Catch - Deborah Bladon Page 0,47

it.”

Maren glances at him. “How do you know that?”

“Architecture is my porn.” He chuckles. “I could spend days walking the streets of this city, staring at the buildings.”

I catch the Newmans approaching in my periphery, so I turn toward them. Their son is the man I want on my roster, but these two call the shots, so it’s time to turn on the fucking charm.

“Congratulations,” I offer again for the second time.

“Keats.” Patrika descends on me with her arms wide open.

I go in for a good old-fashioned mom hug. She doesn’t disappoint.

“I can’t thank you and Maren enough for the gift.”

Well, fuck. Is that sarcasm spilling from her lips, or did Maren pull another rabbit out of her hat of brilliance and do something spectacular, again?

“The tea set is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Patrika pulls back, and I swear there are tears in the corners of her eyes. “It was just like the one we lost when we moved uptown.”

Maren steps in to explain because a gift like that would never have been on my radar. Hell, no gift was on my radar. I dropped the ball on that. Thank fuck Maren was there to pick it up.

“I saw it at an antique store in Tribeca, and I thought you’d love it, Patrika.” Maren smiles. “It had the silver design on the cups, so it seemed perfect for your silver wedding anniversary.”

Patrika shifts on her feet until she’s facing Maren. “I’ll treasure that forever. We’ve never received a more thoughtful gift.”

Home fucking run.

Everything in this moment is perfect, from the way Fletcher is staring into the night sky, the joy in Patrika’s expression, and the heart eyes Earl is shooting in my direction as he gazes at me.

I am going to represent Fletcher Newman.

I feel it, and it’s all thanks to Maren.

Chapter 35

Maren

“I don’t think there are enough words in the dictionary to thank you for what you’ve done, Maren,” Keats says as we exit Howerton House.

“There are two.” I laugh. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” he repeats. “From the bottom of my grateful heart.”

“You found nine words.” I steady myself as we approach the steps to descend to the sidewalk.

“Can I take you home?”

I glance at him. I wondered if he would offer me an invitation to have a nightcap at his place, but I like that he’s not making assumptions. I’m all for ending this night with a goodbye in front of my building.

I smile. “Sure.”

Keats gestures toward the concrete steps. “Hold onto me.”

I take a step toward him, but I’m stopped almost immediately. I let out a loud yelp as I feel my ankle twist in my shoe. “Ouch. Oh fuck. What the hell?”

Keats reaches his arm out to give me something to grab onto.

“If you were paying for swearing, you’d owe a fucking huge amount of cash.”

I wince. “That’s going to cost you.”

He drops to one knee to get a better look at my foot. Patting his shoulder, he looks up. “Hold onto me, Maren. Take your weight off that ankle.”

I do as I’m told even though people have gathered around us with their cell phones in hand. If they think they’re about to witness a romantic marriage proposal, they’re wrong.

“Well, well…” Keats stops to shake his head before he locks eyes with me again. “I’ve never seen this before.”

I furrow my brow. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Your heel broke off your shoe.” He produces my broken heel in his palm. “I think you need a new pair.”

“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath. “These are so comfortable. They’re my favorite shoes.”

I attempt to step forward to remove my shoe, but the pain shoots me back a full step. I whimper.

“You twisted your ankle when your heel broke free.” He moves to stand, edging his palm over my arm until we’re holding hands. “You can’t walk on that, Maren. You need to ice it.”

I shake my head as I try and shake off the pain in my foot. “I’m fine.”

To prove my point, I attempt to march forward on my uneven shoes. I stumble into his arms.

Before I know what’s happening, he scoops me up and into his arms like I’m a bride.

I slap him on the shoulder. “Keats, put me down.”

“You can’t walk.” His breath grazes over my cheek. “I’m going to carry you.”

“To a cab?”

“My driver is waiting for us,” he says as he starts in the direction of the steps.

“You’re going to carry me down all those steps?”

He stops to look directly