Caught Up in Us (Caught Up In Love #1)(21)
Author: Lauren Blakely

“I’m twenty-three. I’m not an intern. I’m just a…”

“A protege. At a school where we endowed the new wing of the library. It’s too close. No one has said anything to me, but this is my choice. This is how I have to be. I have to be above reproach. I don’t want anything to look bad for Made Here, and I don’t want anything to look bad for the school. That’s why I couldn’t even email you anymore. I can’t have a trace of impropriety.”

I half wanted to add that I had to be a good girl too, but what was the point? I didn’t need to dole out my stakes as well. There needn’t be any one upsmanship.

I nodded into his chest. I didn’t like these rules, but I understood them.

He placed a hand under my chin and lifted my face so I was looking at him. His lips were so close to me. “But maybe I can call you?”

“Of course.”

“Can I call you tonight?”

I was a pinball machine, buzzing and humming, saying yes, yes, yes. Then I remembered the name of the vendor.

“I would love that. And, you may want to try Geeking Out in the Red Hook neighborhood of Brooklyn. Great guys, and super speedy with parts.”

He shook his head appreciatively. “Do you have any idea how hot it is that you are so damn business savvy?”

“No. Are we talking broiling, boiling, or scorching?”

“Smoking.” Then he pulled me against him for a moment, and I could tell exactly how hot I’d made him.

We left the theater a few minutes later, and when we turned the corner Bryan bumped into a balding man wearing a pinstriped suit that reeked of old money.

“Hello, Mr. Caldwell,” Bryan said. I noticed this was the first time Bryan had addressed someone by the honorific Mr.

Mr. Caldwell gave him a strange look. “Seeing a movie?”

I tensed, and Bryan straightened his spine too. Crap. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid.

“Actually, I just finished a run, and bumped into Kat outside the theater. Kat, this is James Caldwell, who’s on our board.” His eyes widened as he said the last few words, but he didn’t need to worry – I got it.

I shook hands with James Caldwell and assumed a most proper and poised look, as I said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Mr. Caldwell, Kat is working with Made Here through NYU this semester.”

Caldwell raised a thick gray eyebrow. “NYU?”

“She’s in the graduate business school,” Bryan added quickly.

What? Did I look seventeen like the intern?

Caldwell nodded. “Glad to hear this is all business.”

Seventeen or twenty-three, the message was clear. There was to be no hanky-panky.

Chapter Twelve

My phone was mocking me. It was sneering, as I carried it around like a lifeline leashed to me, a hard brick reminder that I was waiting for a call. I curled deeper into the dented corner of the mustard-colored couch, laptop on my thighs as I worked. Jill and I were mirror images, as she sat cross-legged on the other end, tapping away on her computer too. Her hair was twisted up in a red chopstick and a few dark blond strands framed her face. “Do you have any idea how many technical white papers I authored today on nuclear fusion?”

I gave her a look. “Let me guess. Zero?”

She nodded. “Yup. That is exactly right. But I am, in fact, almost done with this list of recommendations for my group of Upper East mommies on their training and diet for the next few weeks before the New York City marathon.” Jill was making headway as a young actress, but she still took on jobs on the side as a running coach. She operated a few running clinics and clubs, especially for men and women who wanted to tackle marathons for the first time, as well as 5Ks and 10Ks. “If I’m going to finally finish this book-length email, I’m going to need a beer. But we have none in this apartment, and it should be considered a crime to be beer-less.”

“Then you should make sure no one carts you away to the pen, Jill.”

I stretched my arm to the coffee table, grabbed Jill’s wallet and tossed it to her. She caught it in one hand, placed her laptop on the couch, and went in search of the nearest six-pack at ten o’clock at night.

I wandered into the kitchen and reached for an apple inside the three-tiered, silver-looking wire basket that hung by the side of my kitchen sink. I needed to throw the crappy contraption out. But it reminded me of my parents. They had one of those baskets too, towering with fruit – apples, oranges, nectarines, lemons that threatened to spill out – in our home in Connecticut. I washed the apple and then headed into the living room. I sat on the window sill and took a bite.

This probably sounded crazy but my parents really are those people. As in those people you can’t believe still love each other madly after all those years. They’ve been together for thirty years and my mom still makes breakfast for him every morning. She’ll set the table with the same green and white checked plates, and the same matching cloth napkins that we’ve had since I was in high school. Then he’ll come downstairs, give her a kiss on the cheek, and they’ll have breakfast together. He’ll do the dishes and clean up and they’ll walk to the store holding hands. When the workday ends, they’ll return home and repeat the same routine for dinner, with him taking out the garbage or mowing the lawn as she cooks. After dinner, she’ll reach for a bar of dark chocolate from the kitchen cupboard, breaking off a section. He’ll have bought either Scharffenberger or some fabulous Belgian chocolate bar. “I never want you to run out of chocolate,” I overheard him whisper to her once after he’d picked some up from the grocery store.

It was almost enough to make you gag, if it weren’t totally 100 percent legitimate.

So when my mom admitted earlier tonight on the phone that the online daily deal had bombed, my heart withered a bit for them. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”

“Well, you know, you’ll just have to keep me stocked in chocolate, my Katerina.”

“I will. I promise. Even though I know it won’t come to that.”

I took another bite of the apple, as I raised the shades halfway to look out onto Twenty-Second Street. A cab pulled up outside the building. A slim man emerged. He had a strong jawline and a regal, Yul Brynner-esque bald head. A woman with a pixie cut stepped out next. She laughed at something he said. Then he reached for her waist and pulled her close, because he simply had to kiss her right then and there. Soon, they walked into the building, holding hands.