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  “He goes to doggy daycare?” She plants a kiss on his head, and I’m jealous of the little shit.

  “Five days a week.” I push a hand through my hair. “I had a nanny for him the rest of the time, but she quit. And then the guy I hired after her…”

  “Quit?” she interrupts.

  “They didn’t like living with me.” I shrug. “They had an entire floor to themselves. I have no idea what the problem was.”

  She rakes me from head-to-toe as if she’s silently surveying the problem.

  “A lot of people quit when they work for you.” She glances at Dudley. “What’s going to happen to him when he’s not at doggy daycare?”

  “I’ll give you an extra five thousand if you take him home with you every night and if you watch him on the weekends.”

  Her chin lifts. “Make it ten. Add that to my yearly salary of double your original offer, and you have yourself a deal, Mr. Morgan.”

  I hold in a smile. “It’s Keats.”

  “Jamie called you Mr. Morgan.”

  “You’re not her,” I point out.

  “When do I start?” She glances back at the people walking past my office. “Do I need to sign anything?”

  “You’ll start taking care of Dudley immediately.” I round my desk. “I’ll call Human Resources to put together an employment contract for you. Give me your full name, number, and address so we can take care of that today.”

  “I’m Maren Weber,” she starts before she rattles off a number with a 917 area code and an address in Tribeca.

  Maren Weber is already living large if she calls that building home.

  “I’ll be in touch,” I say, meaning that I want to touch her, but small steps win the race.

  “Can I get Dudley’s things?” She asks with a slight smile. “He must have favorite toys and a bed. Does he eat a certain brand of food? Last night, my neighbor gave me some of the food she buys for her dog, but I’m sure Dudley would prefer whatever he eats regularly. I want him to feel at home at my place.”

  Dudley thanks her for asking by licking her cheek.

  “I’ll have it sent to your apartment.”

  She nods. “I’ll take off for now. Thanks for the job, Keats.”

  The surge of desire that races through me stops my heart from beating for a half-second. “You’re welcome, Maren. Welcome to Morgan Sports Management. I think you’ll like it here.”

  Her non-response tells me she’s not convinced of that, but I’ll make sure she has the time of her life while she works for me.

  Chapter 3

  Maren

  If I could bottle the look on Arietta’s face and sell it, I’d be richer than my parents.

  It’s pure joy with a touch of surprise.

  In celebration of my landing the best job I’ve ever had, I ordered dinner in tonight.

  Arietta is a big fan of anything French, so I called up my favorite French restaurant, Sérénité, and had them whip up a feast fit for the best roommate in the city.

  It set me back a few hundred dollars, but it’s worth every penny.

  Dudley is dining well tonight too. After a delivery person dropped off several boxes containing Dud’s belongings, I rummaged through them. The dog food he’s been living on is subpar, so I called my cousin Donovan Hunt. He’s a vet and the knower of all things animal related. He recommended a grain free brand. One of the vet assistants who work at his clinic stopped by with a complimentary bag for Dudley to sample.

  When I filled his dish with it, he barked his approval before he devoured it all.

  Arietta’s gaze darts from the food on the dining room table to Dudley wagging his tail.

  Maybe her excitement is more about the dog and less about the coq au vin and chocolate soufflé.

  “What’s happening?” she asks quietly. “Why is the little sweetheart here, and is that our dinner?”

  I divide and conquer the questions as I reach for the worn-out leather bag in her hand. “We’re going to take care of Dudley temporarily.”

  She willingly hands over her purse before she bends down to scoop him into her arms. He greets her with a plethora of kisses to the chin.

  “I had dinner delivered tonight,” I say nonchalantly as I drop her purse on the white leather couch that neither of us finds the least bit comfortable.

  My father bought this apartment furnished. Nothing in here has any personality other than Arietta and me. I can add Dudley to that list now.

  “We’re having French food for dinner?” The question is punctuated with the rise of her brows. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

  “Yes.” I nod with a sheepish grin plastered on my face. “Every day is someone’s birthday.”

  That lures a laugh from her. “I’m lost, Maren.”

  I reach to take Dudley from her. “Get into something less grandmotherly, and we’ll eat before the food gets cold.”

  Her gaze skims her outfit. “You’re not the first person to tell me that I look like a grandma today.”

  I’m not surprised. “I had a bottle of wine delivered too.”

  She claps her hands together. “I’ll put on a sweater and yoga pants. I’ll be back before you can count to ten. ”

  ***

  “I needed this.” Arietta sips from the wine glass in her hand. “This is so good.”

  In the time it’s taken her to finish half a glass, I’ve polished off two. I need to slow it down if I’m going to get through explaining everything that happened today before I drift into a coma of inebriation.

  “It hit the spot,” I say, nodding my head. “We’re celebrating something.”

  Her eyes scan my face. Arietta has a natural instinct when it comes to reading people. Since we started living together, I’ve learned that it’s useless to try and hide my emotions from her.

  “I’m all for celebrating the fact that Dudley is staying with us.” She reaches down to scratch under his chin.

  He’s been sitting on the floor next to her chair since we started dinner. So far, he hasn’t been rewarded with anything other than the frequent touch of Arietta’s hand as she pets him. French food scraps are not on the menu for him tonight.

  “It’s only until his owner gets back to town,” I point out because I don’t want Arietta getting too attached to the dog.

  She tilts her head. “Keats Morgan is out of town?”

  “He’s in town.” I look at the bottle of red wine but decide not to refill my glass. “His sister owns Dudley. Keats has allergies, so he needs someone to watch the dog at night and on the weekends. Dudley goes to doggy daycare during the day.”

  “Doggy daycare is a thing?” She smiles.

  “It’s a thing, and tomorrow I’ll drop him off there.”

  She lets out a breath. “Why are you taking care of him? I feel like I’m missing something.”

  I’ve been hesitant to share the news about my new job because I’m not even sure how I ended up with it. I was lining up an interview while I was in Keats’s office. It was for the position of a sales rep for a company that specializes in selling flavored seltzer water.

  I politely declined that after Keats fired Jamie and looked to me as her replacement.

  “When I went to drop Dudley off this morning, Keats offered me a job,” I confess.

  “I think taking a job dog sitting is admirable, Maren.” She perches her glass in the air as if she’s about to toast me. “Keats Morgan chose the right candidate for the position.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” I say apprehensively.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He hired me to take care of Dudley, but there’s more.” I reach for the bottle of wine and pour no more than one mouthful in my glass.

  Arietta watches my every move. “Tell me.”

  I spread my arms out at my sides as if I’m putting myself on display. “You are looking at Keats Morgan’s newest assistant.”

  Her entire face lights up. “He gave you a job?”

  I
nod.

  As quickly as the smile appeared, a frown takes its place on her lips. “Why don’t you look happy about it?”

  “I’m happy,” I reassure her. “There is one red flag that I kind of looked over before I agreed to take the job.”

  She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “What kind of red flag are we talking about?”

  “I’m his fifth assistant this year.”

  “Fifth?” She questions. “He’s gone through four assistants in one year?”

  Scratching my chin, I realize just how bad that sounds. “He fired the last one right in front of me.”

  Reaching across the table, Arietta pours what’s left of the wine in the bottle into my glass. “Drink up, Maren. Your new boss sounds worse than mine.”

  Chapter 4

  Maren

  Dropping Dudley off at doggy daycare was harder than I thought it would be.

  It wasn’t because I got all teary-eyed at the prospect of not seeing him again until tonight. One of the caregivers at the center decided that I should be welcomed into her world with a hug, followed by a quick trip down her memory lane of pets.

  I sat next to her with Dudley in my lap as she scrolled through hundreds of pictures of two Dalmatians that she had saved on her phone.

  After twenty minutes, I finally told her that I had to meet with my new boss. She scurried away with Dudley tucked under her arm. Her promise that he’d enjoy himself wasn’t necessary.

  I could tell he was happy to be there based on how hard he was wagging his little tail.

  I take a breath as I ride the elevator up to the floor that houses Morgan Sports Management.

  I’m not officially an employee yet.

  A delivery person dropped off the contract this morning, just as Arietta was leaving for work. She asked if I was ready to sign it, but I told her that I needed to talk to Keats first.

  I have questions that I want answers to before I agree to be his executive assistant.

  Skimming my hand over the skirt of the simple black dress I’m wearing, I try to shake off the anxiety I’m feeling. It’s been sitting on my shoulders since my dad tried to call me an hour ago.

  I won’t lie to either of my parents. I’m their only child, and even though they’ve used their wealth to open doors for me, they expect me to be a thoughtful, compassionate, and honest person.

  Telling them that I landed this job will make them both happy, but I need to be sure that I’m not making a mistake before I do that. I hope that talking to Keats will help put my fears to rest.

  This isn’t my dream job, but if I accept it, I’d like to keep it longer than the last four people who worked as Keats Morgan’s assistant.

  ***

  I step off the elevator and into the middle of what I can only call a team meeting .

  Keats is standing on the desk that’s right outside his office door. If that’s my future desk, I’m going to use a portion of my monthly expense budget to buy disinfecting wipes to clean the entire surface. The shoes on his feet are expensive, but I have no idea where the hell they’ve been.

  I glance to my left and then the right. People have gathered around. I can’t spot one without a wide grin on their face as Keats addresses them.

  “Remember what I always say.” He drops his hands to his hips. “Quitters never do anything worth talking about, so don’t be a goddamn quitter.”

  The room erupts in laughter.

  Several voices all call out the same thing in unison. “You swore.”

  Keats raises a hand in the air. “I know. I owe a hundred to the fund.”

  “A hundred times eight.” A female voice rises above the noise. “We all heard it, so you owe for every single one of us.”

  “Eight hundred dollars?” Keats shakes his head. “Sh…shish kabob on a skewer.”

  I crack a smile when I hear laughter roll through the room again.

  Keats smiles too, and it’s glorious. The man is strikingly handsome with his hair slicked back into place today. He’s wearing a charcoal three-piece suit with a white shirt and a gray silk tie.

  The grin on his face widens when his eyes lock on mine as he scans the room.

  As much as I try to erase the smile on my face, I can’t. I toss him an awkward wave, and he reciprocates with a nod.

  “I think I have a meeting,” he announces to the crowd. “Get your asses back to work.”

  “That’s another eight hundred bucks.” A man’s voice bellows over all the others trying to convey the same point.

  “Nine hundred,” Keats corrects him with his gaze still pinned to my face. “I owe an extra hundred. Maren heard it too.”

  Heads turn in the direction he’s staring. I suck in a breath when eight pairs of eyes land on me.

  “I’m Maren,” I mutter as if it’s not apparent.

  “Clear the way people. I need Maren in my office right now,” Keats says as he jumps from the desk. He nails the landing before he buttons his suit jacket. “With any luck, she’ll be part of our team by the end of the hour.”

  With whispered hellos, the people gathered move aside to make room for me to walk to Keats’s office.

  I greet them as I pass by.

  This office is a lot more laidback than the last place I worked. Staff meetings don’t exist at Knott Public Relations.

  I barely knew my colleagues even though I worked side-by-side with them for years.

  “Welcome aboard, Maren.” A woman passing by me smiles.

  A man with graying hair perks both brows as he steps out of my way. “It’s great to meet you. I’m Everett.”

  I nod. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

  As I near the open door of Keats’s office, I take one last look around. Maybe working here won’t be so bad after all.

  Chapter 5

  Keats

  A million questions are swimming in Maren Weber’s eyes. I saw it when she stepped off the elevator to find me standing on a desk talking to my employees.

  I treat most of the people who work for me like family. We’ve cut our teeth together in this business. I opened shop with two employees seven years ago when I was fresh out of college with a dream and a small inheritance from my grandfather.

  He was a sports fiend.

  All he wanted was to meet his favorite baseball player, so I made it happen. In the process, I made some friends, and when it came time to sign my first client, I had my eye on a college ballplayer who had an older brother in the majors.

  I was introduced to the younger brother by his sibling before the first game of the World Series. By the third inning, I had a verbal agreement in place to represent him.

  That lit the fire beneath me. I’ve upped my game since then, adding employees and clients at a steady rate.

  The only thing I haven’t been able to master is hiring an assistant to replace the one who was by my side for the first six years I was in business. I’m hoping this time I got it right.

  As Maren settles into one of the chairs in front of my desk, I drop into the leather chair I spend a good portion of my day in.

  My office may not be the biggest in this city, but it has two things I need. I have a clear view of the Empire State Building from my window and a desk that once belonged to my grandfather. You can’t beat that.

  “You have questions,” I say to Maren as she holds tight to the envelope containing the contract I had sent over to her apartment this morning.

  She looks up. “I do, but I’m curious about something. It’s about the swearing and the fund. What is that?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  It’s not as long as it is fucked up. I’d rather not talk about it, but if she’s going to take on the role of my executive assistant, she needs to know.

  “I have a niece. She’s eight.” I glance at one of the framed pictures sitting on the windowsill. It’s a recent image of my brother and his daughter. “I’m trying to set a good example for her, so I look to the people around me. They h
old me accountable if I swear.”

  Maren nods. “So the fund is essentially a swear jar? Isn’t a hundred dollars for each person who witnesses you swearing steep?”

  “I donate the money once a month to a cancer charity in Boston.”

  That sets her back into the chair. Her shoulders slump. She doesn’t know what to say, so I fill in the blanks the same way I always do when anyone asks about the fund.

  “My brother’s wife died two years ago.” I swallow hard. “I promised Stevie, my niece, that I’d do something to honor her mom’s memory. It was Stevie’s idea that I donate a hundred each time I swear.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maren says quietly.

  “I make a sizable donation every month regardless of how much I curse, but I am trying to curtail it to set a good example for Stevie.” I take a breath. “My brother perfected the art of not swearing in her presence. I’ll never live up to that ideal, but I’m doing what I can.”

  A soft smile settles on her lips. “I understand.”

  I don’t. How does a thirty-two-year-old woman who has her entire life ahead of her die from breast cancer just days short of her daughter’s sixth birthday?

  Life fucking sucks.

  “I expect you to call me out when I swear.” I half-laugh. “My brother told me it takes fifteen days to break a habit.”

  “It’s actually twenty-one days, and that’s a myth.”

  “Fuck,” I snap. “You’re serious?”

  “That’s a hundred to the fund.” Maren tips a finger in the air.

  I smile. “If I told you that was a test, would you believe me?”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “I’m all about attention to detail, so I’ll hold you accountable for the cursing.”

  “Damn right, you will.”

  “Damn is technically a swear, so that’s two hundred.”

  I laugh. “You’re good. You’re maybe too good for this job.”

  The smile falls from her lips. “We should talk about that. I’m not sure I’m the right fit for this job, Keats.”