Tears? Kennedy tentatively touched her face, and only then did she realize her cheek was wet, proving that guilt and sorrow were a potent mix of emotions. Her hand trembled as she placed the untouched glass of champagne back on the table. “Marriage is such a huge step, and we’re just getting the agency off the ground, and—”

  “We don’t have to get married right away.”

  Ugh. She should have kept her big mouth shut instead of trying to justify what they both knew was a refusal. Instead, she’d opened the door just enough to give him room to try to slip through.

  “Aid, I’m not ready. I’m not ready for any of it,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. Abject misery. More tears fell, slow and relentless.

  For what seemed like forever, but in reality was probably only seconds, he stared at her, his expression retreating behind a mask of inscrutability. Suddenly, his hand shot out, snapped the jewelry box closed, and returned it to his pocket.

  Kennedy blinked at the suddenness of the action. As if he wanted to take it back. The proposal. The ring. Everything.

  A crash of thunder quickly followed a flash of lightning, briefly lighting up the Manhattan skyline. Because of course, thunder and lightning were the appropriate end to the evening.

  “I’m sorry.” She could apologize until the cows came home, but she knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Aidan would never be able to forgive her. His pride wouldn’t allow it. For all intents and purposes, he was a catch. He was a good-looking, highly educated Black man making it in corporate America. He wasn’t going places—he had arrived.

  Kennedy started when pelting rain began to splatter the windows a foot from them. Meanwhile, Aidan continued to study her.

  “Can I ask you a question?” The bass in his voice was more pronounced than usual.

  No, this whole thing is hard enough. No more. “Of course.”

  “Are you saying you’d have said yes if not for your agency?”

  How did she answer that? “It’s not you, Aidan. I don’t want to marry anyone right now.” She’d get married when the time was right for her and not a minute before.

  “Is there someone else?”

  Kennedy’s eyes went wide. “No. Of course not. No.” She gave her head an emphatic shake. Why was it so hard for some men to accept that refusing a proposal of marriage didn’t necessarily mean there was someone else? Unless this was just Aidan covering all the bases. She hoped it was the latter.

  “I’m not sure where we go from here,” he finally said.

  She didn’t either because she didn’t want to break up with him. But while she was happy with their current relationship, clearly he was not.

  “It would probably be a good idea if we took a break,” he said when she failed to offer up a solution of her own.

  Kennedy swallowed hard. “If that’s what you want.”

  “It’s not what I want, Ken, but then, it seems I’m not going to get what I want, am I?” The slight bite in his tone conveyed a great deal more than his words.

  At that point it became untenable to hold his gaze. She discreetly directed hers over his right shoulder and replied softly, “You’re right. Sometimes we can’t get what we want. It happens to all of us.”

  5

  Three weeks later

  “We got another one,” Jonathan Hanson, Token’s office manager of two years, called out as Kennedy passed his office on the way to hers.

  “Another what?” she asked absently, her mind preoccupied with the conversation she’d had with Aidan last night when she’d ended things once and for all. After too many sleepless, guilt-filled nights, she’d known the only way forward was a clean break. Yesterday, she’d made it official, and for all its brevity, it had been every bit as excruciating as she’d dreaded.

  Aidan had tried to convince her to give things more time, but she knew she’d only be delaying the inevitable. In his heart of hearts, he knew it too. They were done. Both free to go on with their lives the way the relationship gods intended. Very much apart.

  And the two women closest to her agreed she’d done the right thing. Marriage isn’t something you enter into lightly, her happily married sister, Cheryl, had wisely advised, and Aurora agreed that she needed to be all in or not at all before even committing to taking the plunge.

  When there wasn’t so much as a pause in her stride, Jonathan sprang from his desk and followed her into her office, which was sparse in its decor with its pale gray walls and economical furniture.

  “Another request for a Brit. Ideally biracial or Black.” He shook his head, tsking. “They’ve got Regé on the brain.”

  Kennedy sat down at her desk, booted up her computer, and took her time putting away her handbag. “Too bad Trevor doesn’t have a twin,” she stated dryly.

  “And was British,” Jonathan added. “Or could at least fake the accent.”

  Last year, Token had worked with Goldberg & Johnson, a law firm with a history of defending large corporations against gender-and race-based discrimination class-action lawsuits. They’d racked up some pretty impressive wins, like the one defending the largest retailer in the country. But with the shifting tides of public opinion, they’d wanted to expand their specialization and for the makeup of their legal teams to be more representative of the country at large. With the legal profession being one of the least diverse in the country, that was no small feat.

  Trevor Markham, a reputable young Black civil rights attorney, whom she’d briefly dated, had more than fit the bill. He’d been perfect. That he was also way too easy on the eyes was providence if one believed looks mattered to the public at large. It shouldn’t but it did. Too bad there’d been no chemistry between them. She genuinely liked him.

  Kennedy clicked the mouse to open the calendar app on her desktop. “Did you tell them we’re not central casting and this is the United States?” In no way, shape, or form could posh British accents or good looks be considered necessary components for diversity or inclusivity.

  “She said it wasn’t mandatory, just nice to have.”

  Kennedy rolled her eyes. “Of course, it was a she, and she probably just binge-watched Bridgerton.”

  It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it was amazing how specific a company’s requests could get.

  Kennedy stared at her schedule and sighed. Three conference calls in the morning and one meeting downtown. She grew exhausted just looking at it. Next, she pulled up her email and was overcome with the sheer number that remained unread. Honestly, she needed to talk to Keith, their IT guy, about employing a better spam filter.

  Jonathan cleared his throat, jerking her attention up to where he stood, legs spread and arms crossed over his chest, leveling her with a knowing stare. “Okay, what happened?”

  Damn. He must have been a psychic or mind reader in his former life.

  “Don’t give me that look,” he lightly scolded. “It’s obvious something’s wrong. You look like you’re in mourning. And since when did you start wearing burgundy and hunter green in the middle of the summer?”

  At his candid critique, Kennedy’s gaze immediately dropped to her houndstooth sheath dress. “But it’s sleeveless and rayon.”

  “You know you’re strictly pastels in the summer.”

  “I wear black sometimes,” she protested.

  “Pants, and only when it’s that time of the month.” It was criminal how much he knew about her.

  “TMI, Jonathan. TMI.”

  He smirked. “Then you should never have told me.” After a moment of silence, his expression sobered. “I repeat, what is wrong?”

  Kennedy released a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. “Aidan and I broke up last night.”

  His hands dropped abruptly to his sides. “No!” It was a forceful denial filled with rightful indignation.

  “It’s true.”

  Jonathan’s mouth opened and closed several times before sound finally emerged in the form of a question. “Are you telling me Aidan is single?”

  A spontaneous burst of laughter sputtered from her lips as she picked up the stress ball she kept on her desk and threw it at his head.

  He let out a feigned grunt of injury when it glanced his left temple and landed harmlessly on the carpeted floor behind him. “Ouch, that hurt.”

  Lips pressed together, she fought back a smile. “For the last time, Aidan isn’t gay.”

  Jonathan appeared to consider her assertion before asking facetiously, “But are you sure he isn’t bi? Leave me with some hope.”

  Married to his husband for five years, Jonathan staunchly abided by the look but don’t touch philosophy. He would never be unfaithful to Darrell but deemed discreetly ogling her boyfriend totally permissible.

  Kennedy shook her head, chuckling helplessly. “You are incorrigible.”

  He grinned, flashing his gorgeous smile. “Yet every day you curse the gods that you’ll never be able to have me. Why might that be?” he inquired, eyebrow raised and tongue planted firmly in cheek.

  “You also have an ego the size of Texas,” she said with a snort.

  No ands or buts, her office manager received his fair share of attention—mostly female, he claimed, because he wasn’t easy to pick up on people’s gaydar. Seriously, he said it as if gaydar was an actual thing.

  Personally, he reminded her of a clean-shaven Odell Beckham Jr. without the two-toned hair. And while she wouldn’t say he was a slave to fashion, the man did know how to dress. Business attire, like today, was pressed trousers uncompromisingly creased, a collared light-colored shirt, and a blazer in a coordinating color.

  “Still didn’t answer my question,” he teased. A moment later, he pushed the guest chair closer to her desk and sat. “Okay, all jokes aside, what really happened? The guy is nuts about you. There’s no way he wanted to break up. He sent you a dozen roses a month ago, and those puppies cost a pretty penny.”

  And it hadn’t been her birthday or Valentine’s Day. Aidan had said it was just because she was the best thing that ever happened to him. She should have known something was up then. Should have known that while she’d been content cruising at the speed limit, he’d wanted to press down on the gas.

  Kennedy gave another weighty sigh. “He proposed and—”

  “God Almighty, please don’t tell me you turned him down,” he cut in, his feelings on the matter evident in his tone. He sounded appalled and worried about her ability to reason. Or lack thereof.

  She, in turn, retorted defensively, “I’m not ready to get married.”

  “Have I taught you nothing in the time we’ve known each other? Guys like Aidan Anderson don’t come along every day. Or every week, month, or year. You guys are perfect together. You were the Black super couple I looked up to. Who am I supposed to look up to now?”

  “Why on earth do you need anyone to look up to at all? You and Darrell have a wonderful relationship as it is. And you know how it goes—the minute after you’re put on a pedestal is the minute someone else begins to knock you down, inch by brutal inch.”

  Jonathan tipped his head back and studied her with narrowed eyes. “So cynical for one so young and beautiful.”

  “Try realistic,” she quipped.

  Sadness flickered in his eyes. Or perhaps it was pity—probably a combination of both. “So that’s it, it’s over?”

  She picked up the pen and idly tapped it on the lined notepad. “At first, we were on a break, but—”

  “Breaks never work,” Jonathan interjected.

  “Thank you!” Kennedy exclaimed. “Which is exactly what I told Aidan last night. Once there’s a proposal and no engagement, it’s over. He knew it and I knew it, but I wanted to give him time to get used to the idea.”

  To be fair, he wasn’t the only one. While she might not necessarily want to marry him—at this time in her extremely busy life—she had enjoyed dating him. She stopped fidgeting and put down the pen.

  “Well, you know what they say. You can’t force love,” Jonathan remarked.

  “I thought it was you can’t hurry love, which I believe is a song.”

  “Force, hurry—” Jonathan shrugged “—means the same thing.” After a beat, he continued lightly, “I’m going to have to start calling you Heartbreaker Kennedy. Most people won’t receive two marriage proposals in a lifetime, and you’ve managed it in twenty-nine years, and turned them both down.”

  Heartbreaker. Kennedy winced inwardly. Nate had said something similar the last time she saw him.

  The sound of the agency’s main door opening saved her from a discussion she didn’t want to have right now...or really ever.

  “It’s about time,” Kennedy called out. “I was getting ready to call 9-1-1 for a welfare check.” Aurora was usually in an hour early and it was already half past eight now. The rest of the office staff usually trickled in right before their nine o’clock opening.

  Her greeting was met with silence. Brows furrowed, Jonathan glanced at her before getting up and walking to her office doorway. The smile that blossomed over his face told her they weren’t being robbed.

  “Here to see Aurora?” Jonathan asked as he exited her office, posing his question to the person arriving before opening hours.

  “Is she in?” a male voice responded.

  Kennedy froze. A voice she immediately recognized.

  Before she could fully grasp what was happening, Nathaniel Vaughn stood framed in her doorway, his hair looking like a strong wind gust had gone a few rounds with it and won. A day’s worth of bristle covered his square jaw.

  Unfortunately, tousled-hair, unshaven Nate looked just as good as the perfectly coiffed, clean-shaven one.

  “Nate, you’re here,” she said, staring at him blankly.

  No, he’s on the moon, idiot.

  “I mean, what are you doing here?” The last she’d heard, he was still in France.

  Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside. “Here in your office or back stateside?” he asked casually, closing the door behind him.

  And just like that, her office was reduced to the size of a broom closet.

  “Both.” Aurora always told her when Nate was in town, and she usually invited her to join them for dinner before he flew out. But she hadn’t said a word about him being in town when they’d spoken last night.

  “I took a red-eye in this morning.”

  Kennedy ran her gaze over him again. And it shows. As casual as the dress code was at his company, jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers were discouraged at headquarters. He looked as if he’d slept in his.

  “Don’t mind if I sit,” he murmured and dropped into the chair Jonathan had recently vacated.

  “Why, hello, Nate. Nice to see you too. I assume you’re here to see your sister.”

  He shot a pointed look at her closed office door. “No, I’m here to see you.”

  Kennedy blinked twice at that. “Me? What for?”

  “It’s obvious you haven’t heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “I’m being sued for job discrimination.”

  “You’re being sued? You are?” If he didn’t look so serious, the idea would have been comical. “On the basis of what?”

  “Gender and race,” he replied tersely.

  Kennedy stared at him, agape. “Are you being serious right now?”

  “No, which is why I caught the first flight out of Paris so I could come back here and have company lawyers advise me that twelve of my current and six of my former employees are not suing me—I mean, the company. So yes, Kennedy, I’m dead serious.”

  “Hey, ease up on the snark. You’ll forgive me for being caught off guard when you show up out of nowhere and spring something like that on me. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it.”

  Nate sighed wearily. “Look, I’m sorry. I must get this way when I’m dealing with class-action lawsuits.”

  “I don’t understand. Your company is touted as one of the most diverse tech companies in the country. Last year’s diversity scorecard had it at a solid B+, the best in the industry.” The top three in the country.

  “The lawsuit alleges women and African Americans are being passed over for advancement within the company. Here, read this.” Leaning forward, he tossed over the newspaper clutched in his hand.

  Startled, Kennedy glanced at him warily before smoothing open the curled edges of the paper—she was strictly a digital girl, so it had been a while—and started reading everything highlighted in yellow.

  The invisible glass ceiling is as present as ever in the most diverse tech company in the country.

  ...After digging a little deeper into the numbers, we found that despite Constellation’s boast of a diverse workforce of 19%, once you get into midlevel and upper management, the percentage drops significantly. White males comprise 89% of all upper-management jobs, South Asians 6%, Southeast Asians 3%, women (white) 2%.

  Kennedy’s gaze darted from the article to Nate. “Not one Black person in upper management?” she asked, puzzled. “I thought your CFO was Black.”

  “He was, but Jacob left last year. Took a job in San Francisco, where his wife was doing her medical residency.”

  “He wasn’t the company’s only Black executive, was he? I remember Aurora telling me a Black woman is in charge of Sales.” An MIT grad, if she remembered correctly.

  “Carol left six months before Jacob.”

  “Okay, so the only two Black executives quit within six months of each other? Great timing,” she stated dryly. “Did you know your numbers with Blacks and women were this abysmal?” She gestured at the article.

  Reclined in the chair, Nate groaned low in his throat and rubbed a palm over his face. “No. Yes. I mean, I was aware of the overall numbers, which I thought were pretty damn good.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes numbers don’t always tell the whole story.”