18. Cat

The rugI ordered for Noah's room is long and heavy. I just finished cleaning the house and the rug was delivered early this morning, sitting in the entryway and taunting me. I hoped Alonzo would be around to help me carry it upstairs, but he and Bree had taken off to the beach this morning with Peanut and they haven't been back since.

It's been three days since the photoshoot. Bree is still withdrawn. She didn't even greet me this morning, just walked past me in the kitchen like a depressed zombie. Alonzo followed her, looking concerned. Something's definitely going on there. It makes me feel bad for thinking she should have just bucked up and finished shooting the ads. Whatever happened, it has messed with her mental health.

Kind of like how kissing Noah has messed with mine.

Okay, let's go back to the moment in the surf with the water rushing our feet and my hands all lost in his hair and the way he was gently holding me and letting me move his head whichever way I wanted. I've never felt so much like molten lava in my life. Kissing him was a heady, full-body experience.

I can't let it get to me. He's Noah Belacourt, billionaire extraordinaire with his pick of women, not someone who lives full time on the island. Besides, he's my boss.

It meant nothing. It was just a kiss. It didn't feel that way, but I know those to be the facts, and if I repeat them enough, eventually I'll start to believe them. Besides, I just need to get the man out of my head. He's not real. He's from a different world. I just work for him, and that whole kissing situation was part of the job.

The way he'd looked at me when I'd found him in the office that night, concerned and stressed, made it clear he was trying to find a way to let me down easy, that the kiss hadn't been anything special. If it had been, that conversation would have gone differently.

I've done what any self-respecting person would do in my shoes. I've been avoiding him.

But I still need to do my job, which means moving this heavy rug up the stairs and setting it up in his room, preferably before he gets home from kayaking with Tristan.

Getting a good grip on the plastic-wrapped rug, I heave, pulling it toward the stairs. How does it weigh more than Otto's Volkswagen Beetle? With enough pulling, pushing, and leaning, I maneuver the rug all the way to the bottom of the stairs. The house is ultra air-conditioned, but sweat still beads along my hairline and down my spine.

Who needs a gym when you have an extra large rug? It takes much longer than I'm willing to admit to get the thing up the stairs, then I crawl along the floor, pushing it toward Noah's room like a kid playing with a train.

I'm sweaty and exhausted, but it feels good to sit in the middle of Noah's floor and unwrap the beastly thing. I wrestle the plastic off and toss it into the hallway, then unroll the rug. It's thick and soft and luxurious. Once I get it positioned on the floor, I lay down on it, just to catch my breath. It feels like laying on plush silk—if that's a thing—so I starfish out, running my hands along the smooth fibers. After cleaning the entire house and lugging this up the stairs, I'm beat. I close my eyes for just a moment and feel my body melt into the rug.

Noah

Cat is sleepingon my floor, and it's the cutest thing I've seen all week. Even cuter than the animals I saw this morning in the wildlife refuge while I was kayaking with my buddy, Tristan. And we saw otters.

I lean against the doorway, arms crossed over my chest, and debate how to handle this. Cat's face is so relaxed. I don't want to disturb her. She works so hard, which is clear from the way she never stops moving. She's constantly running my errands or taking my calls in between her other jobs—cleaning other houses or rooms in her BB or grocery shopping for Otto. She must be so tired.

I can't wake her up. Not when she clearly needs sleep. But I'm wet and salty from taking a swim after kayaking, so I need to change.

Cat starts to stir, solving my dilemma for me—but then she settles in again.

Great.

I move around her to get a fresh set of clothes from the dresser. I'll take them downstairs to change.

When I finish pulling shorts from my drawer as quietly as possible, Cat sits bolt upright.

"Oh my gosh. How long was I out?"

"I'm not sure." I keep digging around for a shirt to give her a second to wake up. "I just got back."

She groans, rubbing her face. "Sorry. Your rug is just so soft. I couldn't help myself."

The rug? I glance down and notice it. My attention had been elsewhere before. It's a solid blue rug, thick and heavy from the look of it. Hold up. She carried this thing upstairs on her own? She couldn't have. It takes up almost the entire room. "How did you get it up here?"

"A little muscle." She crinkles her nose. "And a lot of determination."

No wonder she's exhausted. I'm impressed by her tenacity. "It looks good. You chose a nice one."

"Yeah, I did." She runs her hand along the long fibers. "You don't even need a bed anymore. This thing will put you right out."

I chuckle, pulling everything I need from the dresser and stacking the pile neatly on top of it. "Good to know. I'll have to test it out later."

"Come on in, the water's nice." She smiles up at me sleepily, then seems to think better of it and scrambles to her feet. "I mean, alone, obviously. I wasn't inviting you to do anything other than lie on your new rug. Or sit on it. You don't have to lie on anything."

Wow, she rambles when she's nervous. Have I ever seen Cat nervous before? I don't think so. Even at the shoot she wasn't nervous, just unsure.

"You know what? I'm gonna go." She starts for the door.

"Cat?"

"Yeah?" She spins around so fast she loses her balance and almost goes down.

I reach for her arm to steady her. It would only take a quick tug to pull her into my arms, so I drop her arm immediately and take a healthy step back.

"This might be presumptuous of me, but I was starting to consider you a friend," I say.

Her face softens.

So I push on. "But it has felt a little tense the last few days. I don't want everything that happened at the photoshoot to ruin that for us."

"Oh, gosh, you don't have to worry. I'm not going to be weird about it, I promise." She looks down at the rug, her bare toes skimming over it. "It was just a kiss, Belacourt. We're still friends."

Just a kiss. That's not true for me. It feels a little like an arrow to the heart to hear her say it.

"Actually, speaking of kissing, you know what?" Cat says with more enthusiasm. "You should go out with my friend, Jane. You know Jane Hayes right? She works for the mayor now, and she's gorgeous and single. She's super fun." Cat gets into the idea the more she talks about it. "You guys might totally hit it off."

If she's trying to send the message that she's not interested, I'm reading it loud and clear. It hurts. "I'm not really in the market for a girlfriend."

"You don't have to marry her," Cat says. She's looking so earnest; I don't have the heart to refuse her anything. "I just thought it might be worth trying out. You know, to see if there's a connection."

"Like chemistry?" I ask, using the word they used a few days ago at the photoshoot to describe me and Cat. "Speaking of chemistry, I got the first looks for some of our ads. Nothing is finished yet. They're just preliminary concepts if you want to see them."

"I really do," she breathes.

"Okay." I pass her and lean over my desk chair to open my laptop.

"I can wait until you change," Cat says, eyeing my swim shorts.

I glance over my shoulder and catch her eye. "That would be great. I'll just be a minute. Feel free to take a seat." I grab the stack of clothes I'd pulled out earlier and let myself into my bathroom, shutting the door behind me. I start the shower because I was just in the ocean and want to rinse, but I'm in and out pretty fast. A stopwatch could probably clock me in under five minutes from the moment I step into the bathroom until the moment I come out.

Yet still, when I enter my room towel drying my hair, I find Cat laying on my bed, totally asleep. I toss the towel into my laundry basket in the closet and ease the door closed again, then sit on the desk chair to pull up the ads. I have to focus on something else, because if I look at Cat asleep, my brain goes rampant with the memory of her in my arms.

Not that looking at pictures of us kissing helps at all. Christine is a mastermind. She's so good at what she does. The videos are still being edited—as are most of the photos—but the ads Christine sent over for general direction are fantastic. Me and Cat at the bonfire, shoulder-to-shoulder building a sandcastle, walking in the surf, kissing with the waves at our ankles. They're magical and hazy and romantic. They make me want to go on a date, so I think the ads are working.

"Oh my gosh!" Cat sits up fast, her hands pressing into her cheeks. "Why didn't you wake me up? How long have I been out?"

"About an hour."

"Seriously?"

I chuckle. "No. Probably like ten minutes."

Cat yawns, then crawls to the edge of the bed and sits there cross-legged, looking at the computer screen over my shoulder. "That looks good."

I haven't turned back to face the screen yet, though. I'm gauging the tired lines on her face. "I think I'm working you too hard."

"You aren't. I'm just not sleeping well."

I swivel on the chair to fully face her. "Anything I can help with?"

She gives me a lazy smile. "You want to come read me bedtime stories, Belacourt?"

"If it would help."

"Someday when you're my assistant, we'll work it into the contract." Her gaze falls on the computer and her eyes brighten. She stands up and comes closer until she's leaning over my shoulder, looking at the images Christine sent over. "Wow, these look legit."

"Like real ads." I scroll through the few photos we have so she can see them all.

"Seriously," she says quietly. "We look good."

I turn to look at her, and her face is right there. She's so close I could lean forward and kiss her. I want to. I've already had a taste, and I know how electric it would be.

Cat turns her smile on me and freezes. Her blue eyes lock on mine. The feeling of her in my arms is so fresh. The buzzing energy between us crackles and sparks, but I need to throw a bucket of water over myself before I do something stupid. Acting on this feeling would be insanely inappropriate. I'm her boss. She deserves better than to be taken advantage of while she works for me. Especially when I know how tired she is.

I'm not even sure she would welcome it, anyway. Despite our chemistry, Cat hasn't done much to indicate she would be interested in me romantically.

Like now, when she takes a solid step back to put more space between us. She looks down at my lips for a beat, then clears her throat. "What do you think about that date with Jane? It's a great idea, right?"

Wait. She looked at my lips first. She must be interested, right? She was thinking of our kiss too and her cheeks are rosy. Does that mean this whole date with Jane is a test? Or maybe she's fighting her feelings, like I am, and this is a way to push me away. I really hope that's the right answer.

Well, fine. If she wants me to date her friend, I'll date her friend. I know Jane from school, but I haven't really talked to her in years. She's nice, pretty, and if nothing else, it'll be good to catch up. It'll prove to Cat that I'm not trying to date her while I'm her employer, at least. If she gets jealous?.?.?. no, I won't go there. Because why would she?

"Okay."

"Okay?" Cat repeats, blonde eyebrows arching. "Like, yes?"

"Sure. I'll go out with Jane."

She stares at me for a second, just long enough to make me second-guess myself.

"Great," she says. "That's great. I'll just?—"

The door slams downstairs, followed by the clicking of stilettos on the tiled entryway.

"Bree's back," I say. It's been a tough few days of emotions and romcoms and a lot of popcorn, among every other takeout option the island offers—and some they don't. Thank heavens for Mateo and the speedboat.

"Is she doing any better?" Cat asks.

"Not really."

"I better get out of your hair then."

I don't want her to leave. "You don't have to go. If Bree's still in a mood, we'll just be watching more romcoms and eating our weight in popcorn this evening. You're welcome to join us."

"Has it been helping?"

"I don't know about helping, but it isn't making things worse. I still can't get her to open up about whatever they said to her on that phone call, but it's clear she's feeling pretty rejected."

"Poor Bree." Cat starts toward the door and I move to follow her. "As fun as romcoms and popcorn sound, I better go. I need to pick up another Sunny Palmer book before the bookstore closes."

"Need to?"

Cat gathers up a wad of plastic covering I'm assuming was on the rug, then starts down the stairs. "Yeah, it's a need. If you ever read one of her stories, you'll know why. I was kind of avoiding romances for a while, but she sucked me right back in."

"Noah?" a woman calls from the entryway.

It's not Bree. My sisters have very distinct voices, and I can easily tell them apart.

Cat freezes halfway down the stairs, her eyes locked on the entryway and whoever just arrived.

I hurry past her to find Olive there, looking at her phone, her bleach-blonde hair falling over her face. She pushes her sunglasses up on her head. "Noah?" she calls again, her attention still on her phone. "You home?"

"Yeah."

She looks up and a grimace spreads over her face. "Hey. I heard about Bree. I'm here to help." Olive looks past me to where Cat is frozen, midway up the stairs. "Catalina Keene?"

Cat's a statue, clutching the plastic like a life preserver and staring at Olive. She doesn't respond. She doesn't move. She definitely doesn't look happy.

Concern leaks into my chest. "Cat?"

That breaks her from her spell. She visibly shakes her head and adopts a bland expression, crushing the plastic to her chest, but her face is still chalky and pale. "I'll see you later, Belacourt."

Cat doesn't say anything to Olive. She just slips her feet into the sandals waiting by the door, tosses her belt bag over her shoulder, and walks out, carrying the plastic with her.

Olive stares at the closed door, then faces me. "You and Cat Keene?"

Her shock isn't about the right thing. She's not even surprised Cat ignored her. This isn't promising. I knew their friendship had disintegrated in middle school, but I didn't realize they disliked each other so strongly. "What was that about?"

Olive's lips press into a firm line. "You don't want to know," she says quietly.

"On the contrary. I very much want to know." I have a sneaking suspicion that whatever Olive doesn't want to tell me might have to do with why Cat couldn't stand me just a few weeks ago.

I'm just barely getting her to consider herself my friend now. If Olive sets us back to square one, she'll have to answer for it.

Olive brushes past me and lets herself into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and pulls out a Limoncello LaCroix—which I only stock because I noticed Cat drinking them—and pops it open. "Let's talk about Bree. I want to know everything."

"I'd rather hear an explanation about?—"

"I can't right now, Noah." She speaks so fiercely it stuns me. Olive closes her eyes and grips the edge of the counter. She meets my eyes again, pleading. "Later, please. Can we talk about Bree now? Is she home?"

Silence sits between us. I won't push her, but there is definitely something she's not telling me. "No. She went to the beach with Alonzo. I don't know when to expect them back, but we've been spending our evenings in the theater room with takeout and romcoms the last few days."

"Takeout and romcoms." She smiles. "Feels like high school again."

"You're welcome to join us."

"Whatever I can do to help Bree." She sighs. "I brought Celine. I hope that's okay. She's on the phone outside with work."

"Sure." At this point, what's another awkward, uncomfortable situation? This is part of the reason I always stay in my suite at the Belacourt Resort next door. You never know when your sister is going to show up at the house with an ex-girlfriend. I'd be packing my bags to head over there now if Presley James wasn't using the suite to hide out. She's my friend, and she needed help, so I helped. Now I'm only slightly regretting it.

No, that's not true. Even if I knew lending Presley my suite would lead to me staying in the same house as Celine, I still would have done it.

But I don't have to be around Celine either.

I turn back toward my room. "You can be on Bree duty tonight, then."

Olive doesn't argue as I make my way toward my lair and the games on my computer waiting for me. It's time to check out from reality.