Catch

by Bladon, Deborah

  “If you had the chance, you’d go on a date with your boss,” I counter.

  Ever since I briefly met Dominick Calvetti, I’ve teased Arietta about him. His face and body should be plastered on a billboard, advertising cologne, or expensive clothing. He’s gorgeous.

  Arietta always scoffs when I mention his name. I can tell by the grimace on her face that she’s about to tell me he’s not her type. “You know I don’t like him, Maren.”

  “You love him, “I singsong. “Arietta Calvetti. How perfect does that sound?”

  She playfully presses her hands to her stomach. “I think I may vomit.”

  I snap the cover of my laptop shut. “Aim for the floor.”

  With a laugh, she drops on the couch next to me. “You didn’t answer my question. Are you going on a date with Mr. Morgan?”

  I set my laptop on the coffee table. “It’s a business dinner. He’s meeting a potential new client. It’s a baseball player. I was just researching him.”

  Her gaze volleys between the closed laptop and my face. “What are you going to wear to this business dinner?”

  I trail a finger over her shoulder. “I was hoping I could borrow your outfit.”

  The corners of her lips curl up. “I know you’re teasing.”

  I am. Arietta’s ensemble of the day consists of a yellow dress that’s at least two sizes too big and a purple cardigan covered in red butterflies.

  “You should wear that red lace dress you bought last month.” She jumps to her feet. “And your red strappy heels. They make your legs look ten feet long.”

  “Do I want that?”

  “You’re a model without a runway, Maren.” She darts her hands to her hips. “I’ll do your makeup.”

  That’s an offer I won’t turn down. Arietta has serious makeup application skills for someone who only wears the bare minimum of mascara and pale pink lipstick.

  I move to stand. “You don’t think the red dress is too much for a business dinner?”

  “It’s perfect. It’s sophisticated with a hint of sexy.” Her hand tugs on a lock of my hair. “There’s something about a redhead in a red dress that drives men wild.”

  Tilting my head, I perk a brow. “I’m not trying to drive any men wild tonight, Arietta.”

  She laughs. “Do you expect me to believe that, Mrs. Morgan.”

  “Touché,” I say with a muted chuckle. “That will never happen. Keats Morgan is a handful.”

  Her gaze narrows. “Is that a bad thing?”

  “It’s very bad.” I point toward the hallway. “It’s time for me to get ready. Work your magic.”

  ***

  I’m early for everything. I always have been.

  When I was in second grade, my dad would walk me to school thirty minutes before class was scheduled to start so I could be first in line once the bell rang, signaling the start of the day.

  I don’t fear being late, but I believe there’s value in always being on time.

  People appreciate it when you’re punctual, so I made sure I left my apartment with more than enough time to spare. I didn’t want to be even a second late to my first business dinner with Keats.

  I left Dudley in Arietta’s care with a promise that I’d bring her back something decadent for dessert.

  In the envelope that contained my contract, there was a business card for a car service. I’m permitted to use them as long as the trip is related to work. I considered calling them tonight, but that seemed like a lot of trouble to get from Tribeca to Greenwich Village.

  I hopped on the subway before I walked the last block to Nova.

  I skim my hand over the skirt of my red dress as I approach the restaurant’s entrance.

  This isn’t my first time here. My dad decided he wanted to celebrate Father’s Day with a meal fit for a king, so I booked a table for three. It was one of the best dinners we’ve ever had. The food was a close second to the company. I love spending time with my parents. Our relationship has always been close, but there’s been a gradual shift as I’ve grown up.

  I wouldn’t say we’re friends, but I consider them the two most important people in my life, even though they keep asking if I have a boyfriend.

  I smile at a man in a black suit greeting people at the door. He grabs the handle and swings it open for me. “Welcome to Nova.”

  I grin back. “Thank you.”

  I survey the interior of the restaurant. It’s busy. People are seated near the bar, and from my vantage point, it looks as though every table is occupied.

  Panic strikes me as I suddenly wonder if I was supposed to book a reservation. I look at the text Keats sent me earlier to double-check that I didn’t miss anything.

  “Maren Weber? Is that you?”

  I wince when I hear the voice behind me. It can’t be. There’s no way in hell that Christian Knott is here.

  Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away.

  “That’s her, and she looks incredible.”

  The second voice has a rasp to it that sends a pulse straight through me. I shouldn’t react to it the way I do, but Keats has a voice that can send goose bumps trailing up a woman’s arms.

  It’s happening to me right now.

  “I’m Keats Morgan,” he says from behind me. “Who are you?”

  I turn to face them both because there’s no denying that I can hear their conversation.

  “I’m the man who may be persuaded to give Maren a second chance.” Christian chuckles.

  Jerk.

  Since we’re standing in the entrance to a crowded restaurant, I keep that comment to myself. Shaking my head, I clear my throat.

  Keats looks at Christian as if he’s studying his expensive suit and perfectly styled brown hair. “You’re an idiot.”

  Christian’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

  Keats steps closer to me. I’m hit with the masculine scent of his cologne. Or is that him? Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating.

  “Did you call me an idiot?” Christian’s voice jumps in volume.

  “I did.” Keats nods his head. “You had a chance with Maren and blew it. That’s an idiot move.”

  I realize what’s happening immediately. Keats thinks I was involved with Christian. Ew. Just ew.

  “We never.” I reach for Keats’s forearm. “Christian wasn’t my boyfriend. I don’t have a boyfriend. He fired me.”

  Keats’s gaze scans my face. “He fired you?”

  I nod. “Last week. It was the day I found Dudley.”

  The corners of Keats’s mouth curl up in a sexy smile. He turns his attention back to Christian. “My mistake.”

  “Are you sorry you called me an idiot?” Christian smirks.

  Keats lets out a laugh. “I had it wrong. You’re more of an asshole than an idiot. If you’ll excuse us, we have a reservation.”

  Christian’s hand lands on Keats’s shoulder. “You think I’m an asshole?”

  Keats swats Christian’s hand away with his own. “I know you are. I doubt like hell there was anything Maren did to warrant termination.”

  Christian takes a step back. Unease settles over his expression. I know that look. Keats hit a nerve. “That’s between Maren and me.”

  Keats crosses his arms. “Fair enough. Your loss is my gain.”

  “She works for you now?”

  “She does,” Keats answers curtly.

  Christian huffs out a laugh. “Good luck with that, man. You’re going to need it.”

  Chapter 15

  Keats

  If I were a twelve-year-old, I would have decked Christian Knott with a swift punch to the nose. Berk taught me how to defend myself when a kid who was four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than me decided I’d be his unwilling victim.

  He was a bully. I was scared shitless of him until Berk showed me how to land a punch designed to break noses. I didn’t accomplish that when my fist hit the center of the bully’s face, but I did manage to knock him sideways.

  That was m
y one and only attempt to defend myself physically. Since then, I’ve learned that assholes hate being called out for who they are. That’s especially true if a beautiful woman is within earshot.

  I know all about Christian Knott. Everett handed me a copy of the job application Maren filled out the day I hired her. I wanted to be sure that she did, in fact, have the qualifications for the job.

  She’s overqualified, but the point is that the Knott brothers lost a valued employee.

  I don’t know the specifics of what happened. I do know that she works for me now. I intend to keep it that way.

  “I’m sorry about that,” she says from her seat next to me.

  We were directed to the bar to wait for our table after Christian took off. I have an eye trained on the door, so I can spot Fletcher when he arrives and Christian if he shows his face in here again.

  I didn’t expect to run into anyone Maren knows tonight. I wanted a drink before dinner, so I arrived at Nova early. To my surprise, my new assistant was already here. I saw her through the window before I noticed creepy Christian sneaking up behind her.

  That’s when I made my way inside.

  I pegged Christian as an ex-boyfriend at first, because he couldn’t take his eyes off of her ass. Then Maren mentioned his name. If I had cared more, I might have looked him up online days ago, but stalking my employees’ former bosses isn’t something I do.

  The past is the past, whether it’s jobs or lovers.

  “For what?” I laugh. “You’re not responsible for that asshole.”

  Her eyes brighten. “You swore.”

  I drag my tongue over my bottom lip. “I did. You’re right.”

  Her gaze stays trained on my mouth before it travels slowly to my eyes. “He made it sound as though I’m a difficult employee.”

  “What he says is irrelevant.” I reach for the glass of scotch in front of me. “You’re proving to be a valuable addition to our team.”

  The words don’t convey the message. I like working with this woman. I love sitting here while she sips on a glass of red wine, and I stare at her beautiful face.

  “He fired me because I pushed back on a decision he made.” She sighs. “He passed me over for a promotion. He gave the position to someone close to him.”

  “Fucking asshole.” I smile. “It was worth the money to say it.”

  That lures a laugh from her.

  I watch as she giggles her way through a hiccup.

  “I sometimes hiccup when I laugh,” she explains before her body jerks with another hiccup. “I hope it passes before Fletcher gets here.”

  I hope to hell it doesn’t. It’s fucking adorable. With each hiccup, her hair bounces, and her eyes widen.

  “Maybe if I drink this, it will help.” The words pour out of her quickly before she downs half the glass of wine.

  As soon as she sets it back on the bar, a hiccup escapes her.

  “Dammit.” Her eyes search my face. “I know this meeting is important. I can’t have the hiccups right now.”

  I’d tell her it doesn’t matter, but I can sense that it matters a hell of a lot to her, so I offer my advice, even though she never asked. “Press the thumb of your right hand into the middle of your left palm.”

  “What?” Her hands fall open on her lap.

  My gaze drifts from them down to her legs. Jesus, those legs. They could make a man forget his name.

  “Keats,” she offers me a reminder she didn’t know I needed. “Where on my palm do I press?”

  Her left hand reaches out to me, and damn if I’m going to pass over the opportunity to touch her.

  When the pad of my thumb touches the middle of her palm, I almost moan. What the hell is wrong with me? I suck in a deep breath. I need to calm down. For fuck’s sake, I need to calm down.

  A hiccup jolts her. “Please press it for me.”

  I lock eyes with her as I cup her hand between mine. I gently press into the middle of her left palm as I stare at her. “It’s the best way I know to chase hiccups away.”

  Uncertainty swims in her expression, but she doesn’t move as she hiccups again.

  “I learned how to do this when I was a kid,” I explain. “Whenever I had a soda, I’d get the hiccups.”

  The corners of her lips quirk up toward a grin. “You did?”

  I don’t take my eyes off of her. “I couldn’t drink a soda at a birthday party because I’d have to hiccup my way through the birthday song.”

  Her right hand jumps to her mouth as she stifles a laugh followed by a hiccup. “I bet the birthday boy or girl loved that.”

  I chuckle. “The first time it happened, every kid there joined in and fake hiccupped along with me.”

  She lowers her hand to her chin. “So, someone taught you how to get rid of hiccups because of that?”

  I apply more pressure to her palm. “My grandfather did. The man had a pocketful of tricks just like this one.”

  Her gaze drops to our hands before it levels back on my face. “What else did he teach you?”

  I lean closer to her because the volume in this place just went up a notch. “He was the king of life hacks before they were a thing.”

  She leans in too. “Tell me one. I want to learn something new.”

  I like you. I really fucking like you.

  The thought stays inside of me because that’s not a life hack. It’s a fact of life.

  “Wear a hoodie backward when you’re watching a movie. You have a built-in container for popcorn.”

  She narrows her eyes. “You use the hood to hold the popcorn? Have you done that?”

  “More than once, “ I admit. “I taught Stevie to do it too. It’s a family tradition.”

  Leaning closer, she laughs. “Why do I get the impression that you’re a bad influence on her?”

  I don’t take that as anything but a compliment. The smile on Maren’s face tells me she meant it in jest. “You can ask her if I am when you meet her.”

  “I’ll meet her?” she questions.

  “I’d like you to,” I lower my voice. “And my brother too.”

  She doesn’t say a word, so I keep talking. “Jamie used to drop by my townhouse for dinner sometimes. Everett and his wife do too. Everyone who has worked for me has been to my home.”

  Whatever reservation may have been holding back her response is gone. With a soft smile, she looks into my eyes. “I’d love to meet your family, Keats.”

  “I told you Mr. Morgan was a decent guy, Dad.”

  Maren and I both turn at the sound of my name.

  Goddammit. I took my eyes off the restaurant’s entrance and missed my chance to greet a potential client who could change my life.

  “You called him a party boy.” Fletcher Newman lets out a gruff laugh as he elbows his father. “Mr. Morgan is going to introduce his girlfriend to his family. It looks like you had him all wrong.”

  Chapter 16

  Maren

  I yank my hand free of Keats’s grip. I look to him to correct Fletcher’s assumption, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, Keats jumps to his feet and offers his hand to Fletcher’s father.

  “Mr. Newman, I’m glad you decided to join us.”

  Mr. Newman takes Keats’s hand for an abrupt shake. “When Fletcher mentioned that he was having dinner with you, I wasn’t about to let him come alone. There is a reason we haven’t returned your calls, Mr. Morgan.”

  Ouch. Talk about not-so-subtle shade.

  Keats doesn’t flinch. Instead, he addresses the comment head-on. “I assume you’re talking about my reputation.”

  The farthest I dove into Keats’s reputation was reading the responses to my post about Dudley.

  When I did an online search for Keats that night, I honed in on his business website. I bypassed the image gallery that popped up and all the gossip sites.

  “It’s not squeaky clean.” Mr. Newman sighs. “There are pictures and stories online. Word gets around between players.”

  Keats ru
bs his chin. “I can’t say I’ve been an angel in the past, sir.”

  “What are you now?” Mr. Newman shifts his attention to me. “Has he changed?”

  Since I’ve known him for less than a week, I don’t feel qualified to pass judgment. I do feel I should say something about who I am to Keats.

  “Of course, he’s changed.” Fletcher laughs. He pushes his blond hair back from his forehead. “He just asked his girlfriend to meet his family. Didn’t you do that with mom right before you proposed?”

  My body tenses. How did we go from the Newmans assuming I’m Keats’s girlfriend to talking about marriage?

  I finish the last of the wine in my glass.

  “If he’s settling down, I might be inclined to stay for dinner,” Mr. Newman says to Fletcher before he looks at Keats. “I don’t want my son represented by someone who is going to drag him to parties every night. His agent has to lead by example.”

  I’m tempted to interrupt to tell my boss to cut his losses now.

  “No party dragging will be happening tonight,” Keats jokes.

  Mr. Newman doesn’t crack a smile. “Give me a reason to stay and hear you out, Mr. Morgan. We’re both aware of how promising my son’s future is.”

  I lock eyes with Fletcher for the briefest of moments. I read his bio. He just turned twenty-one two months ago. When I was that age, my parents tried to steer me in the right direction, but they let me hold the wheel. Alone.

  I realize that Fletcher’s future is at stake. Choosing the right agent can make or break his career.

  “He represents Pace. Isn’t that enough?” Fletcher asks, looking at his dad.

  Mr. Newman shakes his head. “Pace Callahan’s ringing endorsement isn’t enough for me.”

  I watch Keats suck in a deep breath. I may not know a lot about his business, but I do know that he wants to represent Fletcher. If he weren’t good at his job, he wouldn’t have so many top athletes as clients.

  “Is my ringing endorsement enough?” I ask quietly.

  Mr. Newman turns to face me head-on. “I’m sure you’re a lovely young woman, but this is between us men.”