“Fletcher Newman.”
“He’s going to kill it when he hits the majors.”
My mouth falls open. “You know who he is?”
Nodding, she laughs. “I read an article online about him a few months back. If I remember correctly it was all about up and comers in sports.”
I inch toward why I really called. “His parents are celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary and they invited Keats and I to the party.”
She moves to the left slightly. “That’s a good sign for your boss.”
“It is, but there’s a catch.”
She tilts her chin up. “What’s the catch?”
“They think we’re dating.” I sigh. “It started as a misunderstanding, but now we’re caught up in it, so they think I’m attending as his girlfriend.”
“Go.”
I slump my shoulders. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”
She leans closer to the screen. “Go, Maren. You like him, so go.”
“I don’t like him,” I protest. “That’s not it. I just don’t feel right pretending we are dating.”
She blinks twice. “You wouldn’t have called me if you didn’t like him. It’s a party, Maren. Go and have fun. Don’t overthink it.”
“Is that what I’m doing?” I ask honestly. “Am I overthinking this?”
She skims a fingertip over her bottom lip. “Think of it as a work commitment. You go and do your job. If Keats makes a move on you that night, you find a bathroom and call me.”
I let out a laugh. “I’m not calling you from a bathroom, Bianca.”
“You might.” She stands. “I need coffee. Do you want to meet for a cup before work?”
I glance at the time display on the corner of my screen. “I can’t. I need to get to the office.”
“We’ll do it soon.” She raises her hand to her mouth to blow me a kiss. “I love you, Mare. Call anytime.”
“Love you,” I whisper back before the screen goes dark.Chapter 23KeatsI spent the last hour listening to my niece tell me why dinosaurs are extinct. I learned that shit back in a grade I can’t remember, but the fact is, Stevie’s animated gestures and the expressions on her face made it a worthwhile lesson.
Berk dropped her at my place on his way to work.
He went in early to touch base with an author he wants to sign, so I made Stevie blueberry pancakes and bacon. I topped that off with orange juice served in a champagne glass.
Every other glass I own is crammed into my dishwasher. I finally remembered to press the start button on that before I left to walk Stevie to school.
I dropped her off five minutes ago, and now I’m standing across the street watching her with her friends. She’s the chattiest of the bunch. That has everything to do with her mother.
Layna brought good things to this world. She cared for people who had less than her. She went to the animal shelter once a week to visit the dogs and cats with nowhere to go. She wrote poetry and short stories that my brother published before she died so she could hold her work in her hands.
Stevie represents the best of both of them.
I can only hope one day I’ll have a child who will look up to her and learn about dinosaurs and everything else a kid needs to know to make it in this world.
I sigh when I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my suit jacket.
Stevie walked through my closet and chose my suit again today. I’m wearing a gray three-piece with a light blue shirt and tie. The shoes are black leather with red soles.
I may need to hire her as my stylist because I captured a few looks from both men and women on the walk here.
I read the text message that pops up on my screen.
Pace: Get your ass to my place now, Morgan.
Well, good fucking morning to you too, Callahan.
I type out a reasonable response because if Pace weren’t killing it in the world of sports, he’d make it as a dramatic actor, and I won’t feed into that.
Keats: Keep typing. I don’t see the word please on my screen.
I look up to see Stevie filing into the school with her friends. The pink backpack slung over her shoulder sways with every skip of her feet.
My attention darts down when my phone vibrates again.
Pace: My dick needs you.
My brows pinch together as I read that once, and then again.
Pace and I play on the same team even though I’ve never worn a baseball uniform. I’m straight, and he’s obsessed with chasing after women. That’s clear by the number of calls my office has fielded from women looking for him after spending a night in his bed.
I type out a response.
Keats: Come again and that’s not a fucking pun, Pace.
I stare at the screen.
Pace: I sent a dick pic to a woman online and it’s everywhere. I fucked up my contract, didn’t I?