Catch

by Bladon, Deborah

  “Absolutely not.” She hiccups her way through a laugh. “I looked at his account when I met him. It was for research only.”

  She drops her hand in the middle of the table when another hiccup falls from her. “Your hiccup cure. I need it.”

  It’s not a fucking cure. It’s a distraction. If I keep her talking, the hiccups will fade away. It’s a trick my grandfather taught me a long time ago.

  I don’t tell her that as I cradle her hand in mine in the middle of the small table. I press my thumb into her palm.

  She hiccups again. “You said fucking hilarious, so you owe another hundred.”

  It’s worth it to see the satisfaction in her expression whenever she catches me cursing.

  “Pace and a few other athletes I represent are going to do a photo shoot in a few weeks.”

  Sucking in a long, deep breath, she narrows her eyes. “That’s related to his dick pic?”

  Hearing her talking about a dick makes me hard. I wish we were discussing mine, but patience reaps the greatest rewards in life.

  I press her palm harder. “The guys will pose nude with strategically placed sports gear. The proceeds will go to an organization doing great research work for prostate cancer.”

  The hiccups have vanished, but I hold tight to her hand.

  She glances down. “That’s a brilliant way to spin this situation. You thought of it, didn’t you?”

  Pride fills me. I’ve never worried whether a woman sees the best in me. I want Maren to know that there’s more to me than meets the eye.

  I nod. “If you can spin a screw up into something beneficial, do it.”

  She smiles in agreement. “I agree.”

  Her gaze drops to her palm. “My hiccups are gone.”

  I let go when I feel her tug her hand free of mine.

  “Thank you, Keats.”

  For what? For holding her hand while I talked to her? I’m the one who should be thanking her.

  I search her face looking for a clue into how she’s feeling. She seems more relaxed than when she spotted Bianca outside the restaurant.

  “What can I do to help with the photo shoot?” she asks quietly. “Do you need a photographer booked? Is there a place where you rent sports equipment, or will they bring their own? Should we get some robes for in between the shots, or are they fine to walk around nude?”

  Forcing back a laugh, I smile. “I’ll need your help scheduling session times for all the guys. We’ll set up transportation to and from the studio for them. A few are flying to New York to do it, so we’ll have to get flights and accommodations sorted.”

  She turns to where her purse is sitting on the table. With a slide of her hand inside, her phone appears.

  Her lips move in silence as she repeats everything I just said. Her fingers fly over the screen of the phone. I assume to make notes of what needs to be done.

  “I’ll take care of all of this for you.”

  I want to take care of you. I open my mouth, wishing I had the goddamn courage to take the leap and say it.

  I don’t, because I sense if I tell her that I’m falling for her, I’ll have her resignation in my hand within the hour.

  She leans back when the server appears with two white plates and a large pizza.

  I huff out a laugh when he places it on the table between us. He looks to me before his gaze settles on Maren. “Be careful. It’s hot.”

  She only nods in response as her eyes widen at the sight in front of us. “What the hell is this?”

  “It’s a number fourteen,” the server answers. “A grilled hot dog pizza.”

  Chapter 28

  Maren

  The look on Keats’s face says it all.

  His phone rang once during dinner, and then again, just as he finished the last slice of the pizza.

  I was reluctant to try it at first, so he said he’d dive in. He promised to give me his honest opinion.

  I could tell by the smile on his face that he liked it, so I took a small bite.

  Surprisingly, it was better than I imagined, but I won’t order it again.

  I still have no idea if Arietta genuinely likes hot dogs on her pizza, or if she was playing a joke on me.

  I highly doubt it was the latter. Unlike my boss and me, I doubt my roommate could pull off a straight-faced lie if her life depended on it. I’ve been trying to bring up the Newmans’ anniversary party all evening, but I haven’t found a way to do that, and now I don’t think I’ll have the chance.

  Keats lowered his voice when he took the call. Once he said hello, and the person on the other end responded, Keats was on his feet, pacing a circle on the worn carpet near the entrance to the kitchen.

  He’s just out of my earshot, so I have no idea if it’s a personal call or a business matter. Whatever it is, it looks like bad news.

  Keats bobs his head up and down as he makes eye contact with me. There’s no smile, just an acknowledgment that he knows I’m here waiting for him.

  He pats our server on the shoulder as the young man passes him by.

  It’s those little things that tell you so much about a person. You can gauge the goodness that sits inside a person’s soul by the way they treat others.

  Once the call ends, he walks toward me. His eyes are downcast. Whatever that discussion was about, it didn’t involve good news.

  “I need to go,” he says as soon as he’s next to where I’m seated.

  I watch as he pulls out his wallet and drops some bills on the table. It’s triple the cost of the pizza and beers.

  I push to stand. “Is it your niece? Or your brother? Is everyone okay?”

  I know he has a sister. I have no idea if his parents are alive or in his life. Maybe this isn’t related to his family. It could be about a friend or one of the athletes he represents.

  “One of my clients was injured during training camp.” He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck. “His family is in Germany, so I’m his go-to.”

  “Of course,” I whisper. “Is it serious?”

  “Serious enough to sideline him for a couple of months.”

  I move when he does. He steps to the left, so I round the table. “I’ll go to the hospital with you. I don’t know him, but I’m great at food runs and sitting in waiting rooms.”

  Keats turns to me. Concern is set in his expression. “You’d do that?”

  Without hesitation, I nod. “Let’s go.”

  He drops his head. “He’s in Philadelphia, Maren.”

  I should be relieved by that, but a wave of disappointment washes over me. This isn’t a real dinner date, but I wanted more time. I would have taken it even if it meant pacing a hospital corridor by his side.

  “Do you want me to make the travel arrangements while you pack?”

  He glances at me. “That would help me tremendously. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, so I want to swing by my brother’s place to say goodbye to him and Stevie.”

  “I’ll book the flight, a hotel, and arrange for a driver to pick you up at the airport,” I recite my list aloud. “Is there anything else?”

  “Let me walk you home.”

  It’s already getting late for an eight-year-old. I’m sure his niece has a set bedtime, and I don’t want to interfere with that.

  “Why don’t you go see Stevie?” I suggest. “The quicker you get there, the more time you’ll have with her before she goes to sleep.”

  His gaze lingers on my face while silence sits between us. “That’s the smart thing to do.”

  I nod in agreement. “You should get going.”

  He motions for me to lead the way out of the restaurant. “I’ll write up a statement on the plane to release to the media. The team will too, but the more reassurance the fans have, the better.”

  Once we’re on the sidewalk with the cooling evening air floating over us, I turn to him. “I hope he’ll recover quickly.”

  “Me too.” He shoves both of his hands in the front pocket of his pants. “
Thanks for having dinner with me, Maren.”

  I’d tell him it was my pleasure, but the meaning feels too literal. Sitting across from him for an hour was fun. “I’ll text you the travel details as soon as I book them.”

  “I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” he says as he turns to walk away.

  I’ll be waiting to see him again. I hope it’s soon.

  Chapter 29

  Maren

  The last few days have consisted of handling dozens of calls from the media and sponsors regarding Raymond Fischer’s knee injury. With treatment and rehabilitation, the twenty-three-year-old will be back on the ice in a few months.

  I recited that same line to everyone who called inquiring about him. Even though his team held a press conference the day after his surgery, people still wanted Keats to give them the inside scoop.

  There wasn’t anything to tell them beyond what was already in the press.

  Keats is due to arrive back in Manhattan tomorrow.

  He left Philadelphia as soon as Raymond’s dad arrived. Keats called me to ask me to book him a flight to Orlando. A scout had a tip on a basketball player, so Keats decided to make a detour to meet with him.

  Every call and text we’ve exchanged during the past six days have been business related. It makes sense since I’m his assistant.

  “Maren.”

  My head darts up when I hear my name. I’m surprised to see Fletcher Newman standing in front of my desk.

  I push to stand. “Hey, Fletcher. How are you?”

  I try to hide my shock. When I was going through the break room to see what I could find to serve the Newmans last week, Everett told me that unless they liked bitter coffee or old tea, they’d be unsatisfied.

  He went on to say that Keats keeps the bare minimum of essentials on hand for the staff because clients never come to the office. That’s why I went to a bodega nearby to stock up for the Newmans’ visit. I’ve kept it stocked for the staff since.

  “I’m good.” He bounces in his sneakers. “Is Keats around?”

  I glance toward his darkened office. “He’s out of town. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  A spot of red appears on each of his cheeks. “It’s kind of a guy thing.”

  I smile. “I guess I’m not equipped to help.”

  That draws a laugh from him. “I want to do something extra special for my folks. So, I think I’ll rent a tux for the party, but it’s in a couple of days. I thought Keats might know someone who could suit me up last minute.”

  I slide open the bottom drawer of my desk and grab my purse and phone. Then, I open the top drawer and reach for the company credit card Everett gave me when I signed my employment contract. I’ve only used it for the break room supplies. “I know a place. They’ll have exactly what you need.”

  He glances down at the card in my hand. “That’s not for the rental, is it? I have room on my credit card, I think.”

  Keats would want me to handle this. If he were here, his credit card would be in his hand too.

  “I don’t want you to worry about that.” I point to the elevator. “All you need to think about is looking your best for the big night.”

  Fletcher sprints to the elevator to press the call button.

  I follow as fast as my three-inch heels will allow me to.

  As soon as we board the lift, Fletcher turns to me. “Keats is damn lucky to have you. I hope one day I’ll find a girl as sweet as you.”

  I’m his assistant. I’m his assistant.

  I silently chant that in my head as Fletcher smiles at me.

  “Are you excited about the party?” I try and shift the subject to something other than my fake relationship with Keats.

  “I’m more stoked for the beer that they’ll have there.” He laughs. “My dad expects me to eat clean. He wants me to exercise every day, sleep eight hours, and stay away from beer.”

  I study him as the elevator descends to the lobby. “What do you want, Fletcher?”

  His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you want those things too?”

  He half-shrugs. “I guess. I get to drink two beers at the party, so I’m good.”

  The doors slide open, and with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, and his shoulders tensed, he sets off to cross the lobby.

  I fall in step beside him wondering if he’s as happy inside as he looks on the outside when he smiles.

  Chapter 30

  Keats

  All work and no play make me a cranky as fuck.

  I haven’t gotten laid in a long time. It’s been a hell of a long time. I had more than one chance this past week, but I kept my dick in my pants because it only craves one person.

  Maren Weber.

  That’s right. I fucked my palm every single night while I imagined my assistant on her knees with my dick between her lips, or to change it up, I conjured up an image of her sitting on my face. To add to the mix, I envisioned fucking her from behind.

  That’s the roll call of fantasies currently running on a loop in my brain. Occasionally, I’ll think about her spread-eagled on my desk while I slide my cock into her pussy nice and slow.

  “Are you a pervert?”

  Jesus. I hope to hell I’m in the middle of a drunken dream where I’m rocking a hard-on on an airplane while sitting next to a ninety-year-old woman with eyelashes that look like the legs of a tarantula.

  “I asked you a question.” The same high-pitched, gravelly voice creeps into my ear.

  I crack open an eye and look at the seat next to me.

  No dream. This is a fucking nightmare.

  She circles one of her long red fingernails in the air before she points it down. “Your willy is wide awake, sonny boy.”

  I shut my eye again and shake my head. “Why are you looking down there?”

  “It’s that view or the clouds, so…”

  I huff out a laugh. “I need a blanket.”

  “No.” She leans closer until her breath gusts over my cheek. “You need a woman.”

  I open my eyes. “I’m Keats.”

  “Is that a name? Keats?”

  “It’s my name.”

  She rolls her big brown eyes. “What happened to John or Larry? I remember when almost every boy in school was named Walter.”

  “My brother is named Berk, and my sister is named Sinclair,” I offer.

  “Were your parents high when they chose those names?”

  It’s likely. When we were kids, our parents would send us to bed early and then go out on the balcony to smoke weed every Friday night. I didn’t know that’s what they did until a kid in high school offered me a blunt, and I recognized the smell.

  “They’re creative,” I say. “What’s your name?”

  “Mary.”

  “Mary,” I repeat. “Like Maren.”

  She rubs her nose. “No, like Mary. What’s a Maren?”

  I glance down at my watch. It’s still over an hour until we land at LaGuardia. “She’s a woman.”

  She sets back in her seat to study me. “Is she the woman?”

  I perk a brow. “The woman?”

  “The woman who is responsible for that bulge in your pants.” She glances down. “He went to sleep now.”

  I shake my head. “Maren is my assistant.”

  “You like her,” she snaps back.

  She’s a stranger. What harm could come from telling her the truth? “I do like her.”

  “Does she like you, Keats?” She draws my name out slowly over her tongue. “Keats. So odd that it’s a name.”

  “I think she does.”

  “With confidence like that, how could she not?” She shakes her head. “You’re a good-looking guy, looks like you’re packing a lot in your pants, and you smell good. You’re a winner, so own it.”

  “I’m a winner?” I laugh.

  “Look in a mirror.” She pokes a finger into my shoulder. “Back in the day, I would have chased you.”

 
; “I consider that one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever received, Mary.”

  “Promise me, you won’t let this girl slip away.” She pats my hand. “Tell Maren that Mary says you’re quite the catch.”

  “What about you?” I question. “You must have a Walter or two lining up to take you out?”

  Running a hand over her short gray hair, she laughs. “A lady never tells.”

  The flight attendant approaches us. “Is there anything I can get for either of you?”

  I shake my head. “I’m fine. Thank you.”

  Mary pipes up. “My friend Keats looks sleepy. He’s going to need a blanket for his lap.”

  Chapter 31

  Maren

  Keats: The plane just touched down. I’ll make it.

  My ass drops onto the corner of my bed out of pure relief. I feel as though I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

  Keats was delayed by a day in Orlando as he worked out a deal to represent his newest client. He promised me he’d be back in Manhattan in time for the Newmans’ anniversary party tonight, but I was nervous.

  I’m confident that I could have handled attending on my own, but I’m thankful that I won’t have to.

  I type out a quick response.

  Maren: Go home and get ready. I’ll meet you at Howerton House.

  His reply is instant.

  Keats: Are you sure? I can pick you up.

  I’m touched by the offer, but it’s out of his way. Howerton House is in mid-town. The venue features a garden terrace, a loft, and a ballroom. I’ve never been, but I’m excited to see it and Keats.

  Maren: I’m sure. See you soon.

  I take a second to stare at my screen before I hit send.

  Keats: See you there.

  “Please tell me that Keats texted you.”

  I look up to see Arietta standing in the doorway of my bedroom. I slide my phone into the pocket of the robe I’m wearing. “He’s back in New York.”

  She moves across the floor with Dudley in her arms. She’s been cradling him since we picked him up from Donovan’s office yesterday afternoon. He implanted the microchip in Dudley and gave him a checkup and a bath.