Catch

by Bladon, Deborah

  That snaps Keats’s gaze in my direction. Before I have a chance to open my mouth, Keats opens his. “Excuse me? What did you say to her?”

  I rest a hand on Keats’s forearm because I can fight my own battles. I win most.

  “We’re going to talk business.” Mr. Fletcher tosses me a look. “Your date doesn’t need to be present for that.”

  “Maren is a lot more than a date.” Keats buttons his jacket. “She’s an educated, intelligent, compassionate woman who deserves respect. If you view her as anything less than that, we need to end this conversation now.”

  Stunned, I glance at Keats to catch him looking at me. He offers me a smile, so I return one.

  Did he just throw his chance to represent Fletcher under the bus to defend my honor?

  “Dad,” Fletcher snaps. “Don’t do this.”

  Mr. Newman steals a glance at his son before he pats Keats on the shoulder. “Any man who steps up to the plate like that for the woman he loves is a man I want in my son’s corner.”

  Keats looks as stunned as I feel. He shakes his head. “What?”

  Mr. Newman turns to me. “Please forgive me for that, Maren. You can tell a lot about a man’s character by how he responds in certain situations. I wanted to see what your man was made of.”

  Keats is not my man.

  Those words sit on the tip of my tongue because I’m still in shock over the fact that Mr. Newman thinks my boss is in love with me.

  I’m here for business. Someone needs to say it. I look at Keats, but his gaze is volleying between Fletcher and his dad.

  “He was willing to walk away for you.” Mr. Newman grins. “He’s not the man I thought he was. I was under the impression that Keats Morgan was a self-absorbed, irresponsible, cocky bastard. I’m glad I was wrong.”

  Keats must take that as a twisted compliment because he only nods in response.

  I feel as though we’ve fallen into a hole that is so deep we can’t crawl out.

  Fletcher confirms that when he slaps Keats on the back. “It looks like we’re staying for dinner. You should tell my dad all about how you and Maren met. He’s a big softie when it comes to love stories.”

  Chapter 17

  Keats

  I’ve jumped onto a runaway train, and I’m holding on by my fingertips for my fucking life. I should grab the brake and drag this screaming hot mess of a misunderstanding to a screeching stop, but I don’t.

  Maren has to think I’m a no-good, deceitful asshole by now.

  I can’t tell what’s going on in her head because she’s been engrossed in a conversation with Earl Newman for the past fifteen minutes. He asked how we met and she skillfully shifted the topic to France without answering his question. Fletcher’s dad loosened up as soon as he took his first sip of the imported French beer he ordered on Maren’s recommendation.

  I opted for sparkling water because if my reputation is in question, I’m playing it safe.

  Fletcher followed my lead. Maren chose another glass of red wine to complement the steak she ordered.

  “There is a reason that people say you should visit Paris in the spring,” Maren says, and Earl eats it up like a kid with an ice cream cone.

  The gray-haired accountant has a mad crush on my assistant. I don’t know whether to be grateful for that or jealous of it.

  Clearing my throat, I glance in the direction of the kitchen. I have at least a few minutes before our meals arrive. “Tell me how you envision your future, Fletcher.”

  Earl tosses me a look that could melt the sun. Dammit. Is he pissed that I interrupted his gabfest with Maren? I hope to hell this doesn’t result in a penalty. I want to represent Fletcher, and the route to that goal is through his father.

  “The majors, I guess.” He shrugs.

  I wouldn’t be here otherwise. This kid has more potential than Pace did when I met him. Fletcher is going to be on the roster of a major league team within the next six months. It’s a miracle he hasn’t signed with another agent yet.

  “You’re not the only guy in town who can make that happen.” Earl loosens the blue tie around his neck.

  The Newmans arrived in matching outfits. Dark blue pants, white button-down shirts, and light blue ties.

  “True, but you’re not looking for just any guy. You’re searching for the best guy.” I sit back in my chair.

  Maren turns to me with raised brows. She might think it’s all talk, but I believe every fucking word of it.

  “We want someone who envisions the big picture to represent Fletcher.” Earl takes a sip of beer. “Look what happened to Pace Callahan. His career is over just like that.”

  To accentuate the point, Earl snaps his fingers.

  “His career isn’t over,” Maren pipes up. “Keats negotiated a lucrative deal that will jumpstart a new venture for Pace. You’ll be hearing an announcement very soon.”

  She tosses me a glance, and I nod. I like that she stepped in and that she was vague with details. I’m surprised Pace hasn’t rented a billboard in Times Square to announce his new assignment. That might be worth looking into. Anything I can do to up his exposure will equal more money in the coffers when I revisit that deal two years from now.

  “You know Pace?” Fletcher leans both elbows on the table. “I talked to him on the phone for ten minutes. Have you met him in person?”

  Maren nods. “We had coffee together yesterday.”

  “No shit?” Fletcher laughs.

  “No shit,” I repeat with a grin.

  Maren’s gaze swings toward me. “That’s a hundred to the fund.”

  Before I can comment, she grimaces and mouths the words, “ I’m sorry .”

  Earl laughs. “Did you just take him to task for cursing? He needs to hand over a hundred dollars to a swear jar?”

  “Keats is determined not to swear around his niece, so every time he curses, he’s penalized a hundred dollars. The money is donated to charity once a month,” Maren explains without looking at me.

  “Really?” Earl’s eyes narrow. “I admit I had you wrong, Keats. I’m proof that the love of a good woman can change a man for the better. It looks like you are proof of that too.”

  This is another chance for me to stop this shitshow in its path, but I don’t. I watch Maren’s shoulders as they tense.

  “Why don’t we stop by your office tomorrow and meet your team?” Earl loosens his tie again. “I can make time later in the day. Are you free at around four?”

  “I’m free.” I nod.

  Earl’s gaze wanders to the left. “It looks like dinner is about to be served. I’m glad we had this opportunity to talk, Maren. Is there any chance you’ll be visiting Keats at his office tomorrow? I’d love for my wife to meet you.”

  With a fleeting glance over her shoulder, Maren sends me a silent message with a perk of her brow. She’s asking what the hell should she say.

  I step in to handle it, even though I have no fucking clue how this got out of control so fast. “Maren and I work together.”

  Earl leans back as the server places a plate filled with seafood in front of him. “I had no idea.”

  Fletcher whistles at the steak and vegetables he ordered. “Look at this feast. We should have dinner again tomorrow after we come to the office.”

  “We can’t,” Earl says to his son as he pushes a shrimp around on his plate. “We’re meeting up with Buck Remsen and his son for dinner after we stop by Keats’s office.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  There’s no way in hell I’m letting Finn Remsen and his old man steal Fletcher away from me.

  I’m on good terms with most of my competition, but the Remsens and I have a complicated relationship. Finn and I went to high school together. We were close until we decided to pursue the same career path. Since then, we’ve been toe-to-toe battling it out for the same clients.

  His dad, Buck, represents some of the biggest names in sports. Finn jumped on board after college to help his dad out.

&nbs
p; “It’s time to eat.” Earl taps the handle of his fork against the table. “Here’s to a satisfying meal. This may not be Paris, but the food looks just as good.”

  Dude. You’re married. Stop with the flirting.

  I take a bite of bread to swallow those words with. I need to keep it together. I didn’t come this far not to sign Fletcher Newman.

  Maren leans closer to me as Earl comments to his son about the food. “What just happened?”

  Tilting my head so my lips almost touch her ear, I whisper. “I messed up. I’m sorry you were dragged into this.”

  She turns toward me. Her eyes lock on mine. “I could have said something.”

  “This isn’t on you, Maren.”

  “He’s important to you, isn’t he?” She dips her chin. “Fletcher is.”

  I nod.

  She glances at Earl. “We’ll make it happen. You’re going to be Fletcher’s agent and I’m going to do whatever I can to make that happen.”

  Chapter 18

  Maren

  I don’t know if it was the two glasses of wine, or the fact that I could feel Keats’s breath skirting over my cheek, but I fell under a spell last night. That’s the only explanation I can think of for why I told my boss that I’d do anything to help him sign Fletcher.

  After Keats paid the check and we said our goodbyes to the Newmans, I hurried out of Nova.

  I needed air.

  I walked into the restaurant expecting a buttoned-up business dinner. I walked out as Keats Morgan’s girlfriend. At least, that’s who I am to Fletcher Newman and his father.

  There’s no way that this can end well.

  Morning light brought a mild hangover along with a dash of reality. We can’t continue this ruse. If Keats signs a contract with Fletcher, it won’t take long before the Newmans realize that my relationship with Keats is business only.

  “That’s the third outfit you’ve tried on,” Arietta says from the doorway of my bedroom. She’s still dressed in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt. I’m not surprised since it’s not even seven a.m. yet.

  Dudley is in her arms, wrapped in a pink blanket that was in the box with his things. It’s not that cold out. The puppy doesn’t need to be swaddled.

  “Is he all right?” I point toward Dudley.

  “He likes to snuggle in the morning.” Arietta plants a kiss next to his ear. “He crawls into bed with me before the break of dawn.”

  That’s suspicious since I put him in his kennel each night and close the door.

  “Don’t fall in love with him, Arietta,” I warn.

  “I told you I don’t like my boss.” She rolls her eyes. “I admit he’s attractive, but when he opens his mouth, it’s all ugly from there. He’s bossy, which makes sense given he’s my boss, but it wouldn’t kill him to say something nice to me occasionally.”

  Adjusting the front of the white blouse I’m wearing, I laugh. “I was talking about Dudley, but it’s good to know you think Dominick is hot.”

  Her eyes widen behind her glasses. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did.” I wink. “I won’t tell him.”

  Shaking her head, she half-laughs. “Promise?”

  “If you help me with my makeup, I promise never to tell Mr. Calvetti that you have a crush on him.”

  “I don’t,” she states with a grin. “And I will help with your makeup, but I’m curious about something.”

  I save her the trouble of asking by explaining why I’m putting so much effort into getting ready for work today. “That baseball player I told you about last night is coming by the office today with his dad.”

  Arietta gently places Dudley in the center of my bed, tucking the pink blanket under his chin to make a small pillow. He lowers his head down as he watches her cross the room toward me.

  “So do you like the ballplayer or his dad?” she questions as she nears me.

  “Neither.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Is it Mr. Morgan? Do you want to look extra nice for him?”

  I stare at her reflection in the mirror we’re facing. “You’ve always told me that getting involved with your boss is a bad idea, Arietta.”

  I haven’t told her that I know from personal experience, that it’s a fucking terrible idea.

  She rests a hand on my forearm. “That’s because my boss is a tyrant. I sense that Keats isn’t like that.”

  I hold back a smile. “I wouldn’t call him a tyrant.”

  Arietta takes a half-step to the left so she’s standing side-by-side with me. She tugs on the bottom of her sweatshirt. “Would you call him handsome?”

  “He’s average.”

  Her face lights up with a megawatt smile. “Average? I saw a few pictures of him online, Maren. He’s not average.”

  I turn to face her. “You think he’s handsome?”

  She reaches to straighten the waistband of the red pencil skirt I’m wearing. “So do you. Admit it.”

  I can’t deny it so I nod. “He’s good-looking.”

  “You’re blushing.” She circles a finger in front of my face. “You like him, don’t you?”

  I ignore that and drop my hands to my hips. “If I wear my red heels, is this the winner?”

  She rakes me from head-to-toe. “It’s the winner and if Keats Morgan is the man for you, this outfit is going to knock his pants off.”

  “Socks off,” I correct her.

  “No.” Shaking her head, she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “The other two outfits you tried on would have knocked his socks off. This will knock his pants off.”

  I tilt my head as I stare at my reflection. “I’ll go with this.”

  “Take a seat on the chair, and I’ll work my makeup magic.” Arietta gestures to a gray armchair in the corner of my bedroom. “Mr. Morgan is about to be wowed by his assistant.”

  Chapter 19

  Keats

  “You only come here for breakfast for two reasons.” My brother eyes me over the mug of coffee perched close to his mouth.

  “The first is that I love you,” I say with a straight face. “The second is that I love your daughter more.”

  Berk huffs out a laugh. “Try food or women.”

  “I’ve tried both,” I quip. “If I had to choose, it would be food. Your pancakes, to be exact.”

  My brother jerks a thumb toward the pantry in his kitchen. “Help yourself. I ate a bowl of cereal an hour ago. Stevie’s breakfast choice as of late is overnight oats and smoothies. If you want pancakes, you’re on your own.”

  I drop onto one of the stools next to the massive granite topped island. “There was a time when you used to cook for me. You didn’t want to see me go hungry.”

  Berk crosses the kitchen to pour a mug of coffee. On this way back toward me, he scoops an apple into his hand from a wicker basket. Both are placed in front of me. “Here’s your breakfast. Stop fucking whining.”

  I bite into the apple. “You owe a hundred to the fund.”

  With his mug back in his hand, he takes a sip of coffee. “Why the hell are you here at this hour?”

  “You’re up to two hundred now,” I point out. “It’s after seven. Aren’t you the guy who always brags that he’s up by six a.m.?”

  “That wasn’t an invitation for you to show up here.” He shoves his hand in my direction. “Give me back the keys, Keats. If you’re going to barge in here whenever you damn well feel like it, I’m going to decide whether I let you in.”

  I pick up the keys and dangle them in the air. “You can’t take them back. Besides, I didn’t want to ring the bell. It would have woken Stevie up.”

  Berk nods. “You can keep the keys, but only because I saw you creeping outside the house on the doorbell cam, so I knew you were on your way in.”

  I shove the keys into the back pocket of my jeans. “Aren’t you glad I had that security system installed for you?”

  When I had one installed in my townhouse, I decided Berk and Layna needed the same system. He scoffed
at the idea at first, telling me that the Upper West Side is safe.

  It is, but having the ability to open an app on your phone and talk to whoever the hell is ringing your doorbell is priceless. I had a ten minute conversation with a pizza delivery driver last year as he stood in the pouring rain on my stoop. I told him I didn’t order the five large pies in his hands. He insisted that I did.

  I was right since I was lazing on a beach in the Caribbean at the time.

  I felt sorry for the guy, so I paid electronically for the food and a tip. I sent him here to deliver dinner to my brother and his daughter.

  Whoever the hell ordered that food missed out. Berk said it was some of the best pizza he’s ever had.

  “I appreciate that,” Berk concedes. “I still want to know why you’re here.”

  “Maren,” I say her name to him for the first time.

  He tugs on the bottom of his blue T-shirt. I suspect I interrupted him mid-workout judging by the shorts he’s wearing and the fact that sweat was dripping from his forehead when he confronted me in the hallway.

  Berk converted one of the bedrooms into a mini home gym so he can spend more time with Stevie. He cherishes every second he has with that kid. I do too.

  “Maren,” he repeats her name. “That’s pretty.”

  “She’s pretty.” The words fly out before I can stop and think.

  My brother’s curiosity is peaked. I see it in the way the corners of his lips curve up and the tilt of his chin. “Tell me about Maren.”

  “Who?” Stevie rounds the corner dressed in dark jeans and a colorful sweater emblazoned with a unicorn picture. On her feet are the sneakers I bought her last month. They’re white with pink polka dots.

  “My assistant.” I look to my brother for his reaction.

  Both of his brows arch. “Maren is your assistant.”

  “Wow.” Stevie starts toward the fridge. “I like her name. What is she like?”

  Home.

  I chase that away because where the fuck did that come from?