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Cat leans over and kisses me. “I’m not going anywhere. Take care of them.”
She climbs off the bed, and I roll to watch her leave, not giving two shits that my phone stops ringing again. Right now, my mind has gone to a place it has never gone with any other woman: I’m falling in love with Cat. Hell, I probably already am in love with her. Either way, there’s no turning back. I wasn’t lying when I said she had me at “asshole.”
Cat
The moment I walk back into my apartment, I have knots in my belly. I love this apartment. It represents freedom and my decision to live my life, not the one my father designed for me. But it’s also a place where my mother forced seclusion on herself. It’s a place where I have forced seclusion on myself. Where alone felt better than being with anyone else.
No. Alone felt safer. At that time in my life, I think it was actually safer. I wasn’t in a place to have a relationship. I wasn’t sure that I would be ever again. But then came Reese. And oddly, his place feels more like freedom, while this place feels like a prison. It was my mother’s prison, the place she went to hide from my father, rather than just leaving him. It kills me to think of what she felt when she came here.
I walk to the kitchen, drop the pile of mail in my arms onto the counter, and start going through it. I consider dusting and cleaning, but instead I just call a maid service and arrange to have it handled through security. I left my laundry at Reese’s house, and I have no court visit to dress for next week. Really, I’m pretty set. With hours left before dinner, I’m already in my comfy VS boyfriend sweats, and my writing chair is calling me. I settle down in my favorite chair in the living area. I have missed this chair, which is a soft navy felt, my contrast piece to all the grays of the living room’s decor.
I go back to working on next week’s features for my column, but I keep pulling up the book outline I started. I have to decide about that book deal, but that means I need to talk to Reese. I need to pay him. That way he never feels taken advantage of, and I don’t want to hide my pay from him. Even if I give him two hundred thousand, I’ll make three times what I made on my last book. I’m going to talk to him.
I get to work and write three more columns about the Nelson Ward trial, and then pick a new case, which I email to my editor as a proposed feature. Right at three, my phone buzzes with a text message and I look at the screen to find a text from Reese: I got us a reservation at nine at Eleven Madison Park. That was the earliest I could get us in.
I smile because that’s a place I mentioned to him today, as a favorite, which I never indulge in visiting. I text back: It’s perfect.
He replies back with: I will need to shower and change. My place—eight o’clock? I’m going to stay here and get all my work knocked out.
I answer with: That works.
He replies with: Make it seven. You can shower with me.
I smile and type: Six forty-five. We’ll need the extra time.
Six-thirty it is, he replies.
I laugh, but it fades quickly. I think I might love this man. I’m pretty sure I do love this man, but I’ll stick with pretty sure for now, since I don’t know what he and I are doing. Am I sleeping here or there, or what beyond this weekend? Has a one night stand become a one month fling or more? Talking to him about the overstep of calling my publisher, and about that phone call, worked. I just need to talk to him about this and the publishing deal, too. Talk to him. I like that he’s made that feel like the answer.
I get back to work, and ideas start flowing and I lose myself. That’s the release I love about writing, and investigating a case I want to attack from a view no one else is highlighting. I’m blurry-eyed when my phone rings, and I glance down to find Gabe’s number. Gabe again? This is odd. Frowning, I answer the call. “What’s wrong?”
“Can you meet me for dinner tonight?”
“Actually, no. I have plans.”
“How about drinks, then?”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
“I want to see you.”
“Why?” I press.
“Dad has some business situation going on. In case it hits the press, I want to talk it through with you.”
“What kind of issues?”
“I don’t want to talk about this on the phone. I’m bringing that other guy you call your brother, too.”
“Reid is coming. Okay. Now I’m worried.”
“It’s nothing we can’t handle, but like I said. If it gets out, I want you to have a heads-up.”
“What time and where?”
“Boulevard Two on Fifty-eighth at eight.”
“Too far. I have reservations at nine. Make it six and pick someplace closer to me.”
