Catch

“Pace Callahan.”

Maren’s gaze shifts from the tablet to my face. “What was that?”

“I have a meeting with Pace Callahan today,” I say. “I want you there.”

She scratches her right palm. “When is the meeting? Do I have time to research who Pace Callahan is?”

I hold back a smile. “You don’t know who Pace Callahan is?”

Maren shakes her head, sending her red curls bouncing around her shoulders. “I don’t.”

“Fuck I wish he was here.” I chuckle. “Pace won’t believe someone exists who doesn’t know who the hell he is.”

“You owe two hundred to the fund.” Maren shoots me a look. “I take it Pace is famous in some way?”

He was one of the most valuable baseball players in the major leagues until a shoulder injury cut his career short six months ago.

He’s about to make waves as a commentator on a major sports network thanks to a two-year, eight-figure deal I negotiated for him.

“He used to be a good baseball player,” I downplay his achievements. “We’re meeting him for lunch to talk about his next steps.”

“Was he kicked off his team?”

I can’t tell if she’s playing with me or not. “Something like that. I’ll let Pace fill in the blanks for you.”

“Fair enough.” She shrugs. “What time are we meeting him?”

I glance at my watch. “We’ll meet him for a coffee at ten.”

Maren nods. “What do you need from me before then?”

Details. I want details about her life, starting with whether or not there’s a man in it.

I opt for a more professional answer. “Jamie has a client list in a file on your computer. Take some time to look that over and acquaint yourself with the people we work with.”

Pushing a lock of hair behind her ear, she smiles. “I can handle that.”

I stand when she does. Watching her leave, I have to wonder whether I can handle working with her.***Pace Callahan is a thirty-two-year-old, charismatic son-of-a-bitch who is flashing his pearly whites at Maren as we walk into the coffee shop that’s a block from my office.

“Pace,” I call out to him so he’ll get his eyes off of my assistant.

It doesn’t work.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says to Maren in his best I-want-you-in-my-bed voice.

Maren stops mid-step and glances at me. “That’s him?”

I don’t know her well enough to read between the lines, so I can’t tell if she’s impressed that the brown-haired guy in the jeans and blue sweater is Pace, or if she finds him repulsive.

Who the fuck am I kidding? No one finds Pace repulsive.

“Has he considered a career as a model?”

“What the hell?” I mutter.

“That’s a hundred to the fund, boss,” Maren shoots back.

I swear that the smile on her face is meant to reassure me that Pace isn’t her type, but that’s swiftly pushed aside when she glides across the floor and right into his orbit.

“I’m Maren Weber,” she announces as she drops her hand in his. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Callahan.”

“It’s Pace.” He covers her hand with his. “You must be Keats’s new assistant.”

“I am.” She tugs her hand free. “And you’re his favorite client.”

I’m about to call Maren on that because it’s bullshit, but Pace buys into it. The wide grin on his face tells me he’s eating it up. “I had an inkling I was.”

“Let’s sit and discuss your next chapter.” Maren points at the café’s counter and the barista waiting patiently for their next customer. “I’ll get us each a latte. That works for you both, doesn’t it?”

Her eagle eye spotted the label on the side of the empty cup atop the table Pace was sitting at. The word latte is bolded.

“That’s my go-to.” He smiles. “Keats made the right choice hiring you, Maren.”

I can’t argue with that.

My assistant is charming the hell out of my most aggravating client. Hiring her was the best move I’ve made in a long time.Chapter 10Maren“We’re celebrating tonight,” Pace announces as I set the tray holding the lattes on the table. “Are you in, Maren?”

I glance at Keats as I take a seat between the two men. Since my boss is actively avoiding eye contact with me by staring at his phone’s screen, I take that as a hint. Besides, I worked hard at my last job to keep my work friends separate from the people who will be there for me no matter what.

The two work friends I did have at Knott left for other positions months before I was fired, and neither kept in touch. It makes perfect sense since we never spoke outside of business hours.

“I have plans,” I lie, although I’m considering rescheduling my lunch with Arietta to dinner as soon as I’m back at the office.

That draws Keats’s gaze up. “You do?”

Maybe I misread his interest in his phone. If he needs me to work tonight, I’ll be there. I’m assuming that their idea of a celebration involves tequila shots and hooking up with random women, but I might be totally off base.