Today, he’s dressed in black pants, a white button-down shirt, and a gray suit jacket. The shirt is unbuttoned at the collar to give him a relaxed corporate look.
I glance down at the front of my blue dress. The last thing I want is for my boss to catch me staring at him.
“Good morning, good people,” Keats says loudly as he walks past my desk. “It’s a new week. That means it’s a fresh chance to impress me.”
The room erupts in laughter.
“I need to get to work.” Everett slides a hand over his graying hair. “Good luck on your first day, Maren. If you need anything, you know where my office is.”
Keats stops mid-step just as those words leave Everett’s lips. “I’ll give Maren whatever she needs.”
I glance at my boss.
He perks a brow. “Join me in my office, Maren. I’ll give you a quick rundown of what we’re doing today.”
I glide to my feet. Grabbing the tablet I found in the desk drawer, I suck in a deep breath. This is it. I’m about to find out what working for Keats is really like.
Chapter 9
Keats
I’m fucked.
I asked Ripley to shoot me a text when Maren arrived today. That was an hour ago. I was at home, debating what to wear.
That’s right. I was going through everything that I picked up at the dry cleaner yesterday. I wanted to look good for my new assistant.
The last time that happened was never.
I finally settled on a pair of black pants that make my ass look fantastic. I know that as a fact because I’ve heard the comments behind me as I’ve made my way down the streets of Manhattan wearing these pants.
You can’t go wrong with a white button-down shirt. I noticed Maren eyeing up my forearms the other day, so I’m getting rid of this gray jacket straightaway.
If she wants my muscular arms on display, I’ll gladly give her that.
“Should I sit?”
Her question breaks me out of my lust fog.
I know I shouldn’t want my assistant, but damn that blue shift dress she’s wearing highlights her eyes and other parts of her.
I turn to face her. “Yes.”
She drops into one of the chairs in front of my desk, so I do the same in my worn leather chair.
It’s another inheritance piece from my grandfather.
One of her red nails swipes over the screen of the tablet in her hands. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
Good question.
Every work thought I had was crowded out by my daydreams about Maren.
There’s no way in hell that this is a good idea. I’ve never been attracted to anyone who works for me. That’s not by design. My brain has naturally put up a barrier between work and play.
That’s all fallen to the wayside because I’m feeling a rush of heat run through me as I watch Maren lick her bottom lip.
I drop my gaze to my desk.
Think, Keats. Work. Think about goddamn work.
“Pace Callahan.”
Maren’s gaze shifts from the tablet to my face. “What was that?”
“I have a meeting with Pace Callahan today,” I say. “I want you there.”
She scratches her right palm. “When is the meeting? Do I have time to research who Pace Callahan is?”
I hold back a smile. “You don’t know who Pace Callahan is?”
Maren shakes her head, sending her red curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I don’t.”
“Fuck I wish he was here.” I chuckle. “Pace won’t believe someone exists who doesn’t know who the hell he is.”
“You owe two hundred to the fund.” Maren shoots me a look. “I take it Pace is famous in some way?”
He was one of the most valuable baseball players in the major leagues until a shoulder injury cut his career short six months ago.
He’s about to make waves as a commentator on a major sports network thanks to a two-year, eight-figure deal I negotiated for him.
“He used to be a good baseball player,” I downplay his achievements. “We’re meeting him for lunch to talk about his next steps.”
“Was he kicked off his team?”
I can’t tell if she’s playing with me or not. “Something like that. I’ll let Pace fill in the blanks for you.”
“Fair enough.” She shrugs. “What time are we meeting him?”
I glance at my watch. “We’ll meet him for a coffee at ten.”
Maren nods. “What do you need from me before then?”
Details. I want details about her life, starting with whether or not there’s a man in it.
I opt for a more professional answer. “Jamie has a client list in a file on your computer. Take some time to look that over and acquaint yourself with the people we work with.”
Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she smiles. “I can handle that.”
I stand when she does. Watching her leave, I have to wonder whether I can handle working with her.
***
Pace Callahan is a thirty-two-year-old, charismatic son-of-a-bitch who is flashing his pearly whites at Maren as we walk into the coffee shop that’s a block from my office.
“Pace,” I call out to him so he’ll get his eyes off of my assistant.
It doesn’t work.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says to Maren in his best I-want-you-in-my-bed voice.
Maren stops mid-step and glances at me. “That’s him?”
I don’t know her well enough to read between the lines, so I can’t tell if she’s impressed that the brown-haired guy in the jeans and blue sweater is Pace, or if she finds him repulsive.
Who the fuck am I kidding? No one finds Pace repulsive.
“Has he considered a career as a model?”
“What the hell?” I mutter.
“That’s a hundred to the fund, boss,” Maren shoots back.
I swear that the smile on her face is meant to reassure me that Pace isn’t her type, but that’s swiftly pushed aside when she glides across the floor and right into his orbit.
“I’m Maren Weber,” she announces as she drops her hand in his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Callahan.”
“It’s Pace.” He covers her hand with his. “You must be Keats’s new assistant.”
“I am.” She tugs her hand free. “And you’re his favorite client.”
I’m about to call Maren on that because it’s bullshit, but Pace buys into it. The wide grin on his face tells me he’s eating it up. “I had an inkling I was.”
“Let’s sit and discuss your next chapter.” Maren points at the café’s counter and the barista waiting patiently for their next customer. “I’ll get us each a latte. That works for you both, doesn’t it?”
Her eagle eye spotted the label on the side of the empty cup atop the table Pace was sitting at. The word latte is bolded.
“That’s my go-to.” He smiles. “Keats made the right choice hiring you, Maren.”
I can’t argue with that.
My assistant is charming the hell out of my most aggravating client. Hiring her was the best move I’ve made in a long time.
Chapter 10
Maren
“We’re celebrating tonight,” Pace announces as I set the tray holding the lattes on the table. “Are you in, Maren?”
I glance at Keats as I take a seat between the two men. Since my boss is actively avoiding eye contact with me by staring at his phone’s screen, I take that as a hint. Besides, I worked hard at my last job to keep my work friends separate from the people who will be there for me no matter what.
The two work friends I did have at Knott left for other positions months before I was fired, and neither kept in touch. It makes perfect sense since we never spoke outside of business hours.
“I have plans,” I lie, although I’m considering rescheduling my lunch with Arietta to dinner as soon as I’m back at the office.
That draws Keats’s gaze up. “You do?”
Maybe I
misread his interest in his phone. If he needs me to work tonight, I’ll be there. I’m assuming that their idea of a celebration involves tequila shots and hooking up with random women, but I might be totally off base.
“We’ll hit up a club,” Pace says, ignoring the fact that I opted out. “I’ll get a few of the guys together, Keats.”
I breathe a sigh of relief because the last time I went to a club was six months ago with Arietta. We left without any men but with a bunch of memories of cheesy pickup lines.
“You’re sure you don’t want to come, Maren?” Keats questions.
I glance at him. “I’m busy, but thanks for the invite.”
Keats bites the corner of his bottom lip. I can tell he’s curious about my plans, but before he can push for more details, Pace clears his throat.
“The deal you secured for me is stellar, Keats.” He bows his chin. “When I fucked up my shoulder, I thought baseball was in my rearview mirror.”
I hear the gratitude in his tone.
“It’ll never be behind you.” Keats laughs as he picks up the cup in front of him. “Kill it as a commentator, Pace, and in two years, I’ll secure you a deal that’s even sweeter than the one you just signed.”
Some people might mistake Keats’s declaration as arrogant, but it’s based in confidence.
I saw his client list. I don’t know much about sports, but I did an online search of every athlete he represents and it’s impressive.
“I know that you’re taking your cut from the deal.” Pace leans back in his chair. “But, if there’s anything else I can do for you, tell me.”
Keats pushes his cup to the side. “There’s one thing I want.”
“Name it,” Pace blurts out without hesitation.
“Get me one-on-one time with Fletcher Newman.”
A belly laugh escapes Pace. “You want to talk to the boy wonder? What the fuck makes you think I have any pull with him?”
I look to my boss to explain who Fletcher Newman is, but he’s focused on Pace.
“In every interview the kid does, he brings you up.” Keats taps his fingers on the table. “Have you not watched any of those?”
“I don’t watch college ball games.” Pace laughs. “I heard he was an up and comer from some of the guys on the team. That’s all I know about Newman.”
“In his eyes, you’re the best pitcher in the history of the sport.” Keats rests his elbows on the table. “I want face time with him, Pace. I need to represent him.”
Pace sips from his cup. “So, what’s the plan? What do you want me to do?”
Just as Keats is about to reply, my phone starts up on a ring in my purse. I meant to silence it during the walk here from the office, but it slipped my mind.
I was distracted after getting a glimpse of Keats’s ass in the black pants he’s wearing when he bent down to help a woman who had dropped her MetroCard on the sidewalk.
He might have the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen on a man.
Both men watch avidly as I reach in my bag for my phone. I see Arietta’s name dancing across the screen. I know what she wants. She’s looking to pin down a location for us to meet for lunch, but I’m going to suggest we go out for dinner instead.
“I need to take off.” Pace pushes back from the table. “Come outside with me, Keats. Tell me what I need to do to get you a meeting with Fletcher.”
Keats follows his lead and rises to his feet. “I’ll see you outside when you’re done, Maren?”
“I’ll be there,” I say with an over-exuberant nod. “I’ll only be a minute.”
“It was good to meet you.” Pace flashes me a wicked smile. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
“Until then,” I toss back.
Swiping my hand over the phone to connect the call, I watch Pace and Keats exit the café. Damn, my boss looks just as good walking away as he does when he’s on the approach.
He turns his head to glance over his shoulder, so I drop my gaze.
“Hey, Arietta,” I say into the phone.
“If I’m interrupting something important, tell me,” she whispers.
I was just staring at my boss’s ass.
I keep that to myself. “I can talk for a couple of minutes. Can we do dinner instead of lunch?”
“That works for me. How is your first day so far?”
I glance out the café window to where Keats and Pace are standing. Keats grins when he catches my eye.
“So far so good,” I say as my heart races.
“Maybe your future is with Keats Morgan, after all.”
I laugh off her words. “I’ve worked with him for two hours. He’s not my forever, Arietta.”
“You don’t know that,” she lowers her voice. “Give it time, Maren. You might be exactly where you were always meant to be.”
Chapter 11
Maren
The office is eerily quiet when I arrive for my second day of work. I stopped on my way to pick up a coffee, and by the example set forth by my generous father, Tim Weber, I bought a coffee for Ripley too.
I tagged along to work with my dad enough times to learn the value of treating everybody right. My dad owned an insurance company until he retired two years ago.
He was born with what he called a diamond-encrusted silver spoon in his mouth. My grandparents were filthy rich, and my great-grandfather was too. Inherited wealth can be as much a burden as it is a joy.
I step off the elevator exactly an hour before I start work for the day. Arietta needed to get to her office early to handle a call from her boss, who is still in Italy. We took Dudley to doggy daycare together before we made a pit stop to get our morning coffees.
I glance around the office. No one is in sight, but a sliver of light is peeking out from beneath Keats’s door. I can hear the muffled sound of someone talking, or maybe it’s more than one person.
I can’t tell, so I take a few tentative steps closer to the door.
Keats’s deep voice is unmistakable, and the generous pause every so often tells me that he’s on the phone.
I glance at the office phone on my desk, but the light next to his direct line isn’t flashing red, so he must be on his cell.
Setting my steaming hot cup of coffee on the desk, I drop my purse into the bottom drawer.
Just as I’m about to take a seat, a large bang startles me.
I stand straighter, my hands darting to my chest.
My heart races as I try and calm my breathing.
It does little good because another bang, even louder than the last, sets me back a step.
“Fuck this!”
I look toward Keats’s office at the sound of his voice.
What am I supposed to do? What if he’s in trouble? Did he fall? Does he need help?
“What the hell? Stop. Just stop.”
The panic in Keats’s voice is unmistakable, so I do what any good assistant would.
I grab the dusty umbrella hanging on a coatrack behind my desk, I march toward my boss’s office door, and I swing it open.
My breath catches as I take in the sight in front of me.
Glitter rains down on my half-dressed boss as he turns toward me with his hands swatting the air.
My gaze travels from his unkempt hair to the shocked expression on his face. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, a bowtie, and a tuxedo jacket, but his legs and feet are bare.
On the floor in front of him is a glitter cannon.
As my eyes dart back to his glitter-covered thighs, he leans toward his desk. He grabs an empty bottle of champagne and positions it in front of his boxer briefs.
Shaking my head, I exhale once and then again. “What? Why? I mean…how?”
He drags his free hand through his hair. “Good morning, Maren. You missed a hell of a celebration last night.”
***
Once I saw that my half-dressed boss was fine, I took a seat at my desk.
Every part of me wanted to text Arietta so I could explain
what I just saw, but I dropped my phone into the bottom drawer of my desk next to my purse.
I have to digest this before I can share it with anyone, because what the actual fuck is going on?
I steal a look at Keats as he comes strolling out of his office. At least he put on his pants, although he’s still missing socks and shoes.
“I need you to arrange a trip for me, Maren,” he says calmly.
I glance in his direction because are we just going to pretend that all the glitter in his office doesn’t exist?
He lost the bowtie, and with his hair neater than it was, he looks shockingly gorgeous for someone who must have a raging hangover. The glitter specks on his face and in his hair force a smile to my lips.
“It’s a trip for two,” he continues. “Look into a two-week vacation in Fiji. I’m thinking of a five star resort with a private villa. The best food, massages, the works.”
Envy tugs at me, but I shake it off because I’m not here for anything but a job. It doesn’t matter to me who he’s heading to Fiji with.
Maybe it matters a little, so I push for more details. “What are the dates for this trip? I assume it’s a romantic getaway, so you’re thinking of rose petals on the bed, maybe moonlit dinners on the beach?”
“Yes, and yes.” He nods, and another burst of glitter falls from his hair. “Departure date is this Saturday. I want this to be a honeymoon to remember.”
My eyes dart to his left hand, but his ring finger is bare.
Did he get married last night? Is his wife somewhere in the office missing half of her clothes?
I glance over my shoulder at the darkened corridor and closed office doors.
“I know better than to fall asleep in my office chair.” He stretches his arms over his head. “My back is fucked.”
“You owe a hundred to the fund,” I mumble.
“I owe a hell of a lot more than a hundred.” He huffs out a chuckle. “You heard me fighting with that glitter cannon, didn’t you? I must have let a few choice words escape when it fell on the floor.”
Catch Page 4
