“That’s not necessary,” I interject. “I’m fine paying for my fare.”
“I have no doubt about that.” William turns to me. “Hudson cost you valuable time, and he was a dick, so he’s paying as a small way to make amends.”
I glance at Hudson. He’s nodding. “It’s the right thing to do. I’m sorry, Miss. I got dumped yesterday and I love her, and I guess…”
“Save that for me.” William pats him on the shoulder. “I’ll buy you a drink at the bar on the corner. You can tell me all about it.”
I smile at William. “Thank you.”
As soon as Hudson has handed the cab driver a few bills, William offers his hand to help me get into the car. “I hope that wherever you’re headed, you’ll have the time of your life tonight.”
I slide into the car, hoping for the same thing.Chapter 32KeatsI dropped my carry-on as soon as I got inside my townhouse. I raced to shave, shower, and put on a suit before I ran out the door.
I didn’t even have time to stop by to see if Stevie approved of my outfit.
It’s a dark gray suit, a light blue button-down shirt, and a tie with a dark blue diamond pattern. I look good. Mary would give it a big thumbs-up. I hope Maren does too.
I sprint around the corner on my way to the venue.
Howerton House is one of those landmarks that people flock to when they have a wedding, a milestone birthday, or they want to impress their friends. It’s a centuries old building in midtown that’s been converted into several event spaces.
I have no idea if the Newmans are looking to make anyone jealous tonight, but the garden terrace offers a full circle view of this majestic city.
I’ve been on that roof more times than I can count. Tonight is the first time I’ve had goddamn butterflies in my stomach as I approach the building.
A jolt of something inside of me turns me to the left.
I stop in place when a cab drives by because I see her. I see the most beautiful woman in all of Manhattan sitting in the back seat.
Maren is peering out the window. Her gaze is locked on the building.
I’m not going to complain about that. If she were looking at me, I have no doubt that she’d see how fucking nervous I am.
That has nothing to do with Fletcher Newman, and everything to do with Maren.
I sprint the last half-block, so that I can pass the crawling taxi.
I make it just as the car pulls up to the curb.
The driver doesn’t move, so I take a step forward and reach for the door handle. I swing it open.
Holy shit.
Fucking hell.
My thoughts alone should indebt me to the swearing fund by at least a few thousand dollars.
Goddammit, Maren Weber is beautiful. It’s not just the dress, and her hair and makeup. Hell, all of that pales in comparison to her smile and that light that shines around her.
Is this what goodness looks like? Is this my heaven on earth?
“Keats,” she says my name softly. “You’re here.”
I reach out a hand to help her exit the taxi. She does it carefully, keeping hold of the hem of the dress.
Once she’s beside me, I reach for my wallet.
Her hand lands on mine again. “It’s taken care of.”
We stay in place like that, with our hands touching until the driver clears his throat. “I’m hoping to get another fare tonight, folks.”
“Sorry,” I mutter as I bow down to wave at him. “Have a good night, sir.”
“You too, bud.” He smiles.
Slamming the door, I suck in a deep breath. I can do this. I need to do this. I want Fletcher on my roster, so tonight it’s all about showing his parents that I’m the only man for the job.
I look at Maren. “Are you ready?”
Her eyes rake me from head-to-toe. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, boss.”
I point at the steps that lead up to the building before I offer her my arm. “I’m honored to be your date tonight, Maren.”
She curls her hand around my bicep. “Let’s get you a new client.”
“Us,” I remind her as we climb the stairs. “Let’s get us a new client.”
Us.
I could get used to the sound of that word.Chapter 33MarenMy breath catches as I survey the venue for the Newmans’ anniversary party. The lights of Manhattan pale in comparison to the strings of white lights that hang from the wooden beams above the terrace.
Fragrant red and white flowers border the edge of the space, and a large three-tiered cake sits on a round table surrounded by framed pictures.
I take a step toward them, pulling Keats with me. I’m still holding tightly to his arm.
He reassured me as we rode the elevator up to the terrace that everything would be fine.