by Lex Martin
Is it weird that I sympathize with a cat?
Then what Bee says hits me, and I grimace and point a finger at her. “You had me come over and risk my life climbing up that tree to save a cat that’s not even yours?”
“It was barely ten feet up. I knew you could do it.” She pats my cheek. “Have a cookie.”
My stomach growls, but it’s all too easy to distract me. “You know I can’t.”
“You’re so skinny now, I keep thinking I need to feed you. I’ll make you a turkey sandwich instead.” She turns and rummages in the fridge.
“Thanks.” Speaking of activities that are hazardous to my health… “Bee?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You wouldn’t want to come with me to Josh’s place on Mount Hood for the weekend, would you?”
She shakes her head and slips piles of turkey onto whole grain bread. “No, thank you, dear. I have my standing holiday date at Rose City Acres.”
I don’t remember the last time my family had any meal together, let alone a Thanksgiving dinner. I’m the only one who visits Bee, who has nothing but scathing words for the rest of our family. Me and her against the Merritts.
“Evie’s dad will be there. You could talk with him.”
Her hand migrates to her hip. “You know that I will be perfectly happy playing pinochle with Tyrone, Sylvia, and John—happier than dealing with your parents—”
“Hate to break it to you, but Tyrone wants to get in your pants.”
Slicing the sandwich in half, she arranges it on a plate. “Andrew, don’t change the subject. Why do you need your grandmother as a wingman when you’re supposed to be having fun in a mountain cabin?”
I kick at the floor. The kitten swats at my shoelace, and I pick him up. He’s so tiny, he fits in the palm of my hand and curls up immediately, purring. “There’s a girl coming who’s a PITA.”
“Flatbread?”
“Pain in the ass.” She opens her mouth, and I hold my free hand up. “Yes, I know. Language.”
She stifles a smile, pulls back her kitchen chair, and gestures at it. “Sit down, eat, and tell me about your girl trouble this time.”
I settle in the wooden chair, dumping the kitten in my lap. When I attempt to shoo him down to the floor, he won’t budge. I resign myself to him loitering on my body, and I ignore my Bee’s question.
My phone buzzes with a text from my mother.
Andrew. I need to talk to you. Last chance to do the right thing and decline your inheritance.
She’s exasperating. I text back, It’s not up to me. And you need to learn to trust me.
Her response comes back fast. You’ve never proven yourself to be trustworthy. And now this? It’s a shame.
I’m tempted to throw my phone, but I just stick it back in my pocket.
Pouring both of us a mug of tea, my grandma sits across from me, giving the kitten an appreciative glance. “I think that cat’s adopted you.”
“I need a pet like I need an STD,” I grumble. Before she can open her mouth, I continue, “That is, I don’t.”
And thank God I’ve never had one.
To clarify, I mean both: a pet or VD. One “benefit” from all the visits to the doctor lately is I know I’m clean, from my dick to my diabetes, and I’m gonna keep it that way.
I’m glad to leave Bee with this animal, though. Maybe it will give her something to do. Although he seems to be stuck on me, unfortunately.
The kitten licks his paws—oblivious to my distaste—yawns, and rearranges himself on my lap.
Bee sips her chamomile and eyes me over the edge of her “World’s Best Grandma” mug I gave her when I was eight. “It would do you well to have someone to look after.”
With my mouth wrapped around my sandwich, I say, “I’ve got you to look after.”
“Yes, but I don’t count. I’m independent.” She gestures at the cat with her elbow. “Maybe this kitten is like having a woman in your life. You never knew you needed one, but shazam, she appears out of nowhere, you save her, and it changes your life.”
I raise an eyebrow. Shazam? Not sure where my gran learns words like that.
She holds up her hands and shrugs. “You know I’m right. Anyway, tell me about this girl who has you ass over teakettle.”
“Bumble! Language.”
Chuckling, she settles in to listen.
How do I tell my grandma that when I met Kendall I was drunk off my ass and scheduling a blowjob? Or the time I threw up on her fancy shoes? Or when I showed up to Evie’s set so stoned they had to halt production?
And let’s not talk about how wasted I got at Josh and Evie’s wedding.
I’m not exactly the beacon of good decision-making.
Because at the wedding, I’d known I was diabetic. I’d lost weight and started to get in shape, which meant less pizza and junk food, but I still partied like a fiend on a bender.
No wonder Kendall thinks I’m an idiot.
I eye my Bee. “I haven’t been on my best behavior around her.”
“Umm-hmm.”
“She seems to catch me—” I pause and correct myself. “Up until last winter, I was always drunk when I saw her. So what came out of my mouth was a bunch of crap. Plus, she’s just so much fun to tease.”
“So you get under her skin?”
I nod.
“And she gets under yours?”
I nod again.
“And you like it,” she says with a little snicker.
I sit back and drink my tea. “Much to my surprise.”
6
Kendall
Shivering, I snuggle into my wraparound sweater and tap the thermostat, reluctantly turning up the temperature even though I shouldn’t hours before we vacate for a long weekend. I’m not looking forward to getting this month’s heating bill for the office, but I’m an icicle, and I’m probably also a shitty boss if I let my employees freeze their holiday balls off before Thanksgiving.
Thick snow from one of Portland’s rare snowstorms lashes my office window, and for the tenth time today, I wish I could head home after work and sink into a hot bath, but I promised Evie I’d be on the road this afternoon since traffic will be hellish. Judging by the dark clouds descending over the city, that might not be early enough.
Tristan knocks on my door as he ducks into my office. His dark brown hair dips into his eyes, and he shoots me a crooked grin. I toss an eggplant stress ball at his head.
“I’m never going to finish this press release if you keep interrupting me.”
His warm laugh washes over me, and I give him a mock admonishing glare as I settle back at my desk. My partner is a beautiful man, and he fills out a suit like nobody’s business. Unfortunately, I’ve never had that kind of spark with him, so he’s been relegated to my man candy folder, which I get to appreciate every day. I still count that as a win.
Tristan and I met in college, and while we used to work at competing firms, we’ve always commiserated over wanting to start our own company. After too many vodka martinis last year, we decided to go for it and started Greer and Laszlow PR. Even though I can almost count the number of nights off I’ve had since we started our company on one hand, I feel blessed to be working with one of my best friends.
“Did you just throw a phallus at me?” He snickers at my stress ball of choice. “I’m telling the boss you’re sexually harassing me.”
I roll my eyes. “You are the boss, moron. And as your partner-in-crime at our fine establishment, I suggest you stop talking to me so I can get everything done before our long weekend.” My stomach flips over at the thought of not being able to get into the office for four whole days, but Evie said the cabin has high-speed internet, so I can work remotely. “Go bug Jess. It’ll make her day.”
My new intern Jessica has a crush on Tristan, and I give him endless shit about it.
“She’s busy fawning over one of your clients.”
“What client? I’m not expecting anyone.” Did I forget I hav
e an appointment?
Feminine laughter echoes down our hall, and I jog out of my office, only to come to a screeching halt when my eyes land on Drew and his…kitten?
What. Is. He. Doing. Here?
Mr. Frat Boy gives me a million dollar smile that makes little heart eyes pop out of Jessica’s head. “Kenster. We gotta hit the road if we wanna miss the snowstorm.”
I’m so stunned to see him standing in my office, I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
Tristan chuckles next to me. “Yeah, Kenster.” Under his breath, he whispers, “You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone.”
“Because I’m not.” I elbow him in the ribs as I migrate to the receptionist desk that my intern is staffing.
Drew gives me the once-over, from my heels, up my legs that are far too bare in this fitted skirt, pausing over my cleavage, and finally back up to my face.
He clears his throat. “I hope you have some warmer clothes for the weekend.”
Jessica audibly sighs as she stares at Drew, and I take a moment to appreciate the fact that he does, in fact, look nice in a button-up dress shirt, a vintage-looking leather jacket that probably costs more than my rent, dark distressed jeans, and boots. He’s usually sporting old hoodies with questionable stains and profane T-shirts, giving the metaphorical finger to his fashionable roots, so him not looking like a homeless gamer is unexpected. Him looking like a lost Abercrombie model cradling a cute fur ball is even more perplexing.
“Drew, what are you doing here? And why do you have a kitten?” If he’s trying to prank me, I’m going to toss his balls in a sling.
His eyebrows furrow. “Josh asked me to pick you up. Said the weather looked too bad for your car to handle.”
“And Evie didn’t mention this why?”
He gives me his patented Drew Merritt shrug. “Josh said you were fine with this. He thought you’d be safer with me. He and Evie are picking up her dad or they would’ve swung by to get you.” When I growl, he holds up the kitten to my face and talks in a baby voice, “Don’t shoot the messenger meow!”
The cat is indeed adorable, but there is a good reason I’m always two minutes from having a brain aneurysm around this man.
He pauses with the cat in the air, seeming to suddenly notice Tristan.
It feels wrong to allow the different parts of my life to collide like this. But as incongruous as it seems to have Drew in my office, it would be rude not to introduce everyone.
“Drew, this is my partner, Tristan. Tristan, this is…” My penance for sins committed in this life. “Drew.”
Demerit lowers the kitten, his expression going blank before he gives Tristan a nod. I barely contain a huff of disappointment. Don’t go overboard trying to be friendly to my business partner or anything.
Ignoring whatever weirdness is going on between Drew and Tristan, I stalk back to my desk and pull up my cell to find a message from Evie, one she sent an hour ago that I somehow missed when I was ass-deep in press releases.
Josh is worried about the weather. Don’t kill me, but he’s sending Drew to pick you up. You said you had all of your luggage in your car, right?
Drew clears his throat from my doorway, but I ignore him.
“Why do men always think women can’t handle driving in bad weather?” I mutter to myself as I shove my phone back into my purse.
He laughs. “Is that a trick question?” When I don’t say anything, he rubs his jaw. “KK, the roads are getting bad. I think Evie would feel better with us traveling together. You can drive the Rover if you need to prove your womanly automotive skills. You can always—”
“Shut up. If you say something about me working your gearshift, I’m going to shove it up your ass.”
He howls with laughter and tucks the little ball of fluff to his chest. I’m beyond annoyed that my first thought is how this would make a great pic for #HotGuysWithCats on Instagram.
Get your shit together, Kendall.
“Fine. I need five minutes.”
I settle at my desk, skim the press release once more, and email it to my client before I look at Drew again.
A part of me—a big part—wants to call off this trip. But if I bail, I’ll miss the one chance I have to spend time with Evie, and we haven’t hung out in ages. Between her show and my schedule, I’m not sure when we’ll get another opportunity like this.
I pop two Advil and glare at Drew. “Are you going to annoy me for the entire two-hour drive?”
He bats his ridiculously long eyelashes. “It’s possible.”
Jesus, help me.
As I grab my keys, my phone pings with a text from Jessica.
OMG. You’re friends with DREW MERRITT?! And you’re spending the weekend with him?!
I direct Drew to sit on the chair in front of my desk. “I’ll be right back.”
Once I have my intern sequestered in her cubicle, I motion to her. “Say it with me, Jessica. What happens in this office…”
She nods. “What happens in this office is confidential.” Then she adds in a whisper, “I swear I won’t tell anyone you’re BFFs with Drew Merritt, but whoa, he’s so hot. He’s even more beautiful than—”
“I’m not best friends with Drew. Forget it.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Listen, the point is you cannot go around talking to your buddies about this or gossiping about what happens in our office, which includes whoever I socialize with. Agreed? Remember that part of your job is maintaining our clients’ privacy and knowing when it’s appropriate to divulge newsworthy aspects.”
I hate being a hardass, but I need my employees to have discretion due to the confidential information that filters through my office. Anyway, she knows I hate when she fawns all over celebrities and socialites.
She zips her lips, and I try to take a deep breath to fortify myself for the rest of the weekend.
A two-hour car ride can’t be that bad.
7
Kendall
A two-hour car ride can be that bad, especially when it turns into a four-hour drive. The snow is insane, the roads are slippery as hell, and our visibility is zero.
Drew’s kitten, Shazam, is content as can be, though. He doesn’t seem worried that we’re one hairpin turn from driving off the mountain or into a tree and is busy kneading Drew’s thighs and purring like he’s a yummy biscuit.
I will concede that Drew smells really good. Like leather and some kind of citrus body wash or cologne. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, so I have an eyeful of forearm porn flexing in my peripheral vision that’s damn distracting.
Surreptitiously, I study his handsome profile and the casual way his hand is draped over the steering wheel while he pets Shazam with the other. By all outward appearances, he doesn’t seem worried that we’re obviously lost. He’s been humming to his satellite radio for the entire drive, a lot of 80s tunes that would make me laugh except I’ve been fighting a headache.
In all the times we’ve hung out together because of our best friends, I’ve never spent so much time with Drew alone. Something about his close proximity makes me feel like a compass that’s rotating frenetically in a magnetic field.
I press a hand to my stomach. Must be the long car ride making me feel so unsettled.
I’m tempted to ask why he’s dressed up, but I’m too freaked out by the fact that we’re likely lost in the middle of a snowstorm to make casual conversation.
“We should be there already,” I point out. Again. “Are you sure your GPS is right?”
A computer voice fills the cab. “Your destination is on the left in two hundred feet.”
That’s what it said five minutes ago.
I shiver in my seat. How is he not cold? “Can we turn up the heat? If I’m going to die today, I might as well be warm.”
He chuckles and reaches over to squeeze my hand. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”
“Now I know we’re definitely going to die. You’re never this nice to me.”
&n
bsp; “‘Tis the holiday season. Best time of the year. Why wouldn’t I be nice?”
Grinning, he gives me another squeeze and goes back to petting his cat. I’m oddly touched he brought the kitten after his grandmother asked him to pet sit.
“Swear to God, I can never tell if you’re flirting with me or fucking with me.” I don’t mean to say those words out loud, but it’s not like I can get them back once I’ve muttered them.
The laugh that rumbles through him makes me smile, but I rein it in. No need to let him know I think he’s entertaining. Not that he said anything funny. Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m amused right now.
“Why can’t it be both?” He lifts an eyebrow playfully, and I snort.
“Okay, Casanova, eyes on the road before we get wrapped around a tree. Because if we end up dead, I’m going to kill you.”
I dig through my purse to check the signal on my phone. Zero bars.
“Why does the GPS work, but I don’t have reception?”
“Sorry, babe. I’ve got no idea how these things work.”
“Drew, I’m going to be honest. I’m freaking out. We don’t have cell phone service to call for help, and it seems like we’re driving around in circles on this mountain. I’d feel better if we could reach Evie and Josh.”
I hold up my phone to the roof, carefully waving it from one end of the passenger seat to the other and pray I get a signal.
“Don’t fret so much, princess,” he says calmly. “At least we have four hundred and sixty radio stations.” He taps on his console and Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas” blares through the speakers. “So tell me, have you been naughty or nice this year? Imma bet naughty. If you’ve been nice, don’t tell me and ruin the fantasy.” Glancing at me, he gives me a little wink.
I blink, confused about the way my heart skitters in my chest.
Fantasy? He fantasizes about me? I pause, hand up in the air with my cell, to wonder if this is merely his way to redirect me so I don’t go DEFCON 1 about being lost. Because there’s no way Drew has ever thought twice about me. Mostly because I’m not the kind of girl to drop to my knees within ten seconds of meeting him.