My Man Pendleton(8)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

“Pendleton,” he began, his voice level and smooth, offering no clue as to what he might be thinking, “This is my daughter, Katherine. Call her whatever you want to. In my opinion, the list of possibilities is endless.”

Something strangely melancholy shot through her expression at her father’s words, but she recovered herself admirably. “Can I fix you a drink, Pendleton?” she asked.

“Yes, thank you.” Automatically, he began to request his usual Scotch and water, completely forgetting for a moment who his new employer was. “Sco—uh, Bourbon and water,” he hastily corrected himself when every eye in the room snapped toward him. “Or just… Bourbon straight over ice?”

“Good choice,” Kit said smoothly. “After all, the only hard liquor we keep on hand is Hensley’s. Duh.”

It was then that Pendleton decided he would have to be on his guard around the sole McClellan female. Not just because she was impossible to gauge, but because she didn’t keep Scotch in the house. He didn’t care how well she filled out her little va-va-voom dress. Or that her long, long legs looked even longer thanks to the black silk hugging them. Or that her family had millions and millions and millions of dollars, not to mention a house with a name. They had no Scotch. And a man had to draw the line somewhere.

He watched her graceful movements as she plopped ice cubes into a cut crystal tumbler, then splashed a generous two fingers of Hensley’s over them. When she returned to Pendleton’s side, she was carrying another drink identical to the first, and was still wearing the same expression on her face—one that resembled a cat’s, when it has one paw on a mouse’s tail and the other on a catnip salad.

“So, Pendleton, tell me about yourself,” she said as she handed him his drink.

He shrugged off the request, sipped his drink and tried not to gag. God, he hated Bourbon. “What’s there to tell?”

“You big-wheeling corporate types,” she said with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “Always so unwilling to talk about yourselves. Why is that, I wonder? Is it because you have absolutely no life outside the workplace? And because having to talk about yourself would just make you face the fact once and for all that, gosh, your life is just a big fat zero when it comes to leisurely enjoyment?”

Pendleton pretended to consider the suggestion as he sipped his drink again. He shook his head slowly as he swallowed. “Nah. I’m pretty sure that’s not it.”

She shifted her weight to one foot and eyed him speculatively. “Okay, fine,” she said. “Then let me just give you a little quiz I developed to better understand the people who work for my father.”

“Oh, now wait a minute,” he interjected, feigning concern. “No one told me there was going to be a test. I didn’t have a chance to study.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” she cooed. “I’ll take it easy on you. Only multiple choice and true or false.”

“I don’t know,” he hedged. “I was never very good at pop quizzes. Will there be math?”

“Maybe for extra credit. Question number one,” she, continued before he had a chance to stop her. “I, Pendleton, received my MBA from (A) Harvard, (B) Stanford, or (C)Bob’s School of Big Business.”

He felt a smile threatening, so quickly bit it back as he replied, “A.”

She nodded. “Question number two. I’ve always envisioned myself (A) as the ruthless, sadistic CEO of my own corporation, (B) retiring before I turn forty to sail around the world, or (C) hosting my own daytime talk show so I can meet lots of dysfunctional strippers with big hooters.”

He gave some serious thought to that one, then replied, “D.” She narrowed her eyes. “D?”

“All of the above.”

She considered his response, then evidentlyciddeed to allow him credit. “Okay. Final multiple choice, then we’ll move on to the true or false portion of our exam.”

Pendleton filled his mouth with a generous, fortifying sip of his drink, remembered belatedly that it was Bourbon, and somehow managed not to spit the entire mouthful on his examiner. “Shoot,” he managed after swallowing, the word a bit strangled.

Kit smiled coquettishly, and for the briefest of moments, something inside Pendleton went zing.

“If I could be anywhere in the world right at this moment,” she said, “I’d like to be (A) at home watching Top Chef and hoping it was an episode where Padma Lakshmi licked her fingers at least once, (B) in the eye of a hurricane on a kayak with a broken paddle, or (C) why, right here with you, Miss McClellan—where else would I want to be?”

“Oh, now that’s an easy one,” Pendleton said smoothly. “I wouldn’t think of insulting your intelligence by even bothering to answer that one.”

She tilted her head to the side and eyed him with much interest, but gave no hint as to what she might be thinking. Instead, she straightened again and quickly launched into part two of what he supposed was the KMAT—the Kit McClellan Aptitude Test.

“True or false,” she began. “I only receive the Victoria’s Secret catalog by accident—I have never actually ordered anything from it.”

“True.”

She nodded, though whether or not she believed him, he couldn’t have said.

“True or false,” she went on. “When I’m flipping through my Victoria’s Secret catalog, I always look at the faces of the models, too.”

He started to fudge a bit on that one, then decided, What the hell, and told the truth. “Mmm…false.”

She actually did chuckle at that one. But all she said was, “Final question. True or false. If given a choice between spending an evening with Mahatma Gandhi and Golda Meir, or two Victoria’s Secret models, I would choose the models.”

He didn’t have to think about that one at all. “Absolutely true.”

Kit smiled at him again before turning toward her father, who had moved to the other side of the room, where he appeared to be caught up in a very important conversation with McClellan, Jr. “Hey, Daddy!” she sang out. When her father’s head snapped up at the summons, she called further, “You know, he’s really cute and everything, and he seems to be more intelligent than the last two you got me, but I couldn’t possibly keep him. Thanks, anyway.”

Her father inhaled a deep breath, excused himself from the company of his oldest son, and strode across the room as if nothing in the world was wrong. Then he completely ignored his daughter and said, “Pendleton, would you mind joining me and Holt? We’re discussing the new trade agreement with China.”