Although when had he become this sappy guy? Well, probably around the time he’d figured out how to make cat faces out of frosting.
Paige came in then to relieve Brad from the counter so he could go home. Once she was set up at the register, he walked through the cat room to get to his locker in the staff lounge in back. That apricot-colored cat eyed him as he walked by, so Brad stopped to pet his head. The cat leaned into Brad’s hand and started to purr. This cat had very soft fur and was being very sweet, but there was no way Brad was adopting a cat.
“You can take him home,” said Lauren, suddenly behind him.
“I’m just saying hi. I still don’t want a cat.” No matter how cute he was. The cat purred louder. “I don’t even know if my landlord allows cats.”
“Most do in this city. I can be very persuasive. Or the cats can be.”
“I’m sure.”
“Just you wait.” She turned to the cat, who was sitting on the table, looking quite smug. “Turn on the charm, Hamilton. Brad will be putty in your hands.”
As if he understood, Hamilton looked at Brad with wide eyes. Like a puppy-dog look. Or a kitty-cat look, he supposed. He lifted a paw and tapped Brad’s hand.
“Sorry, buddy,” said Brad. “I don’t have space in my life for a cat. Don’t you like this nice place here? You’ve got lots of friends and…couches to lounge on…and kibble and toys whenever you want them.”
Hamilton just stared at Brad with that sad, pleading expression.
“No, really. I’m never home and my apartment isn’t that big. I’m not the human you want.”
“Uh-huh,” said Lauren, sounding like she knew something Brad didn’t.
Chapter 4
TheNew York Forum’s offices had recently relocated to a larger space, one that took up an entire floor of an office tower in Chelsea. Executive offices lined the perimeter, each with a window, and then the center of the office was an open area with tables and chairs dotted throughout. The regular staff didn’t have assigned desks, and most only worked in the office a few days per week. So when Lindsay showed up to work in the office, usually on days when she had assignment meetings, she just claimed a space and worked there on her brand-new, company-issued laptop. It was exciting, albeit a little distracting, to sit in a fairly high-traffic area; it reminded Lindsay of an old-fashioned newsroom where reporters bustled around and chatted with one another about the big events of the day.
It was a great gig. Lindsay loved her job already. Not only was she managing a team and coming up with story ideas, but the bright, colorful office had its own coffee shop and snack bar, and her work space was cheerful and comfortable. Her new coworkers all seemed really great. Erica encouraged her to think outside the box and be creative when pitching stories, and theForumhad a much bigger budget thanEat Out New York, which opened up some new possibilities. Lindsay had a lot of breathing room here, which felt safer than the constant cycle of pitching and scraping for freelance assignments. Given the decline in print newspapers, she was a little surprised to find the offices so nice and well outfitted. Hopefully this spoke well for her future job security.
On her fifth day working in the office, Erica walked over and said, “I’ve got an assignment for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah. Buzzy new bakeshop in Brooklyn. I think you’re the best writer for the job. You game?”
“Uh, for baked goods? Yes. Anytime.”
“Cool. It’s not exactly a bakeshop, though. It’s a cat café.”
Oh no.Lindsay’s stomach flopped. She held her breath to keep from commenting because she wanted to be a professional, but she already knew where this was going, and all her walls were going up.
“Apparently,” Erica went on, “they’ve got this hunky new baker working there who is the talk of the neighborhood. My friend Lucy said she was there the other day and met him in person. He’s superhot, he makes the best pastries on Whitman Street, and he also makes treats for the cats. Hard to beat that, eh?”
Lindsay didn’t know what to do with her face. She nodded slowly as she tried to think of a way out of this assignment without seeming petulant in front of her new boss.
“No? Are cats not your beat?”
“Oh, no. Cats are totally my beat. I have a cat. But, see, my friend Lauren is the manager at that café.”
“Perfect! You’ve got an in!”
“You don’t think my review would be biased? That it’s not a conflict of interest?”
“I’m not asking you to do a review. I want you to do a profile on this pastry chef. Find out what made him start baking at a cat café and see if he’s got any cat-friendly recipes he’d be willing to share in the magazine.”
Lindsay nodded. She’d been working here less than two weeks. She wasn’t in a position to refuse to cover a story for her boss. She supposed she could have admitted that she used to date this hunky chef, but she didn’t feel like she could say that, either. It would make her look dramatic. Wouldn’t it?
So she’d have to suck it up and take the story. And she’d have to confront Brad.
