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Hadley sighed. “Yes, girl. But at least Savion is on vacation this week, so I only have to deal with Campbell. Working with family ain’t easy.”
“Let me get off the phone. I’ve got an interview and you’ve got to go do your brother’s bidding. I’ll talk to you later.”
“’Bye, girl.” Hadley disconnected the call.
As the phone returned to the home screen, Nona glanced at the time in the upper right corner. Nine twenty? Where is this guy? She hoped he had a damn good excuse for being late, because she considered punctuality very important. She placed the phone on the tabletop and let her gaze move to the doorway.
Just as she looked toward the door, it swung open, and in walked a dark-haired man she assumed to be Ken Yamada. He wore dark sunglasses, a button-down shirt in a soft shade of blue and navy blue slacks. A belt with a gold buckle depicting two crossed swords encircled his trim waist. He was taller than she’d expected, and his upper body was muscled but not beefy. He moved with a sure stride, his entire manner radiating a confidence that bordered on arrogance.
She stood at the table and called out to him at just above normal volume. “Mr. Yamada?”
His head swiveled her way. “That’s me.” And he turned, began moving in her direction.
She watched his approach, wondering when he would take off his sunglasses. She knew she could get a much better read on him if she could see his eyes.
When he entered her space, he stopped. Lifting his hand, he removed his sunglasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket, looking down as he did so.
“I’m Nona Gregory with the Charlotte Observer.” She stuck out her hand.
When he looked back up at her, with his eyes in full view, Nona’s heart skipped a beat. Damn. He had the most beautiful, expressive brown eyes she’d ever seen. They were rich and dark, only a shade lighter than the jet black of his hair. A few moments passed with her staring into his eyes, silent and entranced.
The corners of his mouth lifted in a slight smile as he gave her hand a brief shake, then released it. “It’s nice to meet you. Are we going to sit?”
His words reached her ears, working their way to her brain for processing.
Snapping out of her trance, she gestured him toward his seat. “Yes. Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Yamada, although I wish you’d been on time.”
The smile faded as quickly as it appeared. “I’m sorry, Headmistress. Are you going to give me detention?”
She cocked a brow. Apparently, the architect was no pushover. “I’ll let it slide this time, since it’s your first infraction.” She gestured to the table. “Shall we sit, or do you care to grab a coffee?”
“I’ll get a drink first, if you don’t mind.” His tone was dry, and his expression told her that he had fully intended to get his drink, whether she minded or not.
“Go ahead.” She sat back down and watched him walk away. As he stood at the counter ordering a beverage, she watched his every move. His steps were somewhat stiff now, a contrast to the way he’d moved when he’d walked in. His body language had changed as well. His shoulders were squared, hands clenched at his side. He looked more ready for a fistfight than an interview.
Then and there, Nona knew she would have her work cut out. He was guarded, and she was going to have to come up with some way to get him to reveal himself to her.
And she’d have to do it while trying to ignore how hot he was and how gorgeous his eyes were.
This wouldn’t be an easy interview. But she’d never been one to back down from a challenge.
* * *
While he waited for his dark roast, Ken purposefully kept his eyes on the barista dispensing it. He didn’t want to look back at Nona, because he sensed her watching him. She’d been assessing him from the moment he walked in. While he understood her scrutiny was likely rooted in journalistic curiosity, he still didn’t like it. He was a private man, always had been. The last thing he needed was someone to stare him down in some vain attempt to discover his deepest personal secrets.
He shot a sidelong glance in her direction, making sure not to turn his head as he did. He could see her in the periphery of his field of vision. She was gorgeous, and he’d noticed that as soon as he’d seen her. She was tall, probably close to his height. Her skin was the color of rich earth, and her hair was dark brown with a few streaks of bronze. She wore a sleeveless white blouse and a pair of yellow slacks that hugged her hips before flaring into wide-leg pants.
The moment he’d seen her sitting at the table, her back as stiff as a board, with about seven pens lined up in front of her, he’d pegged her as uptight. When she’d shaken his hand, she’d only confirmed his suspicions. He decided to entertain himself throughout this initial meeting with her. She probably wouldn’t like it, but that wasn’t any of his concern.
After he sweetened the mug of steaming coffee to his liking, he rejoined her at the table. She was scrolling through something on her phone, but she immediately set it aside when he took his seat.
“Since we’re getting a late start, I’d like to begin right away.” She set her phone on the table and took care positioning it.
He leaned against the hard wooden backrest of his chair, his coffee in hand. As he tried to get comfortable, he realized the stiffness of the chair mimicked that of his interviewer. How can a woman this beautiful be so uptight? “Okay. Where do we begin?”
Her hazel eyes locked on him, she said, “First of all, I need to let you know that I’m recording our interview with an app on my smartphone. I find it helps me with my article if I revisit the recordings later during my writing process.”
“I understand.” He drank from his ceramic mug, letting the rich warmth of the coffee wash down his throat.
“Good. Then let’s begin with the basics. Who is Ken Yamada?”
He snorted. The sound came out before he could stop it.
Her brow hitched, lips thinning as her expression went sour. “Is there something amusing about my question, Mr. Yamada?”
“Call me Ken, please. No need to be so formal.”
“Fine. What’s so funny, Ken?” She watched him, her brow furrowed as if she were honestly confused by his amusement.
“It’s a little cliché, don’t you think? I mean, you’re opening our interview with some existential query?” He took another drink of coffee.
She rolled her eyes, then took a breath. Her professional demeanor returned to replace the coolness that had been rolling off her only seconds before. “Ken, I’m sure you already know this, but the contract you just won from the city is unprecedented in terms of scope and money.”
He set his mug down, rubbed his hands together. “Yes, that’s true.” But what she didn’t know was how long and hard he’d worked to win the contract. I deserve that contract. Hell, I earned it.
“I’m not trying to psychoanalyze you, Ken. I know the people of Charlotte are curious about the phenom behind the Grand Pearl project, and I simply want to give them the most complete, accurate portrait of you that I can.”
He sensed the truth in her words right away. It was obvious that Nona was a consummate journalist, determined to deliver her very best work to her readers. He supposed he could respect that, since as an artist, he wanted the same thing for every one of his projects. “I get it.”
“I’m glad you understand. Now, what can you tell me about your early days? Tell me about your upbringing. Did you always know you wanted to be an architect?”
He bristled at the mention of his upbringing. “I don’t really want to talk about my childhood.”
“Is there any particular reason?”
He sensed her probing. “Yes. It isn’t relevant. I didn’t decide to pursue architecture until my second year in college.”
She pursed her lips. “Okay. Let me ask you this. Are you any relation to Hiro Yamada, who was formerly Mecklenburg County commissioner?”
A slow nod was the only answer he gave.
She watched him closely. “I’m going to guess you don’t want to elaborate on your relationship to Mr. Yamada?”
“No, and as I understood it, he was not the subject of the interview.” He fought down the irritation that usually arose when he felt someone getting too close. He didn’t mind answering her questions—as long as she stuck to the topic at hand.
“Maybe we’ll revisit that at another time, then.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “No, we won’t.”
She took a slow breath, tapped the tips of her French-manicured nails on the table. “You know, we aren’t making much progress with this, Ken.”
“Are you suggesting that’s my fault?”
“You don’t seem willing to share much about your life. In order to really nail this article, I have to get to know you on a deeper level.”
He leaned forward in his chair, holding eye contact with her. “Look, I’ll answer any questions you have that pertain to my work. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? About the Grand Pearl project and how I operate my business?”
She held his gaze, letting him know she wasn’t intimidated. “Yes, that is the basis of the article. But there has to be information about who you are as a person, because that informs your art.”
He could feel his jaw tighten. “I’m not interested in rehashing my entire past for the entertainment of the faceless populace.”
This time she dropped her gaze and sighed. “Fine. But I’m telling you, the piece will read as shallow and empty if you insist on leaving out your past.”
He shrugged. “I can’t say I care. I already locked down the project, and I’m not trying to win a popularity contest.”
She looked at him quizzically, blinked a few times, as if she didn’t believe what she’d just heard him say. “That was a very arrogant statement.”
“You say arrogant. I say confident.”
She picked up her phone and began swiping the screen. “I’m going to stop recording now. We obviously aren’t going to get anywhere today.”
“We could have, if you had adjusted your line of questioning.”
Irritation flashed in her eyes. “I don’t tell you how to design a building, so don’t tell me how to go about my writing process.”
He drained the rest of his coffee, watching her as she gathered her things.
“Congratulations. You just guaranteed that the interview process is going to take longer.” She tucked her phone into her purse and stood from her seat.
“I’ll wait to hear from you, then.”
Standing next to the table, with a frown marring her beautiful face, she asked, “Will you actually answer my questions the next time? I don’t like having my time wasted.”
“Neither do I. So yes, I will.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she turned and walked away.
As he watched her retreat, Ken smiled to himself. Even in the throes of annoyance, Nona was still beautiful and sexy as hell. He knew she probably thought he was an arrogant jerk, but in reality, he was just protecting his past. In order to keep the people he loved safe, he didn’t have any other choice.
Watching her hips sway as she strode out of the coffee shop brightened his smile.
He couldn’t wait to see what their next encounter would bring.
Chapter 3
Stifling a yawn, Nona dragged herself into the kitchen for a cup of tea. It was early enough that she’d beat the sun out of bed, and mornings like this, she seriously wondered why she’d pursued journalism.
She fiddled around in the dark for a few moments before locating the switch. Her bleary eyes protested as the room flooded with bright light. Padding to the cabinet, she took down her mug and went to get her tea bags.
On cue, Sheba trotted into the kitchen. The two-year-old black lab immediately came to where Nona stood and nuzzled her bare calf with her cool, wet nose.
As always, Sheba’s presence brought a smile to Nona’s face. “Good morning, girl.” Leaving her tea supplies on the counter, she squatted down to give her sweet pup a few snuggles. Back on her feet, she washed her hands and started the teakettle. Then she fixed Sheba bowls of fresh kibble and water before grabbing her own breakfast ingredients from the white French-door refrigerator.
Twenty minutes later, she sat at the small table by her kitchen window. With her hot tea, a banana and an egg and cheese on an English muffin, she watched the sun rise. Sheba, having finished her kibble, lay quietly at Nona’s feet beneath the table.
As she sipped from her mug, she thought back on the previous day’s disastrous interview with Ken Yamada. She could clearly recall her feelings the moment she’d first seen him: a mixture of irritation and attraction. She hadn’t been pleased with his tardiness, but she’d definitely been pleased with his looks. He was handsome in a way that couldn’t be ignored. He was well dressed, confident and had a killer smile. Not to mention he had a head full of raven-black hair and dark, mesmerizing eyes. She could easily have stared at him all day and never gotten tired of the view.
Ken was unlike any other man she’d ever encountered, and that had turned out to be both good and bad. While she loved the way he looked and the subtle yet undeniable masculinity he exuded, she couldn’t figure out why he’d been so reluctant to share his past with her. The man was about as secretive as a government spy. She’d gone there hoping to learn something about who he was as a person, but he’d given her nothing. She’d never had an interview subject shut down on her that way.
What Ken didn’t know was that his insistence on being evasive only fueled her curiosity. Their encounter had made her more determined than ever to find out what made him tick. It also made her think he had something to hide, something he didn’t want the public to know. Who or what was he protecting? Before their association ended, Nona was determined to discover the answers.
Finishing up her breakfast, Nona straightened up and went to get dressed. She was grateful that she didn’t have to be in to the newspaper office until ten today. She’d still gotten up at her usual time because she planned to consult the internet to do a bit of digging. She wanted to see what she could find out about Ken’s life before she took Sheba out for a morning run.
Once she’d dressed in her running shorts, tank and sneakers, she eased onto her couch with her laptop. Sheba took up residence on the empty cushion next to her with her furry face pressed against Nona’s thigh.
Opening a browser window, Nona performed a basic search on Ken. That search pulled up very little, but the top two results were somewhat helpful. One was an inactive profile from one of those classmate connection websites, which listed Ken as a graduate of Independence High School. The other was an article on running in Charlotte from a fitness magazine. There was a photo of Ken along with a quote about how much he enjoyed running at Freedom Park. Nona made a mental note of those tidbits as well as the name and email of the writer of the article. Obviously that person had had some success with interviewing Ken and had even managed to get a photo out of him.
In a separate window, she shot off a quick email to the writer, hoping to garner some tips on how to get Ken to open up. The running article was fairly recent, having been published in the past six months. That gave her hope that the writer would remember her interactions with Ken and be able to offer some insight. At this point, Nona would take whatever help she could get.
Next she performed a search of Ken’s name in conjunction with Hiro Yamada. The way Ken had bristled at the mention of Hiro’s name let her know there was definitely a close association between them. Hiro had served as county commissioner during the late ’70s and early ’80s, so she checked the image search results to see what the former official had looked like during his tenure. When she placed the image of Hiro in the ’70s next to the photo of Ken from the fitness magazine, the resemblance immediately became apparent. Nona smiled.
I’d bet my press pass that Hiro and Ken are father and son. There wasn’t any other logical conclusion. Ken was basically the identical twin of a young Hiro. That would also explain why Ken had become so agitated when she brought up Hiro’s name. Ken had been particularly unwilling to talk about his upbringing. What better way to get to the root of someone’s childhood experiences than to bring up their parent?
Going a bit deeper into the image results, she came across a family portrait. It had been taken for the Observer as part of a profile on Hiro during the time he occupied the commissioner’s seat. It showed a young Hiro with his arms around a demurely dressed young woman, who in turn cradled a baby.
The caption read: Commissioner Yamada with his wife and son. Nona knew the baby was probably Ken. But while her dash through the internet had revealed a few things to her, it also left her with so many more questions. Why had Ken tried to hide the fact that Hiro was his father? And why had he been so reluctant to talk about his childhood? The family photo seemed to show two loving parents doting over their precious infant. But she’d been around long enough to know that looks could be deceiving.
Sheba began whimpering from her spot on the couch, a telltale sign of the pup’s restlessness. She nudged Nona’s thigh, further communicating her need to go outside.
“All right. Let’s go run, girl.” She shut down the computer, slid it into a blue laptop sleeve and set it on the coffee table. Grabbing the leash, her house keys and her phone, she tucked them into the fanny pack she wore when she ran.
Just as she started to zip the pack, her phone buzzed. Checking it, she saw that the writer from the fitness magazine had replied to her message. Thankful that the reporter had gotten back to her so quickly, she clicked the leash buckle to Sheba’s collar, then opened the email.
Good morning.
Just saw your message. Yes, I remember Mr. Yamada. He’s a hard nut to crack. The best way to get him to talk is to run with him. That’s what I had to do. It seems to relax him and gets him to open up. You mentioned he’s very evasive, and he was initially the same way with me. Even if you’re not a runner, if you don’t get out on the trail with him, expect more of the same.
Best of luck,
M. Hargrove
Smiling, Nona tucked the phone away. Now she had what she needed to get Ken to tell his story. Luckily, she happened to be a frequent runner and was in very good shape. Since she and Ken were close in height, she was sure she could keep up with him on the trail.
As she headed out the door with Sheba, she started planning how to make this run with Ken happen.
* * *
The interior of the kendo room at Satori Martial Arts was filled with the sounds of shouting, feet stamping and wood striking wood. The noises echoed in Ken’s ears, partly because he was making some of them as he and Marco moved around the wooden floor, sparring. Their bare feet made a shushing sound as they slid over the floor’s surface, then a boom as they stomped in time with the thrusts of their bamboo swords.
Their bodies were encased in traditional practice clothes. The outfit worn frequently by students and those who sparred casually consisted of loose-fitting white jackets and trousers. Because they were friends and didn’t spar for competition, they generally didn’t wear the full kendo armor.
When the match ended, and both men bowed to each other, Marco groaned. “You know, I’m tired of coming here to spar with you and getting beat every time.”
Ken shrugged as the two of them left the sparring floor. “I told you to practice more often. How do you expect to improve without practice?”
They entered the locker room, where Marco shrugged out of his sweaty shirt. “I don’t have time. And now that I’m married, I have even less time.”
With a shake of his head, Ken stuffed his own damp clothes into his gym bag. “It’s about commitment. You’re not committed.”
“You should be committed. My loyalty is to Joi.” Marco pulled a towel and his shower caddy from his locker and started moving toward the showers. “It’s strange that everything that excites you involves wooden sticks. You work with a pencil, play drums for the band and then come here and swing a bamboo sword for kicks.”
“What can I say? I’m a steady guy.” Ken chuckled and punched Marco in the shoulder as he walked by.
After the men had showered and changed, they moved to the snack bar. Seated at a small table with two protein shakes, they continued their conversation.
“Are you ever going to get serious about kendo?”
“No.” Marco didn’t hesitate with his answer. “To be honest, I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming here in the first place. We both know I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
Ken laughed. “Based on how much you suck at this, I’d have to agree.”
Taking a drink of his shake, Marco frowned. “You know what? I’m not coming back here. When I was single and had free time to kill, that was one thing. But now that I’m married, I see no reason to leave my beautiful wife just to come here and be insulted by the likes of you.”
Ken shook his head. “Do you even know what kendo means? What it’s all about?”
“I don’t, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”
“Yeah, I will. Kendo means ‘the way of the sword.’ It has its basis in the time-honored tradition of Japanese swordsmanship. It builds character, increases physical strength and...”
“Blah, blah, blah.” Marco rolled his eyes. “You know what else builds my character and increases my physical strength? Being home with my wife.”
Ken could see he was losing this battle. “I get it, Marco. I won’t be upset if you decide not to come back to the dojo.”
“Good, because I’m not,” he said as he finished up his smoothie. “What’s going on with you and the newspaper reporter, by the way? Told her your life story yet?”
“Actually I haven’t told her much of anything.” He leaned back in his chair, remembering how irritated Nona had looked when she’d left the coffee shop that day. “Trust me, it wasn’t due to lack of effort on her part.”
“What do you mean?”
“I understand that she’s trying to collect information and that it’s part of her job. But she comes across as a little...pushy.”
Marco shrugged. “What did you expect? Like you said, she has a job to do. Why do you insist on making it hard for her?”
Ken looked past Marco, through the window. Outside, the sun was setting, and the city lights that illuminated the streets of the Queen City by night were starting to appear. He thought of his past and his present. Even though he considered Marco his closest friend, there were many things about Ken’s life that Marco didn’t know. “I have my reasons.”
Groaning, Marco got up from his seat. “If you say so. At any rate, she seems like the type who isn’t going to give up. If you want to get her out of your hair, you’re going to have to answer some questions.”
As vexing as it was, Ken knew Marco was right. Nona Gregory did not strike him as a woman who’d be content with failure. She didn’t even seem like the type who’d be satisfied with knowing him on the surface level, either. No, she was going to keep digging and digging until she hit pay dirt.
That dogged determination to know everything about him was what worried him the most.
“Listen. I need to get home to Joi. She’s making my favorite dessert tonight.”
“What’s that?”
“Whipped cream.”
“What?” He couldn’t make any sense of his friend’s answer.
Marco winked. “Strategically placed whipped cream. Get yourself a good woman and you too can enjoy this decadent treat.”
Shaking his head, Ken grabbed their empty cups. “Get out of here, Marco.”
“With pleasure.”
Ken tossed the cups in the trash as Marco made his way out the door.
Chapter 4
As dawn painted the sky on Thursday morning, Nona stood by a bench in Freedom Park. Dressed in her close-fitting running pants and a black tee, she stretched by lifting first one ankle, then the other, behind her bottom. Sheba sat dutifully at Nona’s feet with her leash looped around the bench armrest. The dog’s steady breathing was the only sound that competed with the chirping of birds and the soft morning breeze rustling the grass and trees.