Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Keats
If I were a twelve-year-old, I would have decked Christian Knott with a swift punch to the nose. Berk taught me how to defend myself when a kid who was four inches taller and twenty pounds heavier than me decided I’d be his unwilling victim.
He was a bully. I was scared shitless of him until Berk showed me how to land a punch designed to break noses. I didn’t accomplish that when my fist hit the center of the bully’s face, but I did manage to knock him sideways.
That was my one and only attempt to defend myself physically. Since then, I’ve learned that assholes hate being called out for who they are. That’s especially true if a beautiful woman is within earshot.
I know all about Christian Knott. Everett handed me a copy of the job application Maren filled out the day I hired her. I wanted to be sure that she did, in fact, have the qualifications for the job.
She’s overqualified, but the point is that the Knott brothers lost a valued employee.
I don’t know the specifics of what happened. I do know that she works for me now. I intend to keep it that way.
“I’m sorry about that,” she says from her seat next to me.
We were directed to the bar to wait for our table after Christian took off. I have an eye trained on the door, so I can spot Fletcher when he arrives and Christian if he shows his face in here again.
I didn’t expect to run into anyone Maren knows tonight. I wanted a drink before dinner, so I arrived at Nova early. To my surprise, my new assistant was already here. I saw her through the window before I noticed creepy Christian sneaking up behind her.
That’s when I made my way inside.
I pegged Christian as an ex-boyfriend at first, because he couldn’t take his eyes off of her ass. Then Maren mentioned his name. If I had cared more, I might have looked him up online days ago, but stalking my employees’ former bosses isn’t something I do.
The past is the past, whether it’s jobs or lovers.
“For what?” I laugh. “You’re not responsible for that asshole.”
Her eyes brighten. “You swore.”
I drag my tongue over my bottom lip. “I did. You’re right.”
Her gaze stays trained on my mouth before it travels slowly to my eyes. “He made it sound as though I’m a difficult employee.”
“What he says is irrelevant.” I reach for the glass of scotch in front of me. “You’re proving to be a valuable addition to our team.”
The words don’t convey the message. I like working with this woman. I love sitting here while she sips on a glass of red wine, and I stare at her beautiful face.
“He fired me because I pushed back on a decision he made.” She sighs. “He passed me over for a promotion. He gave the position to someone close to him.”
“Fucking asshole.” I smile. “It was worth the money to say it.”
That lures a laugh from her.
I watch as she giggles her way through a hiccup.
“I sometimes hiccup when I laugh,” she explains before her body jerks with another hiccup. “I hope it passes before Fletcher gets here.”
I hope to hell it doesn’t. It’s fucking adorable. With each hiccup, her hair bounces, and her eyes widen.
“Maybe if I drink this, it will help.” The words pour out of her quickly before she downs half the glass of wine.
As soon as she sets it back on the bar, a hiccup escapes her.
“Dammit.” Her eyes search my face. “I know this meeting is important. I can’t have the hiccups right now.”
I’d tell her it doesn’t matter, but I can sense that it matters a hell of a lot to her, so I offer my advice, even though she never asked. “Press the thumb of your right hand into the middle of your left palm.”
“What?” Her hands fall open on her lap.
My gaze drifts from them down to her legs. Jesus, those legs. They could make a man forget his name.
“Keats,” she offers me a reminder she didn’t know I needed. “Where on my palm do I press?”
Her left hand reaches out to me, and damn if I’m going to pass over the opportunity to touch her.
When the pad of my thumb touches the middle of her palm, I almost moan. What the hell is wrong with me? I suck in a deep breath. I need to calm down. For fuck’s sake, I need to calm down.
A hiccup jolts her. “Please press it for me.”
I lock eyes with her as I cup her hand between mine. I gently press into the middle of her left palm as I stare at her. “It’s the best way I know to chase hiccups away.”
Uncertainty swims in her expression, but she doesn’t move as she hiccups again.
“I learned how to do this when I was a kid,” I explain. “Whenever I had a soda, I’d get the hiccups.”
The corners of her lips quirk up toward a grin. “You did?”
I don’t take my eyes off of her. “I couldn’t drink a soda at a birthday party because I’d have to hiccup my way through the birthday song.”
Her right hand jumps to her mouth as she stifles a laugh followed by a hiccup. “I bet the birthday boy or girl loved that.”
I chuckle. “The first time it happened, every kid there joined in and fake hiccupped along with me.”
She lowers her hand to her chin. “So, someone taught you how to get rid of hiccups because of that?”
I apply more pressure to her palm. “My grandfather did. The man had a pocketful of tricks just like this one.”
Her gaze drops to our hands before it levels back on my face. “What else did he teach you?”
I lean closer to her because the volume in this place just went up a notch. “He was the king of life hacks before they were a thing.”
She leans in too. “Tell me one. I want to learn something new.”
I like you. I really fucking like you.
The thought stays inside of me because that’s not a life hack. It’s a fact of life.
“Wear a hoodie backward when you’re watching a movie. You have a built-in container for popcorn.”
She narrows her eyes. “You use the hood to hold the popcorn? Have you done that?”
“More than once, “ I admit. “I taught Stevie to do it too. It’s a family tradition.”
Leaning closer, she laughs. “Why do I get the impression that you’re a bad influence on her?”
I don’t take that as anything but a compliment. The smile on Maren’s face tells me she meant it in jest. “You can ask her if I am when you meet her.”
“I’ll meet her?” she questions.
“I’d like you to,” I lower my voice. “And my brother too.”
She doesn’t say a word, so I keep talking. “Jamie used to drop by my townhouse for dinner sometimes. Everett and his wife do too. Everyone who has worked for me has been to my home.”
Whatever reservation may have been holding back her response is gone. With a soft smile, she looks into my eyes. “I’d love to meet your family, Keats.”
“I told you Mr. Morgan was a decent guy, Dad.”
Maren and I both turn at the sound of my name.
Goddammit. I took my eyes off the restaurant’s entrance and missed my chance to greet a potential client who could change my life.
“You called him a party boy.” Fletcher Newman lets out a gruff laugh as he elbows his father. “Mr. Morgan is going to introduce his girlfriend to his family. It looks like you had him all wrong.”