Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Keats
I spent the last hour listening to my niece tell me why dinosaurs are extinct. I learned that shit back in a grade I can’t remember, but the fact is, Stevie’s animated gestures and the expressions on her face made it a worthwhile lesson.
Berk dropped her at my place on his way to work.
He went in early to touch base with an author he wants to sign, so I made Stevie blueberry pancakes and bacon. I topped that off with orange juice served in a champagne glass.
Every other glass I own is crammed into my dishwasher. I finally remembered to press the start button on that before I left to walk Stevie to school.
I dropped her off five minutes ago, and now I’m standing across the street watching her with her friends. She’s the chattiest of the bunch. That has everything to do with her mother.
Layna brought good things to this world. She cared for people who had less than her. She went to the animal shelter once a week to visit the dogs and cats with nowhere to go. She wrote poetry and short stories that my brother published before she died so she could hold her work in her hands.
Stevie represents the best of both of them.
I can only hope one day I’ll have a child who will look up to her and learn about dinosaurs and everything else a kid needs to know to make it in this world.
I sigh when I feel my phone vibrate in the pocket of my suit jacket.
Stevie walked through my closet and chose my suit again today. I’m wearing a gray three-piece with a light blue shirt and tie. The shoes are black leather with red soles.
I may need to hire her as my stylist because I captured a few looks from both men and women on the walk here.
I read the text message that pops up on my screen.
Pace: Get your ass to my place now, Morgan.
Well, good fucking morning to you too, Callahan.
I type out a reasonable response because if Pace weren’t killing it in the world of sports, he’d make it as a dramatic actor, and I won’t feed into that.
Keats: Keep typing. I don’t see the word please on my screen.
I look up to see Stevie filing into the school with her friends. The pink backpack slung over her shoulder sways with every skip of her feet.
My attention darts down when my phone vibrates again.
Pace: My dick needs you.
My brows pinch together as I read that once, and then again.
Pace and I play on the same team even though I’ve never worn a baseball uniform. I’m straight, and he’s obsessed with chasing after women. That’s clear by the number of calls my office has fielded from women looking for him after spending a night in his bed.
I type out a response.
Keats: Come again and that’s not a fucking pun, Pace.
I stare at the screen.
Pace: I sent a dick pic to a woman online and it’s everywhere. I fucked up my contract, didn’t I?
I watch as the three dots bounce on the screen.
My fingers type out a message quickly.
Keats: Don’t send me the picture. PLEASE don’t send it.
Pace: Help me out here.
I turn to set off on foot to the nearest subway stop, typing as I go.
Keats: I’m on my way. Don’t respond to anyone, Pace. No one. Keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants. I’ll fix this.
I will. This is a speed bump. I’ve helped other clients recover from worse. Pace will be just fine.
“You’re looking at it, aren’t you?” Pace swings open the door to his loft.
I keep my gaze pinned to my phone. “I’m looking at what?”
“My cock.”
I grimace. “Hell, no.”
He cants his head to catch a glimpse of my phone, but I shield it from his view.
I’m sneaking a peek at something I shouldn’t, but it has nothing to do with what’s in Pace’s pants. I’m currently in Tribeca. Maren lives in this neighborhood, so I opened the map app on my phone to see exactly how far her apartment is from this place.
I might pull a teenager with a crush move and stroll past her building when I leave here. I don’t expect her to be there, but I’ll at least get a glimpse of the lobby.
“What am I going to do, Keats?”
I finally look up to see the naked chest of my client. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants. I dart my gaze up quickly because I don’t want to be looking in the direction of his dick while I’m talking about it.
“You’re going to do a charity calendar.”
His eyes widen. “What?”
“You’ve seen them before.” I brush past him to make my way inside his massive living room. “You’ll pose nude with a baseball bat between your legs or a glove. Hell, I have no idea of the size of that thing, so maybe a baseball will suffice.”
He grabs his crotch. “It’s big, Keats. It’s huge.”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “I talked to the network on my way over here. They’re on board for the calendar idea. They’ll even let you push it on air. I’ll call in some favors to get enough players for a year’s worth of half-naked shots.”
“That’s going to fix this?” he questions.
I slap him on the shoulder. “You’re going to need to say something on your socials. I’ll help you craft that. We’ll keep it light, and we’ll weave an apology into it.”
“And then I’ll be good?” He perks a dark brow. “Everyone is going to know what my dick looks like.”
“They’ll forget about it as soon as someone more relevant drops a nude shot.” I sigh. “Stop taking pictures of it, Pace. That’s a big no from here on out. Understood?”
He nods. “Understood.”
I point to where his phone is resting on his coffee table. “Stay off that all day. I’ll drop by later with a statement you can release.”
“Okay.” He nods. “Did Maren happen to see the picture?”
Shaking my head, I laugh. “If she did, she wouldn’t be impressed.”
He joins me with a chuckle. “I saw the way you looked at her in the elevator. You like her, don’t you?”
I’m not diving into that gossip pool with him.
I’ve worked hard to keep my personal life just out of reach of my client’s curiosity.
That blew up when Fletcher and his dad met Maren and decided she was my girlfriend.
“Don’t worry about that. Worry about what your mom’s going to say when she realizes what you’ve done. ”
“Oh, shit.” He hangs his head. “I need to figure out what I’ll tell her.”
“I’ll help you with that too,” I say, grateful that we got off the subject of my assistant. “I need to fix your fuck up, so I’m out of here.”
“You’re the man, Keats,” he calls after me. “You’re the best.”
When Maren thinks that, I’ll believe it. Until then, I’m doing what I can to be a better man every hour of every day.