Catch

by Bladon, Deborah

  FIRST ORIGINAL EDITION, OCTOBER 2020

  Copyright © 2020 by Deborah Bladon

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 9798681385035

  eBook ISBN: 9781926440606

  Book & cover design by Wolf & Eagle Media

  www.deborahbladon.com

  Also by Deborah Bladon

  THE OBSESSED SERIES

  THE EXPOSED SERIES

  THE PULSE SERIES

  THE VAIN SERIES

  THE RUIN SERIES

  IMPULSE

  SOLO

  THE GONE SERIES

  FUSE

  THE TRACE SERIES

  CHANCE

  THE EMBER SERIES

  THE RISE SERIES

  HAZE

  SHIVER

  TORN

  THE HEAT SERIES

  RISK

  MELT

  THE TENSE DUET

  SWEAT

  TROUBLEMAKER

  WORTH

  HUSH

  BARE

  WISH

  SIN

  LACE

  THIRST

  COMPASS

  VERSUS

  RUTHLESS

  BLOOM

  RUSH

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Epilogue

  Preview of Game Changer

  Preview of Plucked

  Thank you

  Deborah’s Mailing List

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Maren

  “Dudley’s daddy can’t keep it in his pants.” I flick a wrist toward my laptop screen. “I have another five DMs from women this morning.”

  “You have even more responses to your post on the Manhattan Lost and Found Dog group?” My roommate, Arietta Voss, comes marching into the dining room to get a better look.

  I glance up and take in her outfit for the day. For a twenty-two-year-old petite blonde with gray eyes, Arietta looks nothing like you would expect her to.

  The hem of the frumpy navy blue skirt wrapped around her waist hits her legs mid-calf. It’s not half as bad as the lime green blouse she’s buttoned up to her neck.

  “You must still be beating the men off with a stick, Arietta.”

  She lets out a laugh. “I am trying to be professional, Maren.”

  “You’re never going to get that sexy beast of a boss of yours in bed if you keep dressing like that.”

  Her eyes widen behind her dark-colored, rectangular eyeglasses. “Dominick Calvetti is still in Italy, and besides, I would never sleep with someone I hate.”

  “You hate him as much as I hate my vibrator,” I quip.

  With a shake of her head, she crosses our apartment to pull a bottle of orange juice from the fridge.

  Technically, it’s my apartment. If we’re getting down to actual specifics, it belongs to my father. He bought this three thousand foot dream on the twentieth floor of a high rise in Tribeca as a gift for me.

  It’s not a standard gift, though. There are terms, and I’m already in violation of one of them.

  I lost my job yesterday.

  I need to stay gainfully employed to keep this lavish roof over my head.

  Keeping it over Arietta’s head is important to me too. We met at a vintage jewelry store a year ago. Arietta mentioned that she was looking for a place to live, and even though she’s six years younger than I am, I invited her to move in.

  We’re as close as sisters now.

  After pouring herself a glass of juice, she bends down to stroke her hand over Dudley’s head. “How are you today, sweetheart?”

  Arietta has been calling him that since I found him wandering the street last night without a collar.

  A whole host of responses to my posting on the Manhattan Lost and Found Dog group have clued me into his name.

  They also directed me toward his irresponsible owner.

  Keats Morgan.

  Mr. Morgan is a twenty-nine-year-old sports agent. His client list is impressive, but that’s not why he’s so popular in this city.

  Every reply to my posting about the lost dog has come from a woman.

  Twenty-three women have messaged me to say that they met Dudley when they spent the night with Keats.

  I push my curly red hair back behind my ears. “I sent Keats a DM on Instagram, but so far, he hasn’t responded. When I called his office just now, the woman who answered the phone put me on hold and then hung up on me.”

  “I’d get fired if I tried that trick.” Arietta bites her bottom lip. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I can ask at work if there are any available positions.”

  Arietta works as an assistant at a wealth management firm. My background is in public relations. “You’re an angel, Arietta, but I’m going to put out some feelers today.”

  I’ll do that very quietly, so my dad doesn’t get wind of my employment status.

  “If you know the address to Mr. Morgan’s office, I can drop the dog off on my way to work,” Arietta offers.

  Keats Morgan is all kinds of gorgeous, and I haven’t been on a date in two months. I could use a glimpse of something tall, green-eyed, and handsome today.

  “I’ll get dressed and head over to his office.” I point at the cute black and tan Yorkshire Terrier sitting on the floor watching us. “Say your goodbyes to Dudley because he’s about to be reunited with the man who can’t keep him on a leash.”

  ***

  “What the ever-loving-fig bar are you doing with Dudley?”

  “Huh?” I question the way-too-good-looking man in front of me.

  His black hair looks like it was once perfectly styled, but a wayward lock has curled onto his forehead. His green eyes pierce into me as he crosses his arms over his broad chest.

  If gold medals were awarded for sexy forearms, Keats Morgan would be world champion. I should thank him for taking the time to roll up his shirtsleeves today.

  This man i
s the definition of hot-as-hell, but what did he just say to me?

  “Are you listening to me, Mary?” He pokes a finger in the air toward me. “Why the hell do you have Dudley? Goddammit, I swore. Shit. I did it again.”

  I shake my head because that is a lot to absorb.

  “My name is Maren,” I repeat for the second time.

  I introduced myself when I got off the elevator, marched toward his office, and found the door ajar. The desk outside was vacant, so his receptionist or assistant, or whoever should be fielding his calls and visitors, is MIA.

  “Forgive me for that, Maren.” He flashes a dimpled grin before he lets out a sneeze.

  His bicep flexes beneath the thin fabric of his blue and white striped button-down shirt as he raises his hand to cover his nose.

  “Bless you,” I mutter.

  His right brow arches. “I’m too far gone for that.”

  Shaking my head, I push Dudley toward him because my hand is now dripping with puppy saliva. He’s an affectionate little dog, but I don’t do animal kisses.

  Keats sneezes again, backing up as he does. “Get him the hell away from me. Heck. I meant heck.”

  Glancing around, I feel like I’ve stepped into an alternate universe where the hottest guy in the world crossed paths with a charming nerd, and Keats Morgan was created.

  “Mr. Morgan.” A woman with long brown hair dressed in a tailored white suit glides into his office. “I’m back from my break.”

  The woman stares a path through me when she catches sight of me out of the corner of her eye.

  “I’m Maren,” I say to her even though I doubt she cares. “I’m here to return Mr. Morgan’s dog.”

  Maybe this woman will take Dudley off my hands so I can get the hell out of here.

  “He’s not my dog.” Keats looks directly at the woman in the white suit. “You were supposed to take care of this, Jamie.”

  “I did.” She approaches him. “I took care of it.”

  “Then why the hell is he with her?” His arm waves in my direction.

  “You said hell,” she points out.

  “What?” he barks.

  Dudley does too.

  I try to calm the dog with a kiss on the head.

  “You swore.” Jamie sighs. “You know what that means, sir?”

  “You’re fired.”

  My gasp gets lost in the sound of Jamie’s almost scream. “What, sir?”

  “You are fired,” Keats repeats.

  “Because I pointed out that you swore?” Jamie tosses her hair behind her shoulders. “You told me to do that.”

  “I entrusted you with Dudley.” He steps toward me but then takes two measured steps back. “You told me you’d take excellent care of him, and she found him on the street.”

  Jamie looks at me. “Where did you find him, Mary?”

  “Her name is Maren.” Keats shoots me a glance before he turns his attention back to Jamie. “Why the fuck does it matter where she found him?”

  “Sir, again you…”

  “Swore,” Keats interrupts her. “I sure as hell did, and I will again if I goddamn feel like it. You gave me your word that you’d take care of my sister’s dog until she gets back to Manhattan. You failed, so you’re fired.”

  Jamie stomps a shoe against the marble floor. “I am going to take this up with Human Resources.”

  “Do I look like I give a fuck?” Keats pushes on the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. “I want you out of here now.”

  “I’ll go.” She glances at me. “This is all your fault.”

  I stalk toward her with Dudley in my arms. “How so?”

  “You should have just let him be.” Her finger trails in the air in front of Dudley’s face. “He’s a lot of work. He barks too much, and he squirmed out of his collar when he was with the dog walker. I couldn’t deal with it, so I gave him to my sister. Dudley must have slipped out of his collar again when she took him for a walk.”

  “Get the hell out,” Keats orders. “You have two minutes to vacate the building before I call security.”

  “Fine.” Jamie turns on her heels. “I hated working for you anyway. You can tell the poor soul that you hire to replace me that I wish them luck. You’re a monster.”

  Chapter 2

  Keats

  As soon as Jamie slams the door, I turn to the woman holding Dudley in her arms.

  Maren, the dog rescuer, is beautiful.

  Her curly red hair reaches halfway down her back. That paired with her ocean blue eyes and long legs makes me feel things.

  I’d say I’m getting weak in the knees, but the reaction my body is having to her hits higher than that.

  “I apologize that you had to witness that.” I shove a hand in the front pocket of my navy blue pants. “I should have spoken to Jamie in private.”

  “No harm, no foul.” Maren shrugs. “I do need to go.”

  She approaches me. For every step forward she takes, I retreat by a larger step.

  “I’m trying to give you the dog.”

  I stare at her. “I can’t take the dog.”

  The toe of her black-heeled sandal taps against the floor. This woman might not have dressed to impress anyone today, but fuck me , she’s hot in her boyfriend jeans and white button-down shirt that’s tied in a knot at her waist.

  The sound of a phone buzzing lures her gaze to the black bag slung over her shoulder.

  She adjusts Dudley in her arms before she fishes in the bag and yanks out a phone.

  I watch her lips move as she reads the message on the screen.

  Can you come in for an interview today?

  The spy camp my folks sent my brother and me to during summer breaks when we were kids has paid off. The instructors taught us how to crack codes and dust for fingerprints. It was my roommate at the camp who showed me how to pick a lock. He also schooled me in the art of reading lips.

  That’s a skill that comes in handy when you negotiate for a living.

  Maren looks up from her phone. “I have an appointment, so you’re going to have to take Dudley whether you like it or not.”

  “I’m allergic,” I say honestly. “That dog and I are not compatible.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, but it’s not my problem.”

  I can’t argue with that, so I take another approach. “My sister dropped him on my doorstep when she went on vacation. She told me that Yorkies are hypoallergenic and I’d be fine, but Dudley didn’t get that memo.”

  “There must be someone here I can give him to.” She glances over her shoulder. Two people pass by the open door of my office.

  I’ve already tried to convince every single one of my employees to adopt Dudley temporarily. No one was willing to sign up even with the promise of a vacation in the tropics or a bonus added to their paycheck.

  Jamie was my last resort.

  Dudley licks Maren’s hand, so I make my first offer. “I’ll pay you to take care of him for me.”

  Her blue eyes widen beneath long lashes. “You’ll what?”

  “I need someone to watch him for the next six weeks,” I say.

  That’s a give or take because my sister, Sinclair, is somewhere in Europe. She’s been gone for three months, and before that, she took off for two months to Australia. Eventually, she’ll land back in New York and take possession of her dog. I hope.

  “I can’t take care of him.” She brushes the idea away with a terse chuckle. “I have to be somewhere, so just take him from me.”

  “Why can’t you take care of him?”

  I know it’s a ludicrous question. This woman doesn’t know me. She sure as hell doesn’t look all that comfortable getting licked by Big Dud, but I need her help, and I don’t want her to leave. I like her.

  I don’t know why the fuck I like her, but I do.

  “I have a job interview, Mr. Morgan.” My name comes out like a dirty word from her lips. “I have to go home and get ready for that.”

  “I’m offering you a jo
b,” I point out. “I’ll pay well.”

  “I work in public relations.” She shifts Dudley to her other arm. “I’m not taking on a job as a dog sitter.”

  I get it. She thinks it’s beneath her. I’ve been there. I bagged groceries during my teenage years. I hated every fucking second of it. The truth is that job taught me that if you work hard, you’ll be rewarded. I missed it when I quit after high school.

  “Are you open to taking on a job as my assistant?” I scrub my hand over my forehead. “I need a new one.”

  “Since you just fired yours,” she says in a whisper.

  “You’ll start at seventy five a year and perks.”

  That lures her eyebrows up. “Seventy five thousand dollars?”

  Nodding, I rest my hip against my desk. “You’ll have a car and driver at your disposal, and you’ll receive a monthly expense account for incidentals. Jamie used hers for manis and pedis, and whatever the fuck an astrologer does.”

  Maren’s eyes narrow. “How many assistants have you had in the past year?”

  Well, shit. We’re going there?

  “Several.” If I keep it general, maybe she won’t press.

  “How many?”

  Jesus.

  “Not counting Jamie, that would be three,” I say as casually as I can.

  Her gaze drops to her phone when it chimes again.

  This time she doesn’t move her lips when she reads whatever popped up on the screen.

  “My interview is in two hours.” Her voice rises. “I need to go now.”

  “Whatever they are offering you, I’ll double it.”

  Why the fuck did I just say that?

  Dudley whines as she slides him from one arm to the other again.

  Maren bites the corner of her bottom lip, and my cock thanks her for that by coming to life.

  I shift so she doesn’t get a glimpse of the tent I’m popping in my pants.

  “You’re going to double what I’m being offered by the company I have an interview with?” She shakes her head. “You’re serious? You don’t even know if I’m qualified for Jamie’s position.”

  “Can you answer phones, write emails, and arrange for Dud to get to doggy daycare every day?”