Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Maren
The office is eerily quiet when I arrive for my second day of work. I stopped on my way to pick up a coffee, and by the example set forth by my generous father, Tim Weber, I bought a coffee for Ripley too.
I tagged along to work with my dad enough times to learn the value of treating everybody right. My dad owned an insurance company until he retired two years ago.
He was born with what he called a diamond-encrusted silver spoon in his mouth. My grandparents were filthy rich, and my great-grandfather was too. Inherited wealth can be as much a burden as it is a joy.
I step off the elevator exactly an hour before I start work for the day. Arietta needed to get to her office early to handle a call from her boss, who is still in Italy. We took Dudley to doggy daycare together before we made a pit stop to get our morning coffees.
I glance around the office. No one is in sight, but a sliver of light is peeking out from beneath Keats’s door. I can hear the muffled sound of someone talking, or maybe it’s more than one person.
I can’t tell, so I take a few tentative steps closer to the door.
Keats’s deep voice is unmistakable, and the generous pause every so often tells me that he’s on the phone.
I glance at the office phone on my desk, but the light next to his direct line isn’t flashing red, so he must be on his cell.
Setting my steaming hot cup of coffee on the desk, I drop my purse into the bottom drawer.
Just as I’m about to take a seat, a large bang startles me.
I stand straighter, my hands darting to my chest.
My heart races as I try and calm my breathing.
It does little good because another bang, even louder than the last, sets me back a step.
“Fuck this!”
I look toward Keats’s office at the sound of his voice.
What am I supposed to do? What if he’s in trouble? Did he fall? Does he need help?
“What the hell? Stop. Just stop.”
The panic in Keats’s voice is unmistakable, so I do what any good assistant would.
I grab the dusty umbrella hanging on a coatrack behind my desk, I march toward my boss’s office door, and I swing it open.
My breath catches as I take in the sight in front of me.
Glitter rains down on my half-dressed boss as he turns toward me with his hands swatting the air.
My gaze travels from his unkempt hair to the shocked expression on his face. He’s wearing a white button-down shirt, a bowtie, and a tuxedo jacket, but his legs and feet are bare.
On the floor in front of him is a glitter cannon.
As my eyes dart back to his glitter-covered thighs, he leans toward his desk. He grabs an empty bottle of champagne and positions it in front of his boxer briefs.
Shaking my head, I exhale once and then again. “What? Why? I mean…how?”
He drags his free hand through his hair. “Good morning, Maren. You missed a hell of a celebration last night.”
Once I saw that my half-dressed boss was fine, I took a seat at my desk.
Every part of me wanted to text Arietta so I could explain what I just saw, but I dropped my phone into the bottom drawer of my desk next to my purse.
I have to digest this before I can share it with anyone, because what the actual fuck is going on?
I steal a look at Keats as he comes strolling out of his office. At least he put on his pants, although he’s still missing socks and shoes.
“I need you to arrange a trip for me, Maren,” he says calmly.
I glance in his direction because are we just going to pretend that all the glitter in his office doesn’t exist?
He lost the bowtie, and with his hair neater than it was, he looks shockingly gorgeous for someone who must have a raging hangover. The glitter specks on his face and in his hair force a smile to my lips.
“It’s a trip for two,” he continues. “Look into a two-week vacation in Fiji. I’m thinking of a five star resort with a private villa. The best food, massages, the works.”
Envy tugs at me, but I shake it off because I’m not here for anything but a job. It doesn’t matter to me who he’s heading to Fiji with.
Maybe it matters a little, so I push for more details. “What are the dates for this trip? I assume it’s a romantic getaway, so you’re thinking of rose petals on the bed, maybe moonlit dinners on the beach?”
“Yes, and yes.” He nods, and another burst of glitter falls from his hair. “Departure date is this Saturday. I want this to be a honeymoon to remember.”
My eyes dart to his left hand, but his ring finger is bare.
Did he get married last night? Is his wife somewhere in the office missing half of her clothes?
I glance over my shoulder at the darkened corridor and closed office doors.
“I know better than to fall asleep in my office chair.” He stretches his arms over his head. “My back is fucked.”
“You owe a hundred to the fund,” I mumble.
“I owe a hell of a lot more than a hundred.” He huffs out a chuckle. “You heard me fighting with that glitter cannon, didn’t you? I must have let a few choice words escape when it fell on the floor.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. There are enough clues to piece together the mystery of what Keats did last night and this morning, but I don’t want to put in the effort.
Maybe this is why Jamie came to work late some days.
Glancing up, I force a smile. “I’ll get to work. I’ll put together a few options for your honeymoon so you can choose one. Oh, and congratulations to you and your wife.”
He laughs, tossing his head back. “What the fuck, Maren? You think I got married?”
“Two hundred,” I say while my cheeks bloom pink in embarrassment. “You said I should book a luxury honeymoon. You’re dressed in a tuxedo. You didn’t have pants on when I got here, and you have an empty bottle of champagne and a glitter cannon in your office.”
“Woah.” He holds up his palm, and I get a glimpse of something written in black ink.
I tilt my head to read it, but he drops his hand to his side.
“I officiated a wedding at midnight. I came back here with the happy couple to notarize their wedding certificate. The groom was carrying a magnum of champagne. He spilled half the fucking bottle on my pants, so I took them off the second the newlyweds left.”
I nod, not wanting to say anything to interrupt his train of thought.
He stares at me for a second before he sighs.
“I used to keep an extra pair of pants in the cabinet behind my desk. I was looking for those when I found the glitter cannon. It was supposed to be a gift for Stevie’s birthday, but my brother told me no way.
Anyways, I must have worn the spare pair of pants home one day and forgot to bring them back. ”
I don’t have words, so I keep listening.
He exhales sharply. “I accidentally knocked the cannon out of the cabinet when I was searching for the pants and glitter went everywhere. I kicked it and whatever was left inside of it shot me in the face.”
As if on cue, another sprinkle of glitter rains from his hair onto his nose and cheeks.
“I need to get someone in here to clean up that fucking mess.” He motions toward the door of his office. “I know, three hundred. I owe three hundred goddamn dollars. Four now.”
I bite back a laugh. “So, you’re not married?”
His eyes widen. “Heck, no.”
Something inside of me relaxes. “How often do you officiate weddings?”
Scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he shrugs. “Whenever I need to. The couple I married last night was eager to make it happen before their twins arrive.”
“Twins?” I swallow hard. “That’s a lot.”
“They’ll handle it.” He half-laughs. “We’ve been friends since high school. They work at his family’s diner on the Lower East Side. I stop in there whenever I’m craving a plate of fries and a greasy cheeseburger.”
He swats his hand against his hair to knock more glitter loose. “They’ve never charged me for a meal, so when Brandi and Chuck said they were planning on heading to City Hall to tie the knot next week, I told them I’d do it whenever they wanted.”
“They wanted it immediately?” I smile.
“The sooner the better, they said.” He brushes his fingertips over the lapel of his jacket, chasing away some glitter.
“They already had their marriage license, so we decided to do it after the diner closed. I went home and threw on my tux. I picked up some flowers on my way back, and sealed the deal at the stroke of midnight.”