Chapter 7
seven
. . .
Caroline
O n the subway, Leo positions himself between me and a man in dirty flannel pajamas, shielding me from the man’s spit spray as he belts out an off-key version of I Left My Heart in San Francisco. When we exit the car, Leo holds out an arm, clearing a path through the surging crowd, and rests a protective hand at the small of my back on the escalator up to the street.
All in all, he’s the consummate, attentive gentleman.
It’s hard to believe he’s a liar.
But he has to be.
Either that, or this is all some kind of crazy misunderstanding.
But even as my loyal, family-focused brain insists that Vivian would never abandon her cat or concoct such a wild, tragic story, the voice of reason searches for a logical explanation and comes up empty. I mean, Leo and Vivian were living together. With the cat. If Vivian left and the cat stayed, then Leo’s story has to be true.
And if it is, what do I do then?
How many of my cousin’s other stories are fiction? Do I know her at all?
Did Vivian really start a kitten rescue program in the basement of her first New York City apartment or dance in a flash mob in Central Park? Maybe she didn’t model for a Japanese candy company when she spent a semester abroad, find an ancient coin on a beach in Croatia, or sleep with the lead singer of Def Leppard.
Though, honestly, that last one would be a relief.
Joe Elliott seems like a nice enough guy, but he’s old enough to be her grandfather, and I’m pretty sure he was married at the time of the alleged fornication.
You’re missing the most important part, doofus. If she lied about the cat, she probably lied about Leo, too. Maybe he isn’t a horrible human! Maybe he’s a perfectly innocent—and ridiculously sexy—man who happened to be the victim of a sociopath’s smear campaign.
“Wouldn’t matter,” I mutter on the elevator up to the third floor of Leo’s adorable Hell’s Kitchen brownstone.
“What’s that?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say, flashing a tight smile. “Just thinking about Vivian. Even if she is a liar, she’s still my cousin.”
And you share cookies and holiday sweaters with your cousin, not penises, I add silently. Even if she lied about Leo, that does nothing to shift his “off-limits” status.
“Of course,” Leo says, as the elevator door slides open. “I’m not suggesting you kick her out of the family, but you should use caution moving forward. Trust is a precious thing. It shouldn’t be given to people who don’t deserve it.”
I hum beneath my breath as I follow him into the hall.
He glances over his shoulder. “You disagree?”
I shake my head. “No, but…” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I’d rather trust someone who possibly doesn’t deserve it than constantly be on guard against people pulling the wool over my eyes. I don’t want to be a cynic.”
“You could be a skeptic. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I guess, but I’m already battling existential dread. I don’t want to lose faith in my fellow man on top of it.”
Leo pauses at his door, studying me as he pulls his key from his pocket. “Why the existential dread?”
I laugh, a little uncomfortably, but find myself offering an honest answer, anyway. He deserves some truth after what Vivian might have put him through.
And he’s just easy to talk to.
“I don’t know,” I say. “Wondering what the point is, I guess. I mean, I love my family and friends and take pride in my work, but…it feels like there should be more to life than going to the inn and coming home and hoping for something to break the monotony on my days off.”
He grunts. “More to life than feeding the capitalist machine for forty years, only to retire when you’re too old to sleep without pain, let alone make art or love or find your purpose?”
Something flutters in my chest, a moth drawing closer to a flame. “Yes, exactly.”
Purpose. Yes. That’s exactly what I want. I want a bigger purpose than keeping my guests happy. Or maybe just a different purpose, one that feels more authentic to me at this point in my life.
But I’m not ready to share all of that with Leo, no matter how trustworthy he seems. We have a cat mystery to solve before I let any more of my walls down with this man.
“Though my grandmother sleeps great since she got her medical marijuana card,” I add, ending the conversation with a tight smile.
“Weed is medicine,” he says, starting to push the door open, but stopping at the last moment. “I would suggest we smoke some before you meet Greg—it might take the edge off how unforgivably rude I’m sure he’s going to be—but I don’t go to the set impaired. And you look like the kind of girl who can’t handle her cannabis.”
I frown, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You look sweet and wholesome and like half a glass of champagne would have you napping in a corner at a party,” he says with a warmth that makes me think he finds my wholesomeness charming.
“I can handle two glasses, thank you. Three, if I space them out.” My cheeks heat as I confess, “But I’ve actually never tried weed, so I don’t know about that. I got close to accidentally eating one of Gran’s special cookies once, but she smacked my hand away just in time.”
He hums. “A good girl. As I suspected.”
“Not that good,” I murmur in a flirty tone that instantly makes me blush harder.
But damn it, I’m not that wholesome. And a wicked part of me wants Leo to know it…
“Noted.” His eyes glitter, but he’s a more disciplined person than I am. There isn’t a hint of flirtation in his tone as he adds, “All right, gird your loins, Caroline. You’re about to enter the realm of Greg ‘Satan’ Fluffy Stuff, destroyer of hope, devourer of souls. When the void screams, it screams into Greg’s cold, dead eyes, and he never screams back.”
I laugh, but Leo doesn’t.
“I’m serious,” he says. “He’s awful, but he’s up on all his shots, so don’t worry if he breaks the skin when he bites or scratches. You won’t catch rabies. Just keep him away from your face if you can. I want to get some close-ups of you while you’re skating tonight.”
I swallow and nod, still not sure if he’s kidding. Vivian never said anything about Greg becoming a problem cat, and he was always sweet when I hung out with him in Vermont.
But then she also may have faked Greg’s death, so…
Leo steps inside. I follow him into a narrow hallway that smells of burnt toast and evergreen needles, with a slight overtone of cat litter. But it’s clean, fresh cat litter, and the smell makes sense once I realize the litter box is in the closet by the door.
Leo sees me looking as he hangs up our coats and nods toward it. “Sorry about that. Tiny New York apartment. There’s no room to put it in the bathroom. And when I had it behind the couch, Greg would save up his poop all day and start copiously shitting as soon as I sat down to eat a sandwich.”
I fight another smile. “What did you do to this poor cat to make him hate you so much?”
“I’m not Vivian,” Leo says. “And I nicknamed him Satan. But I think he likes that part. The only costume he ever consented to wear for Halloween was a red hoodie with devil horns on top.”
I sigh and clasp my hands together. “Okay, well, I’m properly intimidated. Let’s go meet this ruthless beast and hope I can get close enough to get a look at his back paw.”
“This way,” he says, nodding down the hall. “He likes to hang out on his play structure in the evenings and fantasize about bird murder.”
“Don’t we all,” I murmur as I follow him past the entrance to a small, but tidy kitchen with a yellow teapot on the stove. It’s cute. Homey. Much more so than I would have expected from a big city bachelor.
Leo glances back at me with a grin. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Jokes help with the existential dread.”
“Agreed,” he says, stopping at the edge of a combination living room/dining area with large windows on one side. The giant cat structure beside them overlooks a tree full of birds and the brownstone on the other side of the street. “And your laugh is great.”
I huff in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He frowns. “No, I’m not.”
“My laugh is awful,” I say. “I’m so loud. Kayla’s always reminding me to keep it down so I don’t scare the guests.”
“What? She’s crazy. Your laugh is perfect. Absolutely fucking perfect,” he grumbles, seeming to genuinely believe it. Which only makes me like him more—damn it!
I have to stop falling for this man. Right now.
It’s almost enough to make me hope he is lying about the cat.
If he’s a liar, I can leave New York tomorrow morning, bail on the reality show and the conference, and spend the rest of the weekend wrapped up in fleece on my bed. There, I can watch my favorite Christmas movies, eat peppermint-fudge-drizzled popcorn, and force myself into the holiday spirit before work on Monday.
But I don’t want to go home, and I don’t want peppermint-fudge-drizzled popcorn. I want peppermint-fudge-drizzled Leo. Even those few seconds pressed against his chest during our kiss were enough to make me want more.
A whole lot more.
Apparently, Greg feels the same way. Mere seconds after Leo turns toward the window, calling softly, “Greg? Satan? Are you awake, you despotic feline?” a gorgeous orange tabby races out from under the coffee table and leaps into Leo’s arms.
Leo catches him, but his eyes are wide with horror. He flinches instinctively and shifts his face to one side, as far out of claw-reach as possible, making me believe he truly fears for his safety with this animal.
But Greg seems to be in a sweet, snuggly mood this evening.
When I reach out a cautious hand, whispering, “Hello there, Greg. Aren’t you the most beautiful boy?” he cranes his neck forward to meet my fingers, butting his head affectionately into my hand.
I scratch gentle fingers into the fur around his collar, my heart melting as he begins to purr. “Aw, what a sweetheart. You’re just a big softie, aren’t you?”
“He’s doing this on purpose,” Leo whispers, his eyes narrowed on Greg’s happy face. “He’s doing it to fuck with me. The second you’re gone; he’ll claw my eye out and laugh about it. He has a very mean laugh. Nothing like yours. Polar opposite, in fact.”
“Oh, come on, this boy is clearly a lover not a fighter,” I say, gathering Greg into my arms and cuddling him against my chest. He lifts his face to mine, sniffing my nose and purring louder. “You’re a precious little prince. Yes, you are. And you have the best purr and the softest fur and the prettiest eyes.”
Leo sucks in a hissing breath. “Careful. I’m serious, he can turn on a dime. One second, he’s purring, the next there’s blood everywhere and you don’t know who it belongs to.”
I laugh, relaxing into the joy of having a happy kitty in my arms. “Oh, pish. He’s delightful.” To Greg, I add in a playful voice, “Why is this bad man telling stories about you? You’re the best boy there ever was.”
Greg meows in agreement and loops a paw around my neck, as if he never wants to let me go. If there’s a better time to check for a heart shaped mark, I can’t imagine it.
I reach down, whispering, “Can I look at your other pretty foot, sweetheart?” as I cup his back paw in my hand. When he seems amenable, I tip it up and glance down to see four perfect pink toe beans above the larger paw pad.
And in the center of the pad…is a small black heart.
Just like I remember.
My stomach sinks at the sight, but I’m not really surprised. Deep down, I believed Leo was telling the truth from the beginning.
I believe he’s telling the truth about Greg being a jerk when it’s just him around, too. I mean, he’s probably exaggerating for a laugh, but some cats hate men. Or women. Or people with beards. They’re fickle that way.
But there’s just something about this man that makes me want to trust him. (And kiss him and run my hands through his shaggy hair and make him laugh at least four times a day for the foreseeable future. But the ‘trusting him’ part is the only one that squares with the fact that he’s my new boss and my cousin’s ex. Ugh!)
I release Greg’s paw and glance Leo’s way.
“It’s there, isn’t it?” he asks. “The black heart?”
I nod. “Vivian has some explaining to do.”
“Agreed. But maybe it can wait until we wrap filming?” Leo asks. “No offense, but Vivian is a world class manipulator. If you call her now, I’m afraid she’ll find a way to convince you that this isn’t Greg, I’m actually a horrible person, and you should go running back to Vermont as fast as your pretty legs can carry you.”
“I’m not that easily swayed,” I say, stroking the still-purring Greg. “But yes, I agree, that conversation can wait. Though I do have one more Vivian-related question for you, if you don’t mind.”
“Shoot,” he says.
“Did you cheat on her in a sauna while the two of you were on vacation in Maine?”
His chin rears back and his forehead wrinkles with righteous indignation. “Hell, no! We never even went to Maine. She said she hated the country, that she had, and I quote ‘spent enough of her childhood living in the sticks to never want to go back.’ The one time we went on vacation, it was to Paris for a long weekend, and she spent most of it shopping.” He takes a deep breath, smoothing the front of his shirt as he collects himself. “Though I do have a sauna at my cabin in Maine. I built it myself.”
“Wow,” I murmur, stroking Greg, who is now draped fully over my shoulder like a sleepy baby, his purring head beside mine. “A comedian, a producer, and good with tools. Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Fenton?”
“I can’t cook, and I’m in an abusive relationship with a cat,” he says, glancing down at Greg, his brow furrowing. “I swear, he’s not like this. He’s gaslighting me. I know what you’re doing, Greg. Don’t even think about jumping into my arms when we’re alone. I won’t catch you. Because I know you’ll be after my eyeballs.”
I turn to face Leo more fully, but the teasing remark on my lips dies when I catch a glimpse of Greg’s expression in the mirror on the wall. Gone is the sleepy cat grin. In its place, is something far more diabolical, a menacing glare aimed straight at Leo.
“Greg?” I whisper. “What’s up? Why the angry face?”
Greg grumbles something in feline that I can’t understand but that makes Leo’s eyes widen.
“He said he hates it here,” Leo mutters, “and that he’ll rip my face off to escape if he has to. Just like that chimp in Connecticut.”
I scoff as I stroke Greg’s silky fur. “Oh no, he didn’t. But I think I might have a solution to this problem. Be good to Leo from now on, okay, Greg? And when the show is finished filming in two weeks, I’ll take you home with me. Would you like to come to Vermont and be our inn cat and sleep by the fire and get treats every day?”
Greg perks up, but it’s when Leo adds, “And terrorize the country birds to your heart’s content?” that his feline grin stretches wide again.
I laugh. “Okay, then. It’s a deal. But you have to be good to Leo. And you can’t kill the birds. Just terrorize them. We have a lot of bird watchers in the area.”
Greg pulls back, gazing into my face, purring smugly.
I scratch his neck. “I’m probably going to regret this, aren’t I?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Leo says. “You’ve just struck a dark bargain, but no take backs. That’s not the way deals with the devil work.”
Greg meows as if in agreement and twists in my arms, freeing himself with one lithe movement. He lands on the floor and scampers across the room to climb into his play structure, sending the birds on the branch closest to the window bolting in a flurry of wings.
Leo leans closer, whispering, “You can change your mind if you want. We just won’t let him know until you’re gone. That way he can’t plot bloody vengeance.”
I shake my head. “I won’t change my mind. And I never go back on my word.” I extend a hand his way. “I’m in for the show. No hidden agenda, no divided loyalty. You can count on me to bring my A game.”
“Excellent,” he says, enfolding my fingers in his much longer ones.
His palm lingers against mine, making my entire body tingle. I don’t know if this will be “excellent” or not, but it will be an adventure.
And I’m ready for an adventure.
Past ready.