbed from her chest to her face. “Oh, don’t listen to Phil. I was the lucky one. ECO Apparel was our first client, and almost single-handedly helped launch the agency. And no one has sent more referrals our way than Phil himself. I owe him a lot.” No one at ECO had been better to her than Phil, and she was proud to call him her friend.

  “Always happy to help in whatever way I can,” Phil said magnanimously.

  He thought a lot of himself. She knew that. But he expressed it in a way she didn’t find off-putting. The man had a heart of gold. Without his support, it would have taken twice as long or longer to begin to diversify ECO’s workforce. The last time she’d stopped by the offices—six months ago—new and diverse faces were everywhere she looked. And it never got old, the satisfaction of knowing that Token had had a lot to do with the changes.

  “I don’t blame you for wanting her to come back,” Nate said, his gaze drifting over her like a soft caress, intimate and warm. “Kennedy leaves an indelible mark wherever she goes.”

  Her heart practically skipped a beat as she swallowed hard and tore her gaze from Nate’s. She needed a tamper-proof force field to resist his brand of magnetism, and the only thing she had was a little clutch purse.

  “Well, it was lovely seeing you again, Kennedy. Make sure you give Brenda a call. We’d love to have you for dinner again, and you’re more than welcome to bring a date.” In the next breath, Phil shifted his attention to Nate and said, “Hope to see you again.”

  Kennedy bit back a smile. Phil couldn’t have made his meaning more obvious if he’d come right out and asked Nate to join them for dinner.

  “A man can only hope,” Nate answered lightly, shooting her a look that made her acutely aware of the power of one of his barely there smiles and what it did to her insides.

  Kennedy instinctively placed her palm on her lower stomach and then dropped it to her side when she realized what she was doing. With his return, it seemed the whole belly-whooshing thing was back for good. Let the roller-coaster rides begin again.

  After Phil left them to mingle, Kennedy looked up at Nate and smiled. “That was nice. Isn’t Phil great?” It was a rhetorical question, not one she’d expected to be met with silence.

  Placing his hand on the small of her back, Nate silently guided her deeper into the room. He paused to snag two glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing bow tie–clad server.

  Kennedy gracefully accepted the champagne flute from him and watched as he downed almost the entire contents of his. “What?” she pushed. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like Phil.”

  Nate made a meh face.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  His brow arched in response. You wanna bet?

  “But you were so...” She struggled to find the right word. “Friendly,” she concluded lamely.

  “Come on, Kennedy. I wasn’t raised in a barn. And it was only last week you gave me shit for not being nice enough to what’s-his-name.”

  “Sam,” she supplied.

  “Yeah, what’s-his-name.”

  Kennedy glared at him. “Very funny.”

  “I’m damned when I don’t and then rebuked when I do.” He shook his head and lamented on a heavy sigh, “Kennedy Mitchell, you are one hard woman to please.”

  “Enough with the jokes. I want to know why you don’t like him. He couldn’t have been nicer to you. He even waxed poetic about your dad’s movies.” Kennedy took a sip of her champagne. Phil was a sweetheart.