The Second Chance Plan (Caught Up In Love: The Swoony New Reboot of the Contemporary Romance Series Book 3)

by Lauren Blakely

  “Totally. I’m definitely finishing my degree. I’m so committed I’m beyond committed.”

  “Second, after you finish your degree and can focus solely on the business, I’ll put another round into My Favorite Mistakes at the same multiple.”

  My heart sang. Everything seemed possible.

  “Great.”

  “Third, when we first met, you mentioned the markets in Paris and all the little trinkets and charms to be had there for a steal. Then my buyers mentioned they preferred your European stylings, and I started thinking . . .”

  21

  Kat

  Present Day

  “Paris, Mom! She wants to send me to Paris. And it’s a requirement.”

  I was on the steps of the museum, my hand cupped over my mouth even though I wasn’t truly trying to keep my voice down. How could I?

  “That is wonderful.”

  “She’s like a fairy godmother. And she’s making me, Mom, making me go to Paris as part of the investment. To find vendors to expand my designs. Can you please just pinch me now because I must be dreaming!”

  A group of school kids chattered noisily as they raced down the sprawling steps to the hot dog carts and pretzel vendors on Fifth Avenue. A guy with a salt-and-pepper flattop gave me a once-over as he passed, and I tensed, thinking of the man I’d seen on the NYU campus who looked unplaceably familiar. I turned and scanned for him again, but he was already pushing through the revolving doors.

  I blew out the breath I’d held. Was I seriously worried about a guy who reminded me of a guy who reminded me of someone else? In a city with the population of New York, that confirmed madness.

  Pushing him out of my mind, I returned my focus to the call. “I’m going to use some of the investment for the trip and to buy the supplies. But if the buyers pick up my designs, then I’ll ramp up the business quickly, and I can help pay off your loan for Mystic Landing with my revenue.”

  “Katerina, I’ve told you to stop worrying about us.”

  “Mom, I want to do this. Just let me help. I mean, I know I don’t have the money yet, but I will soon. And nothing would make me happier than helping you guys.”

  “Pfft. Enough. Tell me more about your trip to Paris. That’s what I really want to hear.”

  I shared more of the details, told her I’d come out to visit before I left, and then said goodbye. I looked around at all the people streaming in and out of the museum, then up at the darkening sky. I shook my head in amazement. I was still giddy and didn’t think I’d come down from this high for a long time, nor did I want to. I wanted to share it with someone else. Someone special.

  Bryan answered on the second ring. “Hey,” he said in a sweet voice he used just for me.

  “I have amazing news. Where are you right now?”

  “Just finished up a meeting on the Upper East Side.”

  “I’m at the Met right now. About to do some work on a new expansion project for My Favorite Mistakes, and I thought perhaps my mentor might want to join me for a few minutes. It’s a business meeting, of course.”

  “I’ll be there in ten.”

  The morning light reflected off Monet’s water lilies. The brushstrokes from the Impressionist master made me think about shapes, colors, and new ways of looking.

  “I’m thinking I should totally add a line of water lily charms to My Favorite Mistakes.”

  Bryan played along as we strolled past paintings. He wore slate-gray pants and a green-and-white checkered shirt with recycled bike chain cuff links. Completing the look was a tie that I longed to unknot. “While you’re at it, why not throw in some haystacks too?” He tipped his head to another Monet. “Your favorite painting, right?”

  My heart stuttered at the realization that he hadn’t forgotten the last time we were here five years ago. From the caramel macchiatos to the Eiffel Tower to haystacks, he’d held on to so many details of me. My heart felt bigger and fuller. “You remember?”

  He shot me a smile, then nodded. “Yes, I remember.”

  I wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss him, but I resisted. “Maybe I should get some of those melty clocks like in a Dalí.”

  “Or how about just a bunch of drip mark charms from a Pollock? Because I would have to think drip marks would qualify as favorite mistakes.”

  We stopped to sit on a blond hardwood bench in the middle of the gallery, keeping necessary space between us. But when he rested a hand on the bench and I did the same, only six inches separated us, or we might have been holding hands.

  I glanced at his fingers and restrained the impulse to lace them through mine. Another reason the Met was beautiful to me just then—I could be tempted, but couldn’t give in to the moment. There were too many people around us—tourists and school kids, couples and families.

  “When do you think you’ll go to Paris?”

  “Two weeks maybe. Claire and I even looked up flights during our chat. If I go over Veteran’s Day weekend, I won’t have to miss too many classes.”

  He lowered his voice but looked straight ahead. “Speaking of missing, I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

  My stomach flipped. I wanted to brush my lips against his, to run my hand over his arm. To let him tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear. I could see him doing it so tenderly. “Same here,” I said.

  “Kat.”

  There was something new in his voice. Something softer, more vulnerable. Something like love perhaps? My heart trembled with hope at the possibility. I ached for him to feel the same way that I did. I was falling for him again, and I couldn’t bear the thought of another rejection. I hadn’t said a word about my feelings this time, so I might walk away with a shred of dignity, but not with my heart whole. Even with the rules, even unable to touch, I was all in.

  He shifted gears back to bantering. “So, you’re going to Paris, you’re going to find new designs and make more necklaces and be a superstar. You won’t let success change you though, right?”

  “Ha. I honestly just want to make enough money from My Favorite Mistakes to help out my parents. Mystic Landing isn’t doing well.”

  “I didn’t know. You hadn’t mentioned that.”

  I shrugged. “I’m pretty good at keeping some things buttoned up.”

  “Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help. I do know a thing or two about running a business.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to show a sliver of space.

  I gave him the rundown and sighed when I’d filled him in. “They’ve been trying everything to drive more traffic to the store. If I can help them pay off the loan, they can have some breathing room, you know? Things have got to pick up soon. I just want to buy them some time.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?”

  He stared at a Monet again, but he wasn’t looking at the painting. I could see the wheels turning in his head. “It might not be a traffic issue.”

  “But there aren’t as many customers.”

  “Right. But maybe the solution isn’t in driving in more traffic. Sometimes it’s something else.”

  “Well, let me know when you figure out what that is.”

  “Would it be okay with you if I visited the store?”

  I furrowed my brow. He couldn’t be serious. “You would do that?”

  “Of course. I’d love to just take a look around and see if I can come up with an idea. Their daughter, Kat, is my protégé after all. It seems like the right thing to do,” he said, and leaned a tiny bit closer to me without touching.

  “That would be above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “Consider it done, Kat.” Then he said my name again as if it were a strange object he’d never seen. “Kat. What’s the story with Kat? Your parents didn’t actually name you that, did they?”

  “Like that’s so implausible?”

  “It’s like a writer’s name. A made-up name. It has to be short for something.”

  “Didn’t my brother ever tell you?”

  “Nev
er.”

  “Guess, then.”

  “Ah, so it is short for something?”

  I nodded.

  “Let me think. If I guess wrong, I don’t want to be the same wrong as everyone else. I bet most people go for the obvious—Katherine, Kathleen, or Kathy.”

  “They do.”

  “And then they guess Katie or Kaitlin.”

  “Those are very popular guesses.” I enjoyed watching him work through the question and couldn’t keep the Mona Lisa smile from my face.

  “Then maybe something farther afield, like Katrina or Katya.”

  “Katya?” I raised my brows. “I don’t get that one as much.”

  The gold flecks in his forest-green eyes shimmered with playfulness. I knew he was reading my reactions to his attempts—I’d taken the same class in business school—but it was as thrilling as ESP to have his attention focused on me. “But I don’t think any of those are right.” He leaned his shoulder closer to me. “You’re Katerina.”

  He pulled away to gauge my reaction, which I didn’t try to hide. Grinning, he brushed imaginary dirt off his shoulder. “I impress myself sometimes.”

  “You impressed me. I’ve never told anyone my full name, and haven’t used it.”

  “Really?”

  “My mom always wanted me to be Kat. My dad said I needed a real name, so they named me Katerina. But no one ever called me that. I’ve always been Kat. Funny, because now my mom calls me Katerina.”

  “Kat is a perfect name for you. But so is Katerina. Did you ever think about using it?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m used to Kat. After you’ve gone through all the teasing, it becomes a badge of honor when you get older—that you made it through middle school with people saying, ‘Here, kitty, kitty’ or ‘Cat got your tongue?’”

  Bryan laughed once. “Or ‘Josie and the Pussycats.’”

  I shot him a curious look. “I don't get that one often.”

  He downshifted his volume. “My bad. I was thinking of pussycats.”

  My brows climbed. “Aren’t you Captain Innuendo today?”

  “Just today?” He leaned in closer. “True or false: I’m thinking of pussycats right now.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You're the worst.”

  “Maybe,” he murmured in my ear, “I’m thinking of you and all the things I want to do to you right now.”

  “We are in a museum,” I said in an outraged whisper.

  “Just saying.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

  “We’re not doing anything here,” I said primly.

  He shrugged. “A man has dreams. He has all kinds of dirty dreams.”

  “Oh, really?” I wanted to know his sweet dreams and his dirty ones. “When do you have racy dreams?”

  “Often.”

  I took the bait. “How often?”

  “All night.” He breathed deep as if taking in the scent of my hair. “All day.”

  “So . . . a daydream, then.”

  “Exactly. Like now.” I glanced at him, and he took my breath away the way he looked at me with such wanting. “I’m daydreaming of you . . . tasting you, kissing you, touching you.”

  “That does sound like a nice dream.”

  “It’s not nice, Kat. It’s naughty.”

  I lowered my voice too, but less breathy, more throaty. “How naughty?”

  “On a scale of one to ten?” he asked, eyes on my lips. “Five hundred.”

  I smiled. “That’s off the charts.”

  “And off the map,” he said, tapping the brochure with the layout of the museum that I still held. “Because in my mind, I’m grabbing your hand”—he covered my hand with his—“then taking you to a dark corner and doing dirty things to you.”

  I can’t say I didn’t want that. But I also knew we weren’t there yet, and hearing about it was very enticing. “Your ideas intrigue me, Mr. Leighton, but I hardly think the Impressionist gallery is the proper place.”

  “True. We’d be philistines then.”

  I laughed. “No one wants to be philistines.”

  He leaned closer, then whispered, “But it’s just the right place to linger with you, innuendo, and the Monets.”

  “The Monets and I thank you very much.”

  And my restraint didn’t thank me, but my brain did as I stood up. We spent the next couple of hours wandering through the museum, past seascapes and portraits, then Egyptian relics and stone horses.

  It was among the Egyptian relics that I noticed him glancing behind him restlessly. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Not nervous about mummies, are you?”

  “No.” He rubbed his chin with his palm. “See that guy over there?”

  I caught where he was pointing, and then turned as if I was just taking in the splendor of ancient Egypt. My stomach sank as I saw who he must mean. Middle-aged gray flattop.

  “I see him,” I said tightly.

  “I think he’s following me,” Bryan said between gritted teeth.

  I shook my head as fear snaked over me. “No. He’s following us.”

  22

  Kat

  Present Day

  When I showed up at Made Here’s offices to work, I spent most of the time with Nicole Blazer in design. She showed me the new line of tie clips with the gold tints I’d suggested, then remarked that she was going to get one for her partner. “She likes to wear the pants in the relationship. And the ties,” Nicole said, as we looked at the first set of clips spread out on the coffee table in her office. I felt a pang of jealousy for Nicole and her partner, simply because they weren’t a secret, because they were something. They were an unsecret.

  “Which one do you like?”

  “I love them all. But especially this one.” I chose a clip that shone with the gold of a sunset.

  “My favorite too! And Bryan loves that one as well,” Nicole said, then called out to Bryan, who was walking by her office. “Kat has the best taste.”

  “She does,” he said, flashing something close to, but not quite his normal smile. But no knowing looks, secret winks, or anything personal before he left the doorway.

  “He’s just stressed about the . . .” Nicole let her voice trail off. The lawsuit was affecting the whole atmosphere at Made Here. No one wanted to talk about Wilco, but the problems he was making for the company were on everyone’s mind.

  They were certainly on my mind—I was flinching at shadows and seeing familiar faces everywhere. I remembered this feeling too well from my breakup with Michael. And Bryan had pulled back, less worried about reputations or the board’s opinion now, and more that his friendship with me had put me in Wilco’s line of sight if he got really vindictive. I didn’t want that either, but I also didn’t want Bryan to shut me out and take this stress on himself. We were friends, I hoped, aside from anything else, and I missed him.

  I looked briefly at Bryan as he walked away. I turned back to Nicole, and saw she’d followed my gaze.

  “Do you?” she asked, shifting her eyes down the hall. She didn’t have to finish the question for me to know what she meant. Do you like him?

  “No. Of course not. I mean, not like that.”

  She stood up and shut her door. “You’re blushing.”

  I put a hand on my cheek. Stupid red cheeks. I didn’t say anything.

  “Hey. It’s okay.”

  I shook my head, as if I could rid myself of all that wanting, hoping, falling. I picked up another tie clip and examined it as if it were a long-lost archaeological relic. “This one is nice too,” I added, doing my best to focus on everything except waiting for Bryan.

  That night I sent him a text.

  Kat: Hey. You doing okay?

  Bryan: I’ve been better. How are you?

  Kat: I am fine, but I am worried about you. I can tell you’re stressed.

  Bryan: Nah. I’m cool, calm, and as relaxed as an ocean breeze.

  Kat: Yeah, right.

  Bryan: Seriously though. I appreciate you checking in. I wish th
is situation were different.

  I wasn’t entirely sure which situation he meant—our personal situation or the company’s. They were all knotted together, so I supposed it didn’t matter. And the answer I gave applied in any case.

  Kat: I wish it were too.

  Bryan: Sweet dreams, Kat.

  Kat: Sweet dreams to you. I can tell you need them.

  Bryan: I’m going to do everything in my power to dream of you.

  23

  Kat

  Present Day

  I left for class the next morning still with the sense that there were unwanted eyes on me. I jumped when I saw a black town car at the curb, but Bryan’s driver was waiting by the door.

  “Hi. Mr. Leighton sent me for you.”

  My reflex was to decline—I didn’t want special treatment, or anyone to see me getting special treatment. But I was so relieved to avoid the streets where anyone could follow me, and these were special circumstances. I slid into the back seat only to find I was alone. “Excuse me. Where’s Bryan?”

  “He asked me to drive you wherever you needed for the next few days.”

  “Why?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  I rooted around in my bag for my phone, texting Bryan again.

  Kat: Hey! Is everything OK?

  This situation was veering too close to the one with my college ex-boyfriend Michael, and I wasn’t someone who craved danger like a drug.

  But Bryan didn’t respond.

  The driver took me to class, and I expected him to drop me off curbside. Instead, he stepped out of the car, scanned the street in each direction, and then placed a hand on my back and led me into the building, as if he were a secret service agent on my security detail.