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By the time we left my apartment to head back to the office, Stevie was holding my hand and telling me about her piano recital tonight.
She has a special pink dress to wear. Keats is wearing something extra special too. She laughed when she told me that.
I’m watching her now as she hugs Keats and tells him goodbye.
She races over to my desk. “You’ll be there tonight, right?”
I nod. “I’m excited to hear you play the piano.”
“I’m pretty good for a beginner.” She clutches Budley close to her chest. “My mom played it too, so I think she’d be proud of me.”
Sadness nips at me. I never met her mom, but I sense she must have been an incredible woman. Her daughter is remarkable.
“Try not to be late.” She sighs. “I’m sometimes late getting up in the morning for school, and when it comes to doing my chores, I pretend to forget how to tell time.”
She holds up her wrist to show me the face of the pink and white watch she’s wearing. It flashes the time digitally. It’s just after noon.
“Let’s grab some lunch,” Berk says.
“I’m in.” Keats scoops up his phone off his desk. “How about you, Maren?”
I came to work today unsure of where things stood between Keats and me, and now a few hours later, we’ve kissed, and I’ve met some of his family.
I’ll be seeing them again tonight, so I need to catch my breath.
“I have something to take care of, so I’ll have to pass.”
Keats brow furrows. He knows that whatever I have to do isn’t related to work. “You’re sure?”
I nod curtly. “Very sure.”
“We’ll see you tonight?” Berk asks as he reaches for Stevie’s hand.
I keep my gaze on Keats. “I’ll be there.”
He smiles. “Good. I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Maren.”
“I’ll be here,” I say quietly as my gaze drops to the handwritten invitation on my desk.
As soon as they’ve boarded the elevator, I reach for my phone.
I scroll through the messages that were posted when I found Dudley. Some of the women included Keats’s office address, but more than a few directed me to his home.
I compare that address to the one Stevie wrote down on the invitation.
They match.
Tonight I’m going to my boss’s home. It’s the place that he’s taken many women to. I know I should be excited, but the pit of unease in my stomach is impossible to ignore.
Keats Morgan isn’t a one-woman type of man.
I can’t forget that. Not tonight; not ever.***I’ve lived in New York City my entire life, yet I’ve rarely ventured to the Upper West Side. It’s like that with many people who call Manhattan home. We settle into our familiar corner of the city and find happiness there.
I stand on the sidewalk looking up at Keats’s townhouse, wondering if it would ever be possible for me to find happiness here.
Maybe for a night, or two.
When Keats called after lunch to say that he wouldn’t be back to the office today because he needed to see Pace, I jotted down the instructions he gave me for contacting several of the athletes who are going to appear in the charity calendar.
My job was simple.
I had to confirm their participation and then discuss what time frame worked best for them.
Three of the six men I called asked to speak to Keats directly. When I told them that he was unavailable, they wanted to leave messages.
All were the same, just worded differently.
Essentially, they wanted me to ask Keats if he would be able to go to a bar or club with them the night of the photo shoot.
One said he wanted a celebratory drink at…and I quote, “ That rundown place in Lower Manhattan where we met Chelsey and Kelsey .”
Another mentioned a bar called The Tin Anchor where Keats drank body shots off a brunette.
I took down the messages and then cursed under my breath when I hung up the phone.
I can’t expect anything from Keats but a good time.
I was worried about falling for him and trapping myself in the same situation I was six years ago when I dated Kollin Raiken, my supervisor at a radio station. He was two years older than me, handsome and charming.
I fell in love. He said he did too, but when things got complicated, I was dumped. The call from HR telling me I was fired came hours later.
I was dismissed from my job and his apartment on one of the worst days of my life.
Taking a deep breath, I climb the steps up to Keats’s front door. I press the bell and hope that I’m not making another mistake.Chapter 42KeatsYou never know what is waiting around the corner for you.
Tonight, I’m dressed in my tuxedo, my niece is wearing a pink dress with a hem that skims the floor, and I’m about to open the door to a woman I’m falling hard and fast for.
