I pinch the bridge of my nose. There are enough clues to piece together the mystery of what Keats did last night and this morning, but I don’t want to put in the effort.
Maybe this is why Jamie came to work late some days.
Glancing up, I force a smile. “I’ll get to work. I’ll put together a few options for your honeymoon so you can choose one. Oh, and congratulations to you and your wife.”
He laughs, tossing his head back. “What the fuck, Maren? You think I got married?”
“Two hundred,” I say while my cheeks bloom pink in embarrassment. “You said I should book a luxury honeymoon. You’re dressed in a tuxedo. You didn’t have pants on when I got here, and you have an empty bottle of champagne and a glitter cannon in your office.”
“Woah.” He holds up his palm, and I get a glimpse of something written in black ink.
I tilt my head to read it, but he drops his hand to his side. “I officiated a wedding at midnight. I came back here with the happy couple to notarize their wedding certificate. The groom was carrying a magnum of champagne. He spilled half the fucking bottle on my pants, so I took them off the second the newlyweds left.”
I nod, not wanting to say anything to interrupt his train of thought.
He stares at me for a second before he sighs. “I used to keep an extra pair of pants in the cabinet behind my desk. I was looking for those when I found the glitter cannon. It was supposed to be a gift for Stevie’s birthday, but my brother told me no way. Anyways, I must have worn the spare pair of pants home one day and forgot to bring them back.”
I don’t have words, so I keep listening.
He exhales sharply. “I accidentally knocked the cannon out of the cabinet when I was searching for the pants and glitter went everywhere. I kicked it and whatever was left inside of it shot me in the face.”
As if on cue, another sprinkle of glitter rains from his hair onto his nose and cheeks.
“I need to get someone in here to clean up that fucking mess.” He motions toward the door of his office. “I know, three hundred. I owe three hundred goddamn dollars. Four now.”
I bite back a laugh. “So, you’re not married?”
His eyes widen. “Heck, no.”
Something inside of me relaxes. “How often do you officiate weddings?”
Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he shrugs. “Whenever I need to. The couple I married last night was eager to make it happen before their twins arrive.”
“Twins?” I swallow hard. “That’s a lot.”
“They’ll handle it.” He half-laughs. “We’ve been friends since high school. They work at his family’s diner on the Lower East Side. I stop in there whenever I’m craving a plate of fries and a greasy cheeseburger.”
He swats his hand against his hair to knock more glitter loose. “They’ve never charged me for a meal, so when Brandi and Chuck said they were planning on heading to City Hall to tie the knot next week, I told them I’d do it whenever they wanted.”
“They wanted it immediately?” I smile.
“The sooner the better, they said.” He brushes his fingertips over the lapel of his jacket, chasing away some glitter. “They already had their marriage license, so we decided to do it after the diner closed. I went home and threw on my tux. I picked up some flowers on my way back, and sealed the deal at the stroke of midnight.”
Chapter 12
Maren
To think I was in bed by ten last night and at that time, Keats was still hours away from officiating a last-minute wedding at a diner. My boss doesn’t live a boring life.
“I’m going to run home to shower and change before I get down to business.” Keats tosses me a grin. “I’ll drop this tux off at the dry cleaners on my way back. I need it next week.”
There’s a question begging to be asked, but I’m sure in time I’ll find out if he’s marrying another couple next week or if the need for his tux is because of something else.
“I’ll arrange to have your office cleaned,” I offer because it’s my job and because I haven’t forgotten that he’s paying me a ridiculous amount of money to be his assistant.
“I think we need to call in some big guns to take care of the glitter cannon clusterfuck in my office. The vacuum cleaner that the building’s cleaning crew has is too lightweight for this job.”
“You owe another hundred,” I shoot back. “I know someone who will have all of that cleaned up by noon. I’ll arrange for it to happen.”
“I trust you, so give them a call and get them here as soon as possible.”
I slide open my bottom drawer to reach for my phone. “I’ll take care of it now.”
“I’m going home.” He starts back toward his office. “I need to find my shoes.”
My gaze wanders to his ass again as he walks away.
Suddenly, he looks back to catch me watching him. “Jamie wouldn’t have stepped up to the plate to help me out the way you are, Maren.”
All I’m doing is arranging for the cleaning crew who took care of my dad’s offices to come down here to de-glitter this place.
“It’s my job,” I sound back.
“You’re doing a he…heck of a good job so far.”
I take pride in that even though it’s only my second day, and every task I’ve been assigned so far has been easy.
I watch as he slides his feet into his black wingtip shoes. As he stalks back toward me, his gaze falls to his hand. “What the…?”
His voice trails as he glances at whatever is written on his palm in black ink.
“Is there a problem?” I probe because I want to know what the secret message is.
He turns his hand to face me. I silently read the ten digits of what I assume is a phone number.
“A woman at the club asked for Pace’s autograph on her…well, she wanted him to sign her,” he stumbles his way through that while circling a finger in front of his chest. “She yanked a marker out of her purse, and then Pace handed it to her friend when he was finished with it.”
I nod, realizing what he’s about to say.
“The friend grabbed my hand and scribbled something down.” Shaking his head, he scrubs at the numbers with his finger. “She told me to use it. I didn’t realize until I went to wash my hands that it was her number, and the ink is fucking permanent.”
I suck in a breath. “You swore.”
“I swore off calling random women who write their phone numbers on my body.”
“What?” I ask before I realize the question has left my lips.
“You don’t want to know.” He chuckles. “I’ll get this off at home. Rubbing alcohol will erase it in a flash.”
My mouth continues spitting out things I shouldn’t say to my boss. “You should save the number to your phone before you do that.”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “Why? I have no intention of using the number.”
I tilt my chin up. “You don’t.”
He takes in the green dress I’m wearing before his gaze settles on my face. “No. I don’t.”
Since I’m the one who led us into awkward territory, I guide us out. “I’ll call the cleaners.”
His eyes lock on mine. “I appreciate you helping me with this.”
I nod. “If there’s anything else I can do for you today, please let me know.”
“Have dinner with me.”
I open my mouth to refuse, but I don’t get a word in.
“I set up a meeting with Fletcher Newman tonight,” he goes on. “He’s a potential new client. I want you to be there.”
It’s a work dinner.
Regardless of what I feel, I can’t refuse to show up. “Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll text you the details as soon as I’m cleaned up.” He motions toward the elevator. “I’m going to get the heck out of here before anyone else shows up.”
I glance at the watch on my wrist. He needs to hurry. My colleagues will be arriving at any minute
.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he calls over his shoulder as he sprints to the elevator. “If anyone needs me, tell them to sit tight. And if Pace calls, hang up on him.”
I let out a laugh. “I’ll talk to him.”
After jabbing a finger into the elevator call button, he turns to face me. “He’s bad news. You’re too good for him, Maren.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, the elevator doors slide open, and Everett appears.
“Is that glitter on your face, boss?” he asks with amusement in his tone.
Keats moves around him to board the elevator just as Everett steps off. “What do you think?”
With that, the doors slide shut, and Everett turns to face me. “Do I want to know what the hell that’s about? Or do I file it under Keats being Keats?”
I laugh. “Is Keats covered in glitter a regular thing?”
“That part is new.” He laughs. “So is that extra bounce in his step. You must have something to do with that, Maren.”
Office gossip is the last thing I need, so I shut it down with a shake of my head. “I’m only here to clean up the messes.”
Everett looks past me to the glitter-covered floor of Keats’s office. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter 13
Keats
What’s that bullshit about the best-laid plans?
I had my day planned out to the last second, but that was blown to hell when Berk called as I stepped out of the shower. He asked if I could watch Stevie because she had a mild fever when she woke up, and he didn’t want to send her to school. The regular sitter had an appointment booked. I’m next on the list, so I lucked out.
Instead of spending my day chasing after new clients, I played video games with my niece while she teased me about the glitter she saw in my ear. I cooked a frozen pizza I found in Berk’s freezer for lunch, and I sneezed my way through Sully taking a nap in my lap before I piggybacked Stevie to my townhouse for the afternoon.
Berk would have taken the day off to be with his daughter, but he had a meeting with Nicholas Wolf and his agent. The novelist is looking for a new publishing house to work with, and Berk made the shortlist. I’m proud to say that my friendship with Nicholas’s brother, Liam, played a part in that. Signing Nicholas would take Berk’s business to the next level. I want that for him.
I told my brother to make sure he got his ass home before six because I have plans at seven. Once he assured me he’d be home at least two hours before that, I sent Maren a text telling her she had the day off.
I told her to meet me at Nova at quarter to seven.
Securing a table at one of the most popular restaurants in Manhattan at such short notice is easy when you’re friends with the owner. Tyler Monroe launched Nova a few years ago, and it’s found its niche in the crowded culinary market of New York City.
It never hurts to have connections in the hospitality industry when you make a living wining and dining elite athletes.
“I wish someone would convince my dad to get me a phone.” Stevie tosses me some serious side-eye from where she’s curled up in a chair next to the fireplace.
She made a mad dash for the library as soon as she kicked off her sneakers after we bolted inside.
In addition to this library and the massive living room with attached dining room, this townhouse has a chef’s kitchen, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a self-contained one bedroom unit on the upper floor.
I purchased it when Layna was first diagnosed because I thought my brother and his family could live on the lower two floors while I took up residence on the top floor. I wanted them close.
It never dawned on me that Berk would use the money he inherited from our grandfather to buy a townhouse a few blocks away. Layna had a dream to decorate her own home, so Berk made it happen. He moved his family out of the cramped two-bedroom apartment they were renting.
They made memories in the five-bedroom home that Berk and Stevie live in now.
Living on the Upper West Side in a house that’s way too fucking big for me was never on my life’s plan list, but I like it here.
Stevie drops her gaze to the Hemingway book in her hands. I stocked up on short stories about zombies and curious kid detectives, but Stevie always goes for the classics when she visits me.
I have no idea if she’s reading the book or admiring the dust jacket.
“Your dad said no to a phone because he thinks you’re too young,” I remind her. “Give it a few months and then ask him again.”
She turns to face me. “If you asked him for me, he might say yes.”
“In what universe would Berk say yes to me and not you?” I lean back into the soft leather of the couch I’m sitting on.
“He said yes when you wanted to buy me a piano.”
This kid has an answer to everything, and in this instance, she’s right.
“I wanted to teach you how to play,” I point out. “Your dad was pissed that you snuck out and came here to practice, so I had to buy you a piano, Stevie.”
“You swore.” A smile brightens her face. “You owe a hundred to our charity.”
Our charity.
There isn’t an eight-year-old kid on this earth who should be as invested in raising money for an organization as Stevie is. The Layna Morgan Foundation is co-run by Layna’s parents and my brother. It offers financial help to women battling cancer.
I have no doubt that Stevie will be at the helm as soon as she’s legally old enough.
“I’m good for it.” I smile.
She bounces her foot in the air. “Do you think I’ll always remember her?”
My gaze wanders to a framed picture of Berk, Layna, and Stevie on the mantle. It was taken a year before Layna died. “You’ll always remember her.”
“Do you think daddy will fall in love again one day?”
The word no almost leaves my mouth, but miracles happen, so I shrug. “You never know.”
Berk refuses to talk about dating, so I stopped bringing it up. Stevie asked once, and her dad avoided the question. She took the hint that it was a topic he won’t discuss. I’m the one she looks to for answers about her dad’s future.
“I’m getting married when I’m thirty, so I can’t live with him forever. I don’t want him to be lonely when I move out.”
“Who the heck are you marrying?” I question with a perk of both brows.
She tugs on one of the sleeves of the pink sweatshirt she’s wearing. “A doctor. I haven’t met him yet, but I will. We’ll work together. I’ll take care of the pet patients, and he’ll take care of the people patients.”
This kid’s life plan is next level.
“Your dad will get you a phone by then so you can check in on him.” I grin. “There’s hope on the horizon, Stevie. You’ll get that phone eventually.”
She rolls her big blue eyes. “I can’t wait that long.”
My gaze drops to my phone when it buzzes. I read a quick text from my brother asking how Stevie is. I punch out a reply telling him that her fever is gone.
“Will you ever get married?”
I drop the phone on my lap. “Me?”
“You’re the only one here.” Stevie tucks a lock of her brown hair behind her ear. “Why don’t you get married, Keats?”
“Why don’t you read that book?” I try to change the subject.
I’m rewarded with another exaggerated eye roll from my niece. “You’re going to be thirty soon. Isn’t part of your plan to be married by then?”
At one point in the not-too-distant past, I thought it was part of my plan, but life has a way of knocking you off course. In my case, reality slapped me across the face and kicked my ass at the same time.
“I only plan short-term, and right now, I’m planning on a piano lesson before your dad comes home from work.”
Stevie bounces to her feet. “I’ll race you to the piano.”
Before I’m standing, she’s on her way down the hallway, headed toward
the corner of the living room where the piano awaits.
“The loser is the winner,” I call out.
That spins her around to face me. She leans her back against the wall. “After you, Keats. My dad says I need to respect older people, so you should lead the way.”
“Funny,” I set off at a sprint past her. “Rule change. The winner is the winner.”
She falls in step next to me, gives me an elbow shove, and takes off down the hallway, laughing as she runs.
Chapter 14
Maren
“How was your second day at your new job?” Arietta asks innocently as she pats Dudley’s head. “I didn’t think you’d beat me home today.”
I shift my gaze back to the screen of my laptop. “I’ve been home for hours.”
I hear the shuffle of Arietta’s sensible shoes against the floor as she approaches me. “Did something happen? Did you get F. I. R. E. D?”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “Why did you spell that?”
She lets out a heavy sigh as she drops her purse on the couch next to me. “I don’t know. To soften the blow, maybe?”
“I still have a J. O. B.” I smile. “Keats took the day off to take care of his sick niece, so he told me to go home.”
“Is she okay?” Concern settles in Arietta’s expression.
I’ve never met anyone as empathetic as her. On the odd day I get a migraine, Arietta has a headache within the hour. She feels other people’s pain deeply, maybe too deeply.
“He didn’t sound concerned on the call.” I glance at the screen of my laptop again. “I’ll ask for an update on his niece when I meet him for dinner.”
I know better than to toss information like that at Arietta with no other explanation, but I know her reaction will bring a smile to my face.
“Wait? What?” She lets her hair down from the tight bun she wound it into this morning. Her golden locks bounce around her shoulders as she shakes her head back-and-forth. “Are you going on a date with your boss?”
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