heard it too.”
Heads turn in the direction he’s staring. I suck in a breath when eight pairs of eyes land on me.
“I’m Maren,” I mutter as if it’s not apparent.
“Clear the way people. I need Maren in my office right now,” Keats says as he jumps from the desk. He nails the landing before he buttons his suit jacket. “With any luck, she’ll be part of our team by the end of the hour.”
With whispered hellos, the people gathered move aside to make room for me to walk to Keats’s office.
I greet them as I pass by.
This office is a lot more laidback than the last place I worked. Staff meetings don’t exist at Knott Public Relations.
I barely knew my colleagues even though I worked side-by-side with them for years.
“Welcome aboard, Maren.” A woman passing by me smiles.
A man with graying hair perks both brows as he steps out of my way. “It’s great to meet you. I’m Everett.”
I nod. “It’s nice to meet you too.”
As I near the open door of Keats’s office, I take one last look around. Maybe working here won’t be so bad after all.
Chapter 5
Keats
A million questions are swimming in Maren Weber’s eyes. I saw it when she stepped off the elevator to find me standing on a desk talking to my employees.
I treat most of the people who work for me like family. We’ve cut our teeth together in this business. I opened shop with two employees seven years ago when I was fresh out of college with a dream and a small inheritance from my grandfather.
He was a sports fiend.
All he wanted was to meet his favorite baseball player, so I made it happen. In the process, I made some friends, and when it came time to sign my first client, I had my eye on a college ballplayer who had an older brother in the majors.
I was introduced to the younger brother by his sibling before the first game of the World Series. By the third inning, I had a verbal agreement in place to represent him.
That lit the fire beneath me. I’ve upped my game since then, adding employees and clients at a steady rate.
The only thing I haven’t been able to master is hiring an assistant to replace the one who was by my side for the first six years I was in business. I’m hoping this time I got it right.
As Maren settles into one of the chairs in front of my desk, I drop into the leather chair I spend a good portion of my day in.
My office may not be the biggest in this city, but it has two things I need. I have a clear view of the Empire State Building from my window and a desk that once belonged to my grandfather. You can’t beat that.
“You have questions,” I say to Maren as she holds tight to the envelope containing the contract I had sent over to her apartment this morning.
She looks up. “I do, but I’m curious about something. It’s about the swearing and the fund. What is that?”
“That’s a long story.”
It’s not as long as it is fucked up. I’d rather not talk about it, but if she’s going to take on the role of my executive assistant, she needs to know.
“I have a niece. She’s eight.” I glance at one of the framed pictures sitting on the windowsill. It’s a recent image of my brother and his daughter. “I’m trying to set a good example for her, so I look to the people around me. They hold me accountable if I swear.”
Maren nods. “So the fund is essentially a swear jar? Isn’t a hundred dollars for each person who witnesses you swearing steep?”
“I donate the money once a month to a cancer charity in Boston.”
That sets her back into the chair. Her shoulders slump. She doesn’t know what to say, so I fill in the blanks the same way I always do when anyone asks about the fund.
“My brother’s wife died two years ago.” I swallow hard. “I promised Stevie, my niece, that I’d do something to honor her mom’s memory. It was Stevie’s idea that I donate a hundred each time I swear.”
“I’m sorry,” Maren says quietly.
“I make a sizable donation every month regardless of how much I curse, but I am trying to curtail it to set a good example for Stevie.” I take a breath. “My brother perfected the art of not swearing in her presence. I’ll never live