14. Cat

Holland is already sittingin our regular booth when I arrive, digging into the same pancakes she always orders. I'm late, and I'm glad she didn't wait to order. Her blonde hair is falling over her shoulders, narrowly missing the strawberry syrup pooling on her plate. I search the cafe for Ivy, finding her at another table, setting glasses of soda in front of the people sitting there. She's wearing cutoff shorts and a white tee under her red and white pinstriped apron. Her messy, curly hair is tied up off her neck, and her cheeks are flushed. She's only been back and working in the diner for a few days, but it's like she never left.

"Cheeseburger?" she calls when she sees me.

"Extra fries."

I slide into the booth opposite Holland and melt into the seat.

She glances up, her brown eyes tracking the emotions running over my face. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Noah's house is literally paradise, Holls. A mansion on the hills that leads down to a private beach? His own yacht? The ability to buy a cargo ship full of Peloton bikes and not even feel the financial hit if it sunk to the ocean floor?"

"A ship full of bikes," she says, lowering her bite of pancakes and looking at me with concern. "You jumped to stationary bikes?"

"I've been thinking I need to work out more."

"More would imply you worked out before."

"I used to think cleaning houses counted as cardio."

"But then?"

"Then Muscles McGee constantly walks around shirtless, and it's clear I have some mass improving to do."

Holland lowers her fork entirely. "Do I need to be concerned?"

"What? No."

"You want to work out because your billionaire boss is cut." She reaches across the table to feel my forehead. "No fever."

"I'm not sick. He just makes me feel lazy," I say sheepishly, running my finger over a chip in the edge of the orange table. The amount of stuff that guy gets done in a given day puts even me to shame. And I never stop moving.

His workout regimen alone is layered. Running, lifting, the pushups and things he does on the back deck before he comes back inside after his runs. I'd imagine he was just putting on a show for me while I make power shakes and pretend to clean his spotless kitchen counter, but you have to work for abs like that, so clearly this is an old routine.

Ivy slides a hot cheeseburger in front of me and suddenly abs matter just a little less. Her dark eyebrows pull together. "Who makes you feel lazy?"

"Noah," Holland says around her bite of pancakes.

"You're like the Energizer bunny." Ivy crosses her arms.

This has gotten out of control. How do I describe the feeling of watching Noah walk in from his morning workout, his chest shimmering with sweat, his breathing rapid. It's like?.?.?. not just attractive. I want to feel whatever he's feeling. Maybe my sudden desire to work out has less to do with wanting my own abs and something to do with wanting Noah's. Yeah, we need a convo change stat.

"Bree showed up tonight, and she brought an assistant and a tiny dog with her."

"Like a brunette Paris Hilton," Holland says.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" someone calls from another booth. Ivy leaves to help the other customers.

I take a bite of my burger. My teeth sink into it and I moan. "Delicious."

"Do I need to be worried?" Holland asks again, her blonde eyebrows arching high on her forehead. "For real."

"No." I drag a fry through mustard.

"Noah is?.?.?."

"A good employer, actually," I tell her. "I've misjudged him. He's so much nicer than I expected."

"He has to be, for you to take this job. I still don't get why you've done it."

To save my house. Because my uncle needs the money. How do I tell Holland without betraying Otto's trust? He hasn't even told me himself.

She peers at me, narrowing her eyes. "Why did you take the job? I thought after his sister bullied you in middle school you wouldn't want anything to do with that family again."

"I didn't. I still don't. But I need the money, and he's paying me crazy well." I shrug. "It's just for the summer."

That was the wrong thing to say. Holland looks worried. "Is the BB okay?"

"It will be." I lean closer because I can tell this is something she won't drop.

Ivy returns and slides into the booth beside me. "Some people are crazy. That guy forced me to fill his Coke three times because he's convinced it's mostly soda water. Such a waste." She looks between us. "What's going on?"

Now or never, right? If I can't trust Holland and Ivy, then I have no one. I'm starting to think that telling them about the massive debt hanging over my head might take some of the pressure away. Or maybe I just need them to make me feel like I'm not taking crazy advantage of Noah and his generosity. He did offer to pay me much more than we agreed to, but it still feels like a lot.

I look from Holland to Ivy. "Otto still has cancer bills that are crazy high. I found them when I brought in the mail a few weeks ago. I don't know if he's ashamed or what, but he's keeping it from me. I kind of mentioned it to Noah, and now he's paying me enough to cover the bills by the end of the summer."

Holland just blinks. "So he's way nicer than we all thought."

"It's not just that, Holls. It feels wrong to take so much money. I'm not sure I'd ever feel like I'm doing enough to earn it."

"But he agreed to it, right?" Ivy asks, pushing a rogue curly dark lock off her forehead. "You told him everything. It's not taking advantage of him when it's consensual, Cat. It's a business transaction."

They are both oddly okay with this, and what they're saying makes sense. It helps ease the slimy feeling that I'd forced chivalry out of Noah, at least. I definitely didn't force him into anything. It was his idea.

"You know I'm not one to talk," Holland mutters before taking another bite of her pancakes. True. She has a lot going on in her life, but that's her story to tell.

The bell above the door chimes, and Ivy scoots out of the bench. "I have to get back to it, but don't stress so much, Cat. Let the guy help you out. He obviously wants to."

Let him help me.I was, wasn't I? I'd already been his personal assistant for over a week, and I was doing my best to earn my keep. He didn't hesitate to call on me at all hours to chat about various components of the ad campaign. I'd cooked him dinner twice, done all his laundry, fed him, sent out birthday flowers, and shopped online for a new rug since his bedroom one got a giant coffee stain on it that I couldn't get out.

I pull out my phone and set a reminder to be at the house in a few days to set up the rug after it gets delivered.

Holland reaches across the table and pilfers a fry. "You aren't backing out, right?"

"No, I won't back out. Are you?" She has an arrangement of her own to manage.

"I can't," she says. "I need the money."

We each take a fry and tap them across the table, a salty, carby cheers. "To us," I say, "and our sugar daddies."

"Just don't give him any sugar," she warns, chewing on her fry.

"I won't," I promise, but the idea of kissing Noah doesn't repulse me. It's not nearly as distasteful as it felt a few weeks ago. Good thing we have the ad shoot coming up and some solid time with Bree. If anything is going to remind me how much I can't stand that family, it'll be spending time with his sister.

I give Holland a hug and wave to Ivy across the room before making my way outside. We live close to the center of town, so I start walking home. The night is balmy. My skin is warm. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out to find a text from Noah.

Noah

So that puppy training you mentioned…

Cat

…does not extend to your sister's dog

I hit send and hope I'm reading him correctly.

Noah

I'll pay extra

I breathe a sigh of relief for accurately reading the situation. Despite my promises to him when we made our employment agreement, I know next to nothing about dogs.

Cat

Did she soil the carpet? I can put in another order

Also, your rug shipped. It should be here in a few days

Noah

She won't stop barking. She's clearly unhappy here

Thanks for the rug. I can't wait

Cat

What about Alonzo? I thought he loved the dog.

Noah

He has a funny way of showing it. They're gone, Cat. They left right after you did, and this dog has been barking at the door ever since. Do dogs get separation anxiety?

I stop on the sidewalk in front of my house and pull up Google, because I don't know the answer to that offhand, and find a plethora of articles about pet separation anxiety. I copy and paste a few links and send them to Noah while I climb the stairs to our front porch and lower myself in the swinging hammock.

Cat

Have you tried comforting her?

Noah

How?

I laugh. Then, because of the dog and for no other reason, I hit the FaceTime button.

It only rings for a bit before Noah answers it. He's laying back on the couch, his head resting on his hand, so his bicep pops. Is that intentional? No, it can't be.

"Hey," he says softly.

"Hey."

The dog barks in the background, a high yippy sound. It jars me.

Noah cringes. "Yeah, that's been going on for an hour now."

"So that comforting thing I mentioned. Want to try it?"

"She'll bite me."

"Have you tried?"

Noah's arm drops, and he gives the dog a sidelong glance. The barking continues. I've only been on the phone with him for about a minute and I'm already over it. "Kind of."

"Think about the distress she's in. Her mom and dad left her in a giant echoey house with a stranger who clearly doesn't want her there."

Noah's face softens. "You think she knows that?"

"I think animals are intuitive." Got that from Google, too. And also the many, many animal-oriented TikToks that fill my feed.

He looks from the dog back to the phone. "Why is it so dark? Are you outside?"

"I just got home from dinner."

"I shouldn't be bothering you with this. You can go."

"For the sake of the dog, I feel like we need to resolve this."

"Okay." He stretches before getting up and padding toward the front door where the little Pomeranian is yapping.

"What's her name?" I ask.

"Peanut."

"You should get down and speak to her in a soothing voice. Entice her to come to you."

"How do I entice her? I don't have treats."

"With your voice. Make her feel comfortable."

To my surprise, Noah does it. He gets down on the floor and speaks to the dog in a slow, soothing tone that could very well put me to sleep if I'm not careful. "Peanut," he croons gently. "Come here, Peanut."

She yaps again.

"Keep going," I whisper, not wanting to ruin the moment.

Noah sets the phone down on the floor, giving me a solid view of his ceiling. "Come here, Peanut. That's a good girl. Yes, come here. Do you miss your momma? It's okay."

I stop swinging, my feet going still while I listen to Noah soothe the dog into silence.

"That's a good girl," he says.

"You've done it?" I ask quietly.

Noah picks up the phone and carries both me and the dog back to the living room. "She's not biting."

"She's not barking anymore either."

Noah smiles down at the dog, then moves the camera so I can see her too. Her fluffy little body is shaking, but maybe that will stop once she realizes Noah's safe.

Because he is. His abs have nothing on this sweet, soothing side. It makes me want to contract an awful cold and let him be sweet to me like Joe Fox is to Kathleen Kelly in You've Got Mail.

"Thanks for the advice," he says, nestling down on the sofa and continuously petting the back of Peanut's head.

"You would have gotten there eventually on your own."

He looks down at the dog with skepticism. "I don't know about that."

"Bree is coming back, right?"

"Yeah." He looks at the phone, pulling his attention from the dog. "You thought she was gone gone?"

"Just checking. She's kind of our leading lady and the photoshoot is only a few days away."

"She'll be there. They just went to dinner. If I know my sister, she's already booked the spa for the next two days to prepare."

I scoff, and the dog barks.

"Shhh, Peanut. It's okay, Peanut."

"I better go."

Noah looks up again. "See you tomorrow."

"Good night, Pennybags." I grin, not giving him a chance to argue the name before hanging up. I don't expect him to know that one. I only found it with the help of Google.

Millburn Pennybags, the name of the Monopoly man.

Dropping my phone on my stomach, I lay back in the hammock and swing it gently with my foot. I need to prep the rooms for Noah's cast and crew. He's booked the whole house for two nights, and I haven't really told Otto why yet. He knows I'm working for Noah, just not how many hours or why I took the job.

The door swings open and Otto sticks his head out. "Whatcha doing out here, Cattywampus?"

"Trying not to fall asleep."

"That's dangerous."

I pull myself up and walk toward the door.

His concern mirrors Holland's from earlier. "Are you working too hard? Maybe you should stop one of your jobs. The new one seems to be asking a lot from you."

"It's not too much," I tell him, passing through the door he's holding for me. "We're slow now anyway, and Noah won't need me after July, remember? It's short term."

"I still feel weird about you working for him."

Since when did he feel weird about it? He never said as much to me.

"That family needs a reality check. A TV show? Seriously? No one cares about their lives that much."

"Well, enough people do, or they wouldn't have been able to carry five seasons. Six, if you count the spin-off his sisters are doing now."

Otto makes a scoffing sound and shuts the door behind me.

"Noah Belacourt isn't a bad guy, you know," I say carefully.

"He's got a decent head on his shoulders if he thought hiring you was a good idea. I have to give him credit for that."

I stand at the base of the stairs, feeling like there's something he wants to say. My mom hated rich people, and my dad was somewhat indifferent. But Otto and my mom agreed about this. They thought the wealth was wasted on people like the Belacourt family. "Are you okay?" I finally ask.

"I don't want anyone to take advantage of you, Kit Kat."

"Noah isn't perfect, but he's not like his parents." It was hard to imagine Mrs. Belacourt, with her five-inch stilettos and cold indifference, and see where Noah's warmth and consideration came from. Probably from a nanny. "I saw an opportunity, I took it, and it won't last forever. You don't need to worry."

He crosses the entryway and pulls me into his arms, the smell of saltwater and Irish Spring soap coming with him. "It's my job to worry. I'm the first to admit that kids aren't always like their parents. Just look at Grandma's house. That's what I grew up in."

I'd only been to my grandparents' house in Georgia a few times, but it was in a small, cramped suburban neighborhood with no character and zero land. Otto's free spirit grew up in that. It was a good example of the way a child could grow and be different from his family. I love him and his open mind, but I can understand his hesitance regarding the Belacourts. I want to give him peace. He clearly has enough other things on his plate.

I squeeze him once and pull away, starting upstairs. "Noah's a good guy," I reiterate. "It's just a job."

Otto grunts, heading for the kitchen. But I know his grunts. I can read them like a book, and I'm pretty sure I put his worries back to bed. Now I just hope Noah doesn't prove me wrong.

But I don't think he will.