25. Noah

Cat has beena fantastic shield so far, and we haven't even been in the city for a full hour. We climbed into our car—I had Mateo order two so we could take one and Olive could go elsewhere with Celine—and started toward Manhattan. Cat's wide eyes absorb everything, gawking at the Brooklyn Bridge and craning her neck to see the skyline. It's been so distracting and adorable I'm not even stressed about seeing my parents tonight.

Well, I am when I think about it, but that isn't often.

My knee has stopped nervously bouncing altogether. When Cat touched it on the plane, it was like pressing a magic button. Something about the amount of control she seems to have over herself makes me feel like she has things well in hand, including me. She is strong and sturdy and an excellent friend to have as a support.

Also, I'm definitely falling for her.

"Okay, hot shot," she says, leaning away from her window while the driver takes us toward Christine's office building in the heart of Soho. "Time to come clean. Are the bagels here really the best?"

"You're telling me you've come to New York for the first time and the thing you're curious about is the bagels?"

"I mean, I wouldn't mind checking out Lady Liberty or seeing the hotel from Home Alone 2, but yeah, I'm curious about the bagels too."

"They're good," I tell her, unable to dampen my smile.

The car comes to a stop. "We're here, boss," our driver says.

"Thanks, Paul. I'll text you when we're ready to leave."

He nods. I get out and move around to open Cat's door, but she's done it herself and is halfway out of the car. I'm not used to that. Most of the women in my life patiently wait for me to help them out. But Cat's not in five-inch heels, either. She's sporting her usual brown Birkenstocks and I kind of love that about her.

She's so comfortable in her own skin. There's no sense of her trying to change to fit in better. She's Cat. Take it or leave it.

I'd rather take it. Claim her. Like, belong to her. Not some weird ownership thing.

We take the elevator up to Christine's modern exposed-brick office. The receptionist tells us to head straight back. It's one big room, like an old warehouse that has been gutted and stripped and filled with glass, metal, and supple leather furniture. A pair of clear glass offices stand on one side, a conference table on the other, with groups of chairs and freestanding desks scattered about in half of the room. An empty corner is set up as a photography studio with light pouring in from the layers of windows set in each wall.

Christine eyes us from her office and puts a finger up, her phone pressed to her ear. She says something into it and hangs up before coming out to greet us.

"I can't wait to show you everything," she says, leaning in to kiss me and Cat each on the cheek. "Alex finished the videos yesterday."

I haven't seen those yet. "You have the posters, too?"

"In here." She leads us to her office and holds the door, then crosses to a table and rifles through a stack of printed posters before pulling out a few for us and flipping them over.

Cat sidles up right next to her and watches Christine flip through the photos she selected for the ads. Since it's for a dating app, the photos are mostly me and Cat in cozy positions or me watching her with adoration in my eyes.

I swallow. Can she see how authentic these pictures are? Because then I'm in trouble. I've been good at keeping a healthy distance between us lately. Or so I thought.

The entire time we're looking at the pictures, she doesn't give off nervous or awkward energy. "These are gorgeous, Christine."

"I'm glad you like them. You know, for an amateur, you did great."

Cat shakes her head. "Bree would have been better. I'm just relieved I didn't mess everything up."

"Real chemistry shines through the lens, Cat," Christine says, looking between us. "That's part of the reason these are so stunning. You can feel what Noah's thinking when he's looking at you. And that kiss? Magic." Her eyes flick to me. "Has Alex sent you the video?"

"He might have, but we were traveling." I'm glad she's changed the subject and that Cat is standing in front of me so I can't look into her eyes and find any discomfort there.

Christine circles her desk and drops into her seat, typing away. "I've got it. Hold on, I'll pull it up."

Cat shifts, looking through the stack of photos again. She stops on the one where she's in my arms just after we kissed, her head buried in my chest. Her eyes are closed, and she looks so blissfully content. My chin rests on her head, my eyes down, and a soft smile touches my lips, so faint it's more of an essence than a curve.

"It looks good," I say, my voice hoarse.

She drops the stack onto the table like it's made from hot coals. "Yeah."

"Okay, I have it." Christine shifts the monitor so we can both see it. We crowd around her desk and watch the video. It's more of the same from the photos, but the emotion is different. I can feel how much we want each other in those clips. It's really satisfying when we come together in the waves and finally kiss. And I mean kiss. Cat is all in. I'm all in. It doesn't look like we're doing it for the cameras but because we are feeling the moment.

The room just bumped up a few degrees.

I'm in shorts and a plain navy tee, but I still feel like I need to pull on my collar and fan myself.

"Wow," Cat says.

Christine watches us. "This will be all over social media in a few weeks. Right, Noah?"

"Yeah." I clear my throat. "My marketing team is planning to go hard with the sponsored ads on release day."

"I can't wait," Cat says quietly. She doesn't say anything else.

We chat for a few more minutes about the shoot before I realize Cat is clearly bothered by something. She's distant, not paying attention to the conversation. Was it the ads? Hit with the realization that her face will be plastered all over social media? Annoyed by the way I look at her in the photos?

I need to get her alone and make sure she's okay. "We'd better be on our way."

"I'll see you next month," Christine says.

"Did we have something else scheduled?" Mateo usually doesn't forget to tell me things, but I haven't seen anything on my calendar.

Her black eyebrows pull together. "That family shoot your mom booked."

Oh. So, that's happening then. "Without my dad, I'm guessing?"

Christine bites on her lip. "Sorry. I figured you were told."

I give her a bright smile. "I'm sure I have an email about it somewhere. I'll see you then."

Cat seems to snap out of her funk and pulls Christine in for a hug before we head out. We have a few hours left before we need to get ready for the party. We don't have time for a tour of the Statue of Liberty, but we can see Kevin McCallister's hotel. "Are you hungry?" I ask when we step into the elevator.

"Starving."

"Okay, let's go eat."

The awkwardness has diminished somewhatwith the help of pepperoni pizza and hot soft pretzels. I took one bite of pizza and threw my slice away, my queasy stomach rejecting it. The closer we get to the party, the sicker I feel, which is a red flag, but I'm trying to low-key monitor the situation. This is kind of like the day I freaked out at work. I felt it building until it reached a head, until I couldn't take being in that boardroom with the advertising team, who proceeded to watch me lose my mind.

Cat chews on her pretzel while we walk through Central Park, heading toward the corner near the hotel. The path is straight, lined with tall trees and literary statues the size of a truck. Warm air cocoons us, thick with moisture and heat. I'm glad I'll have time to go home and change before the party, because this walk is making my back sticky with sweat.

"I can't believe we're walking through the place where Kevin McAllister made friends with the bird lady."

If she loves that, the hotel we're heading to is going to blow her mind.

"What's your favorite Christmas movie?" she asks, then takes another bite.

We weave down the path toward the road, the tall, curvy elm trees providing shade and reprieve from the heat. "Maybe Elf? I love how wholesome it is. How the Grinch Stole Christmas is a classic, though. Is yours Home Alone?"

"Yeah."

"Which one?"

"One and two. I refuse to acknowledge the rest of them."

I chuckle.

"What kid doesn't love the idea of having to defend their home against a couple of bad guys? Plus, all the snow makes his house look so dreamy."

We reach the end of the path and turn on the sidewalk. The hotel is up on the corner across the street, but we can't quite see it from here.

"Maybe we should go over what you expect from me tonight," she says. "What is my job exactly?"

Hold up. Job? The word floats uncomfortably between us. Did she only agree to come because of her position as my personal assistant? My steps slow, the idea rocking me like a boat in hurricane season.

Cat turns around to face me, the warm breeze blowing a strand of blonde hair over her face. She drags it back behind her ear. "What's wrong?"

The way I see it, this can go one of two ways. I can pretend to sneeze and keep walking beside her like nothing happened, or I can shut down the expectation that I wanted her to come to Manhattan because she works for me.

There's nothing I can do about my feelings for her while I'm her boss, but I can kill the idea that she has to obey my every command.

It's also possible to show her that I don't have work-related feelings about her, even if I can't act on them. Besides, she's the one who launched us into friendship with her jam gift.

"Didn't we decide to be friends?" I ask.

She searches my face like I have an answer key written in the dimple she claims pops when I lie. No dimple now, huh?

I take a step closer. My body feels jittery, my stomach still sick from nerves regarding the party tonight, but I don't care about any of that when I'm next to her. "I didn't invite you because you work for me, Cat."

"Oh."

The hair comes loose from behind her ear, so I move to brush it back again, my fingers dragging over her skin. Our kiss is fresh, the video replaying in my head on repeat. It was electric, buzzing like the energy between us now.

Cat's head tips back while she looks into my eyes. "I didn't mean it like that."

"How did you mean it, then?" I'm leaning closer. Her lips are so pink and plump and kissable. Probably salty from her soft pretzel. She licks her lips like she can read my mind, and a wave of attraction falls through me.

Then something warm and gooey splats on my forearm.

Cat yelps, jumping back.

I glance down at the black and white muck slipping over my skin. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. That is bird poop.

When I look up, I don't see the offender, but there are plenty of pigeons hanging out on the nearby lamppost and waddling around the sidewalk like they don't give a crap what anyone thinks about them.

Or maybe they give them too freely. Looking at my arm now, I'd say that's more apt.

Thank you, rat-bird, for killing the moment.

Cat's grin widens. She pulls the napkin from her pretzel and hands it to me.

"Thanks," I mutter, using it to wipe the bird poop as well as I can. I've done a decent job and ball the napkin up, tossing it in the trash.

"I didn't mean that, by the way," Cat says, chewing another bite of the pretzel when we keep walking. "I meant, like, how can I help you be more comfortable around your family? Any ex-girlfriends I should help you avoid or situations where I should step in? Though, judging by the way you and Celine act around each other, ex-girlfriends don't seem like a problem."

"No, they're more of an irritation than a problem."

She nods, half of the pretzel hanging from her hand. I can't even look at it or I feel like I might vomit.

Which is weird because, up until now, being around Cat has only eased my anxious feelings. Today, it doesn't seem to matter what she says or does. My queasy stomach and thudding pulse keep increasing with each passing hour.

But in regard to her being here? Even if I'd known I'd be fighting an extended anxiety attack all day, I would want her by my side. "Just so long as you understand I don't want you treating this like a task. You're invited to attend the party, Cat. You aren't there as an employee."

Her head dips side to side. "Invited by you."

"As my plus one," I finish, holding her gaze as best as I can while walking down Fifth Avenue. "Because I want to spend time with you." The words are out there between us. There's no taking them back. Maybe it's my discomfort that makes me reckless.

We've reached the street corner, the hotel visible now, but Cat doesn't see it. She's grown still. She watches me, trying to read between the lines. Is she picking up on the kiss and the photoshoot and the way I was looking at her in those ads? Or the way I'd taken her to the blackberry brambles and pulled her close? Or the way I almost kissed her before the bird assaulted me just now? Or how seeing her is the best part of my day every day?

Clearly, I've bypassed subtle entirely and embraced sending clear messages. I'm falling for this girl hard. Part of me wants her to see the raw emotion on my face and read it for what it means.

The other part of me is terrified she'll run away if she does.

When the silence stretches beyond comfortable, I give up and gesture across the street. "The Plaza Hotel."

Cat whips around, gasping quietly. "Kevin's hotel?"

"The very one."

Her smile is so wide as she takes in the large stone building and its columns. Green copper lines the windows and ornate gold streetlamps light the doorways. It screams early American elegance. "Can we go inside?"

"We can try."

We cross the street and mount the red carpeted steps. There is a sign near the front door permitting only hotel guests past that point, but I'm hoping previous guests count, too. From one hotel owner to another, I understand wanting to protect the privacy and comfort of their guests, but I'm crossing my fingers they'll be okay with us looking around.

The doorman opens the door, then looks us over. "Can I help you?"

"Noah Belacourt," I say, cringing internally that I'm using my name to get around their rules. I'm also a lot less formidable in shorts and a T-shirt than I am in a suit. At least the bird poop is pretty much cleaned up. "It's been a few years since I stayed here, so we aren't current guests. My friend was hoping to get a look inside. I understand if that is against protocol."

The doorman's face clears. He works in the hospitality industry, so it's no surprise he immediately recognizes my name. "Of course, Mr. Belacourt. Right this way."

Cat shoves her arm behind her back, hiding the pretzel.

"I can take that for you, miss, if you're finished?" he asks.

"Oh, thank you," she says meekly, handing him the pretzel. "That's so nice of you."

He carries it away, pinched between two fingers.

Cat presses close to me, bringing a cloud of something faintly sweet. Her shampoo, maybe? "I wasn't finished," she hisses.

"Why did you give it to him?"

She looks up, her shoulder still pressing into my side. "Yeah, right. Like I'm going to walk around the freaking Plaza Hotel with a half-eaten soft pretzel."

That pulls a chuckle from me. "We'll get you another one." Or maybe we'll go for bagels instead. She mentioned wanting to try them, and the Upper West Side houses the best bagel shop in the city.

"You've stayed here before? Why would you do that when you have Belacourt Hotels in the city?"

"My sister and I did our own Christmas a few years ago." I shrug. "We kind of had a Home Alone theme."

"Bree?" she asks.

My stomach clenches. "Olive. I've always been closest to her."

Cat nods distractedly, then looks up and gasps, taking in the whole foyer and its tall, gilt-edged ceiling lined with glittering chandeliers. "This is amazing." Her gaze swings to me, eyes full and warm. "Thank you."

"Anytime," I whisper. I mean it one hundred percent.