Catch

by Bladon, Deborah

  Arietta commented that she liked the shampoo’s peach fragrance, so he handed her a bottle and told her not to bathe him too often. I don’t know how long she’ll be able to resist that temptation.

  “Thank goodness,” she says. “It’s makeup time, Maren.”

  I glance over to where the dress I bought a few days ago is hanging in my closet. It’s black, sleek, and sexy. The fit is divine.

  When I tried it on at the Ella Kara boutique, I was struck by the style. My back is completely on display, and the hem falls just above my knee. It’s sophisticated but edgy enough to turn heads.

  Arietta encouraged me to buy new shoes to go with it, but I’m relying on my favorite pair of black heels. They’re comfortable, and I know I won’t come home at the end of the night with blisters.

  “Are you excited?” Arietta asks. “I’d be so excited to go to Howerton House. You’ll take pictures for me, won’t you?”

  “I will.” I nod.

  She glances at my bouncing knees. “You’re nervous.”

  I have to pretend to be Keats’s girlfriend for the evening. I’m not convinced that I have the acting skills to pull that off. “I want everything to go well tonight.”

  “You mean you want Keats to get that Fletcher guy to sign on the dotted line.”

  Arietta has no idea that the Newmans think that Keats and I are involved. I didn’t tell her because I’m hoping that after tonight, we can drop the lie.

  “It will,” she reassures me with a pat on my shoulder. “Stand up and stretch it out. It’s time to get ready.”

  I push to my feet. “Are you staying home tonight?”

  She places Dudley on the bed. “I’ll hang out with my favorite guy.”

  “Mr. Calvetti is finally back from Italy?” I joke.

  She laughs. “You know I meant Dudley, not Dominick.”

  “I know.” I wrap an arm around her shoulder. “The bar down the street has half-priced martinis on Saturday nights.”

  Her eyes meet mine. “I’m good. It’s the puppy and popcorn for me tonight.”

  It’s a fake relationship with my boss for me tonight.

  With any luck, this night will end with Fletcher Newman as a client. Once that happens I can go back to not being the pretend girlfriend of the man I have a real crush on.

  ***

  I press my finger to my phone’s screen to cancel the Uber I ordered.

  It was due to arrive ten minutes ago. I’ve been standing on the sidewalk outside my building anxiously waiting.

  Ricky, the doorman, has come outside twice to check on me. He disappeared when Mrs. Belars from 4B emerged from a car with an armload of packages. Ricky happily helped her with everything, promising me that he’d find a cab for me after he got back from her apartment.

  I’ve lived in Manhattan my entire life. I know how to hail a taxi.

  As one approaches, I lift my hand. I make eye contact with the driver. He smiles as he pulls up to the curb.

  Just as I’m about to reach for the door handle, a hand darts out to grab it.

  I turn to thank the person opening the door for me. A man with short-cropped blond hair scoots around me and slides onto the backseat.

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask, with frustration laced into my tone. “This is my cab.”

  I don’t have time for this bullshit. I’m going to be late for the party if I have to argue with this inconsiderate fool.

  “It’s mine,” he says curtly. “I’m in a hurry, so kindly step away from the car.”

  “Get out of that car.” The deep, velvet voice of a man sounds behind me. “Now, Hudson.”

  I turn to look at the man now standing next to me. He’s tall with brown hair. He’s dressed impeccably in a dark blue designer suit with a light blue tie. He’s ridiculously handsome.

  “No.” Hudson crosses his arms over his chest. “Shut the door. I’m leaving.”

  The stranger leans into the car to speak to the driver. “Give us a minute.”

  The driver shrugs and then nods.

  “Out.” The suited stranger says. “Get out, Hudson.”

  “Or what?” The rude jerk shakes his head.

  The stranger rests one hand on the roof of the taxi as he talks to the jerk. “What the fuck is that? Are you five-years-old?”

  I let out a laugh. I should be looking for another cab, but I want to see how this plays out.

  “This cab is going nowhere other than this woman’s destination.” The handsome stranger smiles at me. “Give me a minute more, and you’ll be on your way.”

  I nod silently.

  Hudson finally drags himself out of the car. “I paid you once to help me, William. You don’t get to call me out whenever you want.”

  William steps back to allow Hudson to move around me. “If you’re acting like a selfish bastard, I sure as hell will call you out.”

  An obviously frustrated Hudson drags a hand over his head. “Where did you come from anyway? I didn’t see you walking down the sidewalk before I got in the cab?”

  “You were too busy thinking about yourself to notice anyone else.” William picks a piece of lint off the shoulder of Hudson’s sweater. “Apologize to this woman and offer to pay her fare.”

  “That’s not necessary,” I interject. “I’m fine paying for my fare.”

  “I have no doubt about that.” William turns to me. “Hudson cost you valuable time, and he was a dick, so he’s paying as a small way to make amends.”

  I glance at Hudson. He’s nodding. “It’s the right thing to do. I’m sorry, Miss. I got dumped yesterday and I love her, and I guess…”

  “Save that for me.” William pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll buy you a drink at the bar on the corner. You can tell me all about it.”

  I smile at William. “Thank you.”

  As soon as Hudson has handed the cab driver a few bills, William offers his hand to help me get into the car. “I hope that wherever you’re headed, you’ll have the time of your life tonight.”

  I slide into the car, hoping for the same thing.

  Chapter 32

  Keats

  I dropped my carry-on as soon as I got inside my townhouse. I raced to shave, shower, and put on a suit before I ran out the door.

  I didn’t even have time to stop by to see if Stevie approved of my outfit.

  It’s a dark gray suit, a light blue button-down shirt, and a tie with a dark blue diamond pattern. I look good. Mary would give it a big thumbs-up. I hope Maren does too.

  I sprint around the corner on my way to the venue.

  Howerton House is one of those landmarks that people flock to when they have a wedding, a milestone birthday, or they want to impress their friends. It’s a centuries old building in midtown that’s been converted into several event spaces.

  I have no idea if the Newmans are looking to make anyone jealous tonight, but the garden terrace offers a full circle view of this majestic city.

  I’ve been on that roof more times than I can count. Tonight is the first time I’ve had goddamn butterflies in my stomach as I approach the building.

  A jolt of something inside of me turns me to the left.

  I stop in place when a cab drives by because I see her. I see the most beautiful woman in all of Manhattan sitting in the back seat.

  Maren is peering out the window. Her gaze is locked on the building.

  I’m not going to complain about that. If she were looking at me, I have no doubt that she’d see how fucking nervous I am.

  That has nothing to do with Fletcher Newman, and everything to do with Maren.

  I sprint the last half-block, so that I can pass the crawling taxi.

  I make it just as the car pulls up to the curb.

  The driver doesn’t move, so I take a step forward and reach for the door handle. I swing it open.

  Holy shit.

  Fucking hell.

  My thoughts alone should indebt me to the swearing fund by at least a few thousand dollars.
>
  Goddammit, Maren Weber is beautiful. It’s not just the dress, and her hair and makeup. Hell, all of that pales in comparison to her smile and that light that shines around her.

  Is this what goodness looks like? Is this my heaven on earth?

  “Keats,” she says my name softly. “You’re here.”

  I reach out a hand to help her exit the taxi. She does it carefully, keeping hold of the hem of the dress.

  Once she’s beside me, I reach for my wallet.

  Her hand lands on mine again. “It’s taken care of.”

  We stay in place like that, with our hands touching until the driver clears his throat. “I’m hoping to get another fare tonight, folks.”

  “Sorry,” I mutter as I bow down to wave at him. “Have a good night, sir.”

  “You too, bud.” He smiles.

  Slamming the door, I suck in a deep breath. I can do this. I need to do this. I want Fletcher on my roster, so tonight it’s all about showing his parents that I’m the only man for the job.

  I look at Maren. “Are you ready?”

  Her eyes rake me from head-to-toe. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, boss.”

  I point at the steps that lead up to the building before I offer her my arm. “I’m honored to be your date tonight, Maren.”

  She curls her hand around my bicep. “Let’s get you a new client.”

  “Us,” I remind her as we climb the stairs. “Let’s get us a new client.”

  Us.

  I could get used to the sound of that word.

  Chapter 33

  Maren

  My breath catches as I survey the venue for the Newmans’ anniversary party. The lights of Manhattan pale in comparison to the strings of white lights that hang from the wooden beams above the terrace.

  Fragrant red and white flowers border the edge of the space, and a large three-tiered cake sits on a round table surrounded by framed pictures.

  I take a step toward them, pulling Keats with me. I’m still holding tightly to his arm.

  He reassured me as we rode the elevator up to the terrace that everything would be fine.

  I’m starting to believe him.

  Skimming my gaze over the pictures, I smile at what I see. There are two pictures of the Newmans at their wedding twenty-five-years ago. They’re smiling brightly at the camera as they cut a cake similar to the one on the table. The other picture is of the two of them dancing.

  Several photographs of Fletcher are there as well.

  I sigh when I notice that he’s dressed in a baseball uniform in every picture. In one, he’s missing his two front teeth as he holds a small baseball bat at the ready. In another, braces cover all of his teeth. He’s taller in that one. I’d guess he’s ten or eleven years old. The last photo of him must have been taken recently. There’s a determined look on his face as he stands with his hands on his hip, dressed in a baseball uniform with a cap slightly askew on his head.

  Keats calls out when he sees Fletcher approaching us. “Hey, Fletcher. How are you?”

  “Keats.” He lifts a hand in greeting. “It’s good to see you. Maren, you too. I can’t thank you enough for this getup.”

  “You look fantastic.” I round Keats to go to Fletcher. “They did a great job with the fit.”

  “Woah.” Keats steps in place next to me. ‘Tell me what I’m missing.”

  I give the floor to Fletcher because I can see he wants to say something.

  “A couple of days ago, I was looking for you at your office.” His gaze drops to the polished black shoes on his feet. “I thought it would be good to rent a tux for tonight. Maren took care of all of it. She even paid for it.”

  Keats looks at me. “She’s amazing.”

  I can’t hold back a smile. “I knew a guy who knew a guy.”

  Both men laugh.

  Fletcher points his finger to the left. “My folks are here. It’s time for a beer.”

  I glance at the bar. “Keats, you should join him.”

  Keats nods at me knowingly. “I’ll bring you back a glass of wine.”

  “I’d like that.” I turn back to Fletcher. “Enjoy that beer, Fletcher.”

  “You know I will.” He chuckles. “I’ll savor every last drop.”

  ***

  Two hours later, I’m staring at the lights of midtown Manhattan. I’ve taken a handful of pictures and sent them to Arietta. When she texted me back to thank me, she told me the views look breathtaking.

  They are. Not one is more impressive than Keats, though.

  He’s a beautiful man.

  I feel him as he inches up next to me. “A hundred for your thoughts.”

  “That’s a penny.” I laugh.

  “Your thoughts are worth more than anyone else’s.”

  I almost reach up to grab my chest to stop my heart from beating so hard.

  “Are you having fun?” he questions.

  “I am,” I admit.

  We weren’t seated near the Newmans during dinner, but we did get into a spirited discussion about baseball with one of Fletcher’s uncles.

  Keats did most of the talking, but I stepped in to shut the overly confident uncle down when I corrected him on the stats he was spewing out about his favorite player.

  His eyes widened almost as large as Keats.

  Since the other player is a client of my boss, I knew his record. I’ve spent a lot of time this past week studying our clients.

  Our clients.

  Our.

  I like the sound of that.

  “We should take a stab at some time with the happy couple.” Keats gestures to where the Newmans are standing with two people.

  “Let’s give them a few more minutes to finish that conversation.”

  Keats nods. “That’s extra time with our future client.”

  I glance over his shoulder to see Fletcher on the approach. “How did you know he was coming our way?”

  “Intuition.”

  I look behind me and find a large mirror in a gold frame. “You’re good.”

  Keats leans closer, dropping his voice to a low tone. “You have no fucking idea.”

  Desire pulses through me. It’s not just from the words. It’s from the proximity of his body to mine. I stare into his eyes, wanting to tell him that I need to know. I have to know what it’s like to kiss him, to touch him. I want to be in his bed.

  “You swore,” I manage to say.

  He perks a brow as his gaze drops to my lips.

  “Keats.” Fletcher slaps him on the shoulder. “Look at this view, man.”

  Keats keeps his eyes trained on my face. “I am. It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?”

  Chapter 34

  Keats

  I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to kiss Maren Weber right now.

  I’d trade a lifetime of deals with every elite athlete on the planet for a taste of her ruby red lips.

  Her eyelids flutter shut as I breathe a path over her neck before I turn my attention to Fletcher because the kid’s fingers are tap-dancing over my shoulder.

  “Your folks are damn lucky to have a son like you.” I lay the praise on thick because I want out of here and into Maren’s bed.

  Or my bed since that damn dog is living with her.

  “Do you want kids?” He blurts out that million dollar question in front of a woman I want to have sex with.

  Maren coughs.

  I almost choke.

  “My folks only had me,” he goes on. “I think in ten or twenty years when I’m ready to have a family, I’ll opt for two.”

  “I’m an only child too,” Maren pipes up. “It has its advantages.”

  Fletcher moves around me to get closer to her. “You don’t have any siblings?”

  She shakes her head. “Just me.”

  I stare at her profile as the curtain of red hair on her head moves when she talks. It’s always curly. I fucking love that. It gives her a carefree look that makes me imagine her in a field of long green
grass running toward me. I’d wrap my arms around her and spin her in the air before I lower her down and place a tender kiss on her lips.

  What the actual fuck am I daydreaming about?

  “Keats?” Fletcher shakes my shoulder. “What about you? Do you have siblings?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  I look to Maren to help me answer because all the blood in my body is rushing to my dick.

  “Keats has a brother and a sister.”

  I thank her with a smile.

  “What do they do?” Fletcher turns back to me. “Is your brother in sports?”

  “He can’t even bowl a strike to save his fucking life.” I laugh.

  Fletcher joins in, as does Maren before she offers a reminder. “That’s another hundred dollars to the fund, Keats.”

  “You guys remind me of my folks.” Fletcher looks out at the lights of Manhattan. “You’re a solid team.”

  “That we are.” Keats smiles at me. “That we are.”

  ***

  “See that building over there.” Fletcher points a finger in the distance. “It has a hidden tunnel system beneath it.”

  Maren glances at him. “How do you know that?”

  “Architecture is my porn.” He chuckles. “I could spend days walking the streets of this city, staring at the buildings.”

  I catch the Newmans approaching in my periphery, so I turn toward them. Their son is the man I want on my roster, but these two call the shots, so it’s time to turn on the fucking charm.

  “Congratulations,” I offer again for the second time.

  “Keats.” Patrika descends on me with her arms wide open.

  I go in for a good old-fashioned mom hug. She doesn’t disappoint.

  “I can’t thank you and Maren enough for the gift.”

  Well, fuck. Is that sarcasm spilling from her lips, or did Maren pull another rabbit out of her hat of brilliance and do something spectacular, again?