by Alisha Rai
“At my bodyguard’s family farm. NorCal.” Katrina trusted Andy to tell her the exact location, but she probably wouldn’t know the area.
There was a creak, and she imagined Andy sitting back in her leather chair. Katrina had never been to her office, but she imagined all therapists had leather chairs. “You went to stay somewhere else overnight. How are you doing?”
“Fine.” She knew what the next question would be. What did you learn from this exposure? “I learned waking up in a different place isn’t so terrible, especially if I try to keep some of my schedule the same. Actually, I’d forgotten how much I used to enjoy new experiences, and a farm is very new. There’s a lot to like about being here, beyond the fact that it’s not home.”
“Yeah, it would be new for me too. And, yes. You can absolutely make the unfamiliar familiar in certain ways.”
Katrina walked to the bureau to fiddle with her rock. “Those people—from the café—they’re going on TV today in a few hours.”
“I saw.”
“It’s going to bring more attention to me.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ve already considered all the terrible things that could happen, right?”
“Yes.”
“What are some alternative possibilities?”
Katrina made a face.
“Are you rolling your eyes?”
Was Andy psychic? “No. Um, I suppose . . . it could be possible people find out my name and nothing happens. Or it dies down on its own and I go back to my life.”
“Those are definitely valid possibilities.” Andy paused. “How’s this for a suggestion? I know you work on this a lot, but be more vigilant to your thinking patterns in a time of stress like this. When you start to catastrophize, take a step back and acknowledge you may be overestimating the probability that the worst will happen.”
That seemed like a reasonable enough suggestion. “Okay.”
“It’s not homework. It’s a suggestion,” Andy said, and there was a smile in her voice. “And remember to call me if you need me. Your support system is there to help you out when you need it.”
“Understood. I’ll try to focus on other things too.” Like how Jas will never love me. No, maybe not that.
“Always good to stay busy. Remember sometimes social media is flat and overly simple. It’s not the whole world, even if it seems like it sometimes. There’s millions of people out there who have no idea who CafeBae is.”
“Got it.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about farm life when you get back.”
They said their goodbyes and Katrina placed her phone on the bed. She quickly showered and changed. No newspapers here, but she’d catch up on the world online. Then breakfast, then work.
She left Doodle sleeping and tiptoed into the hallway. She paused outside Jas’s door. Was that a thud?
She stood in the dark hallway for a minute, and then heard it again. A thud, followed by a grunt. She knew his grunts. This was a pained grunt.
She knocked lightly. “Jas?” she whispered.
Nothing.
“Jas?” she said, louder.
She placed her hand on the doorknob and hesitated. Entering Jas’s bedroom was fairly intimate, but if he was hurt, she didn’t want to ignore him. She heard a low, tortured moan, and that made up her mind for her.
There was enough light coming in from the rapidly lightening sky to see Jas clearly. His head rocked back and forth on the pillow. He’d kicked the sheet off. He was naked except for a pair of shorts. Seeing that much skin might have normally sent her packing, but he was in so much distress, she couldn’t leave.
His lips parted and he gasped. His brow was furrowed. She walked over to the side of the bed. “Jas,” she whispered, but he was in deep REM sleep, his eyes moving rapidly under his eyelids. And what he saw wasn’t making him happy.
“Shhh,” she crooned, and placed her hand on his cheek. He immediately stilled. Jas shifted his legs and she glanced down. This was as much of his flesh as she’d ever seen, but she could barely register his lean stomach when the web of scars on his right thigh and knee existed.
She’d seen these scars before. The details were murky, but she knew he’d been injured in the course of duty, that he sometimes moved a little stiffly when it was cold out. Katrina wasn’t a veteran, but she knew trauma. She knew scars, scars on the body and on the soul.
She studied the lines of exhaustion and pain etched into his face. Her heart melted. He was so focused on her, always. On her comfort and well-being.
Because you’re his client.
Her lips twisted. Her silly romantic dreams were just that, dreams, and he couldn’t help that he didn’t feel the zings she did. Nothing else would come of this, but she considered him a friend. She’d be a better friend, his best friend. He had things going on in his life that had nothing to do with her, and she ought to be more sensitive to all the stuff he might be dealing with, the stuff he didn’t show her or anyone else.
Katrina didn’t want to wake him. On the contrary, she hoped he caught up on his sleep. Before leaving, she opened his window a crack so air could flow into the room. A poor substitute for her cool hand on his face, but probably a much safer option to mitigate his discomfort while he slumbered.
Chapter Thirteen
JAS HAD GROWN up with peach everything—peach cobbler, peach pie, peach jam, even peach sandwiches. He might not be a farmer but peaches ran in his blood, and occasionally his mouth watered when he remembered the taste of the first crop of the season, fresh from the trees.
So it was no surprise the delicious peachy scent of whatever was cooking lured him out of bed and downstairs in the morning.
He entered the kitchen and found Katrina at the stove, stirring something in an old cast-iron pan. She wore leggings and a soft cozy cream sweater that slipped off one shoulder, revealing a lacy bra strap and light brown skin. He kept his gaze above her neck. “Good morning.”
Her beaming smile caught him off guard. “Good morning. How did you sleep?”
“Fine,” he lied. His sleep had been fitful, as it occasionally was in times of stress. He didn’t remember his nightmares perfectly, but the feelings always lingered in the morning.
For the most part, he could repress the memories of getting hurt, but sometimes . . . well, sometimes they popped to center stage. “You?”
The dog lifted her head from where she lay at Katrina’s feet. He expected the animal to growl or huff at him, but instead she only put her giant head down and closed her eyes. Looking at Doodle’s still big paws, he feared she wasn’t quite done growing.
“Excellent. Doodle kept me nice and warm. Did Bikram get back to you about anyone missing her?”
Her words were casual, but he caught the hint of worry underlying them. Her attachment to the dog was very clear. “He hasn’t responded yet. He seems to be a little annoyed with me, so he may be delaying.” He hadn’t meant to confide that last part. The nightmares must have loosened his tongue.
“Hmm. Maybe he’s annoyed with you for the same reason he seems to dislike me.”
“He doesn’t dislike you,” he said automatically.
She lifted a shoulder, and the sweater slipped farther. Not that he was looking.
“It might be he’s resentful that you working for me has kept you away from your family for so long.”
Jas shook his head. “That’s ridiculous, I see them all the time,” he said, even as he thought back to Bikram’s visit yesterday.
She must be pretty special.
He frowned.
Katrina waved a spatula. “Something to think about before you see him next.”
“If he doesn’t respond in the next couple hours, I’ll take the dog to the vet and see if she’s chipped or if they know anything about a possible owner.” Though that would entail leaving Katrina alone, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to do that.
“Well, if the vet doesn’t know anything, you could get a temporary tag for her, just in
case. It’s Doodle with two o’s, one l.”
Jas didn’t particularly want to do that, on the off chance Katrina couldn’t keep Doodle, but he didn’t want to crush her hopes either. “We’ll see. What are you making?”
“Peach cobbler.” She nodded at the windowsill. “I made a couple of pies earlier. There were so many peaches. You could perhaps take a pie over to your brother and any of the other workers?”
The men and women would be delighted. Everyone who worked on the farm carted home the non-sellable fruit, but an out of season pie was next level. “How long have you been up?”
“A while. You know I’m an early riser.” She gave him a wry smile. “No newspaper here, so I did a bit of reading on this new start-up I found, and cooked.”
That sounded more like her schedule, except . . . “You’re not listening to any music here.”
She swiped her hands on the towel tucked at her waist. “My headphones block out noise. I don’t know this place well enough yet.”
“Ah.”
“How do you feel about a nice fruit salad for breakfast? Maybe a yogurt parfait. Something quick.”
“Sounds good. Do you need help cutting anything?”
She waved him off. They were silent as she chopped fruit and assembled the parfait in little glasses she must have found in the cupboard, Doodle patiently sitting at her feet ready to gobble any fallen scraps. “Bikram did a great job stocking our fridge,” she remarked.
Jas poured them both orange juice and coffee. “Let me know if anything’s missing. I can place another grocery order.”
“I’ll do a proper inventory later.” She placed the parfaits on a tray and cocked her head at the living room. “Shall we eat on the couch? The show’s about to start.”
He raised an eyebrow, and her gaze slid away from his face, though he didn’t know why. “You want to watch the Good Morning Live segment?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
He’d planned on watching it, if only to keep up on what was happening. “Yes. Which is why you don’t need to put yourself through that.”
“Don’t be silly.” She sailed past him, and he had no choice but to follow.
“Katrina . . .”
“It’s fine, Jas.” She sat on the couch and switched on the TV. Katrina patted the place next to her. “Let’s watch.”
“AND NOW WE’RE going to turn to CafeBae and the viral romance that has captured the nation.”
Katrina placed her spoon down. Next to her on the old floral couch, Jas rested his orange juice on his knee.
Now that this moment had come, she felt oddly disassociated, like she was standing outside her body, watching this show. “You know, I was on Good Morning Live once,” she said casually. The camera panned over Ross in what she assumed was his house. The voice-over gave a summary of the nightmare, with the same rom-com spin, as Ross puttered around a kitchen shirtless and sat down with a staged plate of eggs and bacon. She knew it was staged, because only a masochist would cook bacon shirtless.
“When were you on Good Morning Live?” Jas asked.
“When I was maybe sixteen. It was a calendar that was being promoted, Teens against Tetanus.” She shrugged at his puzzled expression. “Yeah, I don’t know. I got groped by a correspondent during the segment. I told my agent, she told me to play nice, and I guess I wasn’t nice enough, because they never asked me back.” She’d also told her father, who had yelled at her to not make up stories. The joy of show business.
Jas placed his glass on the coffee table with a loud clink. “Where’s the correspondent now?”
“Fired.”
“Thank God.”
On the television, Ross leaned against the railing of his balcony and laughed at something the interviewer said, and it cut in their audio. “Why do you think you went viral?” the reporter asked.
Good question.
Ross stroked his chin. His stubble had grown since she’d seen him in person, and he looked rugged and masculine, and conventionally attractive enough to fool the internet, she supposed. “It’s a cynical world,” the liar said. “I think people want love and romance and happy endings.”
Katrina wanted those things, too, but she wanted them in reality. Not the fantasy these people were spinning.
“How do you feel about being the hero in this love story?”
Ross laughed. “You know, I think the real heroes are the ones who documented it for the world. Becca and her dear hubby.”
Whaaaaat. The video cut to the studio and Becca and her dear hubby—gag—whose name turned out to be Alan, according to the chyron on the bottom of the screen.
Katrina squinted at the brown-haired man. Oh right. The entirely forgettable guy who had been with Becca at the café. Nice, she had another person to focus her ire on.
“We were so captivated by the thought that we were witnessing love in real time,” Becca gushed. Alan nodded enthusiastically. “I suppose the rest of the world was too.”
“There was no love,” Katrina muttered. Jas took a measured sip of his juice, but was silent.
“I just want them to be happy, truly,” Becca said, and tittered. “And maybe invite us to the wedding.”
“They’ll have to invite the whole internet to their wedding,” Alan joked.
The video cut to Ross. “How did you feel when you first saw CuteCafeGirl, Ross?”
“Oh, I thought she was beautiful and stunning. Intelligent. And we had so much in common, right off the bat.” He pressed his hand to his hairless chest. Why was he still shirtless? Wasn’t he cold? “We’re both animal lovers, for one. And the more we talk, the more we find out about each other.”
She jerked. Jas stilled next to her. What? Had he said talk? Not talked?
“So you two are still in contact with each other?”
“Yes.” His dimples flashed. “Kat’s a little shy, but she’s as delighted as I am that our story has inspired so many people.”
“Is there going to be a fairy-tale wedding?”
Ross winked. “Time will tell.”
Katrina shut the TV off with a snap of the remote. “It’s . . . he . . .”
“What a motherfucking asshole.” Jas’s calm pronouncement had her turning to face him. He met her gaze. “He’s on TV saying you guys are still talking to each other. This is going beyond the lies he spun before. He’s . . . he’s enjoying this fame. So is the woman. And you had to leave your own damn home.” He launched to his feet and ran his hands through his hair until it was spiked up. “This is so unfair.”
She watched him, bemused. It was all stuff she’d said yesterday, when he’d sat so calmly and listened to her.
It was like a trade, she supposed. Now that he was upset, her own ire deflated. “It is unfair,” she agreed. “But that’s how it’s going.” Her smile was wobbly. “One superpower my brain gives me is that I’m always low-key prepped for the worst. This scenario wasn’t one I considered, but it’s not the absolute worst.”
He growled.
“To be honest, I truly expected them to go on television and rattle off my name and Social Security number.” Katrina winced. “He gave the internet my nickname, so, like, not great, but it really could have been worse.” She rose and dared to place her hand on Jas’s arm. “You know what? Next couple of days, let’s try to focus on other things. Not stress too much until we have to. It’s okay. We can handle this.”
He looked down at her hand. “You’re right. We can handle it.”
She let her lashes conceal her eyes as she turned away and picked up their plates, Doodle coming to her feet, tongue sticking out in anticipation of returning to the kitchen.
It had sounded a little too much like a vow, those words coming from him. We can handle it.
She’s a client.
She’d take her own advice and stay focused on other things, like enjoying this time, tucked away in this adorable little farmhouse, with her dear friend.
Chapter Fourteen
IF JAS
DIDN’T leave the house soon, Katrina was going to kill him.
Okay, kill was, perhaps, too strong a word.
Tap, tap, tap.
Katrina’s eye twitched. Or not strong enough.
Doubtful anyone else would be annoyed by Jas tapping a pen on the table while he worked on his laptop, but repetitive noises made her head ache. Especially since he’d been doing it for the last two whole hours.
“Katrina?”
She refocused on the computer, where her two employees were gathered around a conference table. Being an investor wasn’t easy when one didn’t leave one’s home, but it was made simpler with a small staff of people she trusted implicitly to handle the face-to-face interactions and judgment calls that were necessary in this game. She leased a small, ridiculously expensive office in Silicon Valley for them.
So far, the system had worked. There was some speculation, but no one closely questioned who the wizard was behind the curtain of the KA Fund. Entrepreneurs were happy to get money, they rarely cared where it came from so long as they could keep building. “I’m sorry, Akash. Can you repeat that?”
Akash fiddled with the precise knot in his tie. He was her newest hire, and happened to be Rhiannon’s assistant’s cousin. Katrina trusted Lakshmi and Akash had struck her as clever and quick. He’d only worked for her for a year, but he’d done well in scouting out some good opportunities. They were working on his impulsiveness. “I was saying I think you ought to reconsider the handbag start-up.”
Carol was already shaking her head before Katrina could respond. She was in her fifties, and had been Katrina’s agent’s assistant many years ago. She was solid and cautious, and possessed an uncanny ability to suss out diamonds in the rough. “There are a million sustainable purse companies out there now. There’s nothing special about this one.” She grimaced. “Their samples are hideous, too.”
“It’s not about the company, it’s the people behind it,” Akash argued. “Two Stanford Ph.D.s.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Katrina glanced at Jas. He wasn’t using the pen anymore, but he was typing. Loudly. Was it his keyboard that was loud or his fingers? “Carol?”
