7. Noah

The mainland mechanicprescribed a new motor for my broken boat, but it's only a year old, so that didn't sit right with me. I had it towed to Dax Miller's shop in Sunset Harbor, because he can fix anything. It's not about the outlandish price the mainlander quoted me, it's the waste of it all. I'm not buying a new motor unless the boat needs it.

I'm standing on the dock outside of Dax's shop, waiting for him to finish looking at it. The sun beats down on the sparkling water, and despite my linen shirt and chino shorts, sweat rolls down my back. The water looks good, so I'm thinking it might be better to swim than kayak today. Or I could do both.

Both is good.

Dax fidgets with something in the motor, then straightens. "Give me a few days. I should have it running by Friday, depending on the availability of the parts."

"No new motor?"

He steps onto the dock, wiping his hands on a grease towel. "Nah. I don't know why you were quoted that. The issue is in the carburetor. Might need a new jet, but I'll know when I get inside."

"You're speaking another language, man."

Dax's mouth flicks into a half-smile. "I'll call you when it's ready to go or if I find any other issues. It shouldn't set you back too much."

We walk to the front of his shop, right in the center of town.

"I saw your commercial," Dax says.

The four words that make me want to jump in the ocean and swim far away. My face goes warm, and I hope it's not obvious that I'm blushing. I didn't realize the stupid commercial had started airing already. "My sister set it up for me," I mutter. "I didn't have the heart to say no."

"Sure, but is it really the only food your dog likes?"

"Dude, shut up," I say, laughing.

Dax seems to find this funny. "If you could just give me the line again, maybe mime throwing the frisbee?—"

"I don't even have a dog. They brought the golden retriever in for filming, and he's very well trained."

The hum of an oncoming golf cart passes us before it slows, the big letters on the side singling it out as the one police golf cart on the island. Beau Palmer leans forward, grinning, one tan arm resting on the wheel. "When did you get a dog, man?" he says.

For real? "Has everyone seen it?"

Dax rubs the back of his neck. "Tristan sent us the clip last night."

"Of course he did." I shake my head, smiling.

I'm surprised Tristan hasn't given me crap for it already. The commercial is for Bone Appetit's new premier kibble, and I'm throwing a frisbee around with a dog, sans shirt, then I say my line. It's a short ad and it's corny. There was a woman on set whose job was to make sure my abs glistened just enough—they were selling more than dog food. But my sister Zoey is dating the grandson of the Bone Appetit owner, and I felt like I owed her after walking away from our family's reality show.

At least it's just the guys who saw me trying to look like a thirst trap and not?—

Cat. She's walking this way. And she looks good.

"So when I take Xena to the park, I'm supposed to leave my shirt at home?" Beau asks. "I've been doing it all wrong."

I look at Dax, who is still wiping the grease off his hands. He's shirtless now, so I don't get why the jokes are on me. "Ask him. He has more experience."

Dax shakes his head, chuckling as he heads back to his garage.

I kind of wish I was shirtless. It's hot and the clear turquoise water looks good. My gaze flicks to Cat again. She's still walking this way. I haven't heard from her since she texted me last night. After her last message came through, I spent another hour going over everything I had said to her. I'm pretty sure I've scared her away. In trying to be chill, I seriously had no chill.

Cat's wearing a jean skirt and a yellow tank. Her hair is thrown up with a white scarf tied around it. She's wearing big, round sunglasses, so I can't tell if she notices me or not.

Probably not, because she's turning into the retirement center next door. My feet are already moving in her direction.

"Just messing around," Beau calls.

I lift my arm in the air, pointing out. "I'm laughing all the way to the bank."

Which isn't that funny, because I didn't get paid much for the stupid commercial.

"Touché," Beau calls. I can hear him laughing while I walk into the retirement center.

It smells like antiseptic and floral perfume. Cat is leaning on the welcome desk, her sunglasses pushed up on her head. She slides a jar of something amber forward. "It's good on ice cream, too," she says.

The receptionist grins. "I might not be taking this to the break room."

Cat rummages in her bag and pulls out a second jar. "Don't tell anyone." She winks and turns down the hall. Fluorescent lights make her blonde hair glow.

My feet are following her before I can overthink it. That's new. "Cat."

She glances at me over her shoulder. "You."

"Me." I'm not deterred. I should be, but I follow her anyway. "Can we talk?"

"I'm in the middle of something."

"I can wait."

She looks at me over her shoulder, continuing down the hall. "Hang on."

I wait in the hall while she knocks on a resident's door and pushes it open. "Hey, Virginia. Brought you and Deedee some peach jam."

"Oh, yummy," an older voice says. "Don't tell Gemma."

"Your granddaughter? Why would I tell her?" she asks, her head falling to the side a bit. "Does she not want you to have jam?"

There's a shuffling sound and a drawer snaps shut.

"Why are you hiding it?" Cat asks suspiciously.

"You didn't see that," Virginia says.

"Is this a health thing?" Cat starts to sound worried.

Virginia ignores her. "Deedee's bringing over a new book. Sit down for a minute and she'll read us the best bits."

"Oh, look at the clock. Can't stay." Cat's voice rises as she backs from the room. "Get that other jar to Deedee for me?"

"Sure thing, honey. But you're missing out! This one has a pirate."

Cat slips into the hall and curls her fingers around my wrist, pulling me away from the room. "Quick, before she sees you."

"Why?" I can't get over the feeling of her hand gripping my skin, but I try to play it cool.

"Deedee's on her way. I'm still disturbed by her reading of The Haunted Cowboy and Me last week at book club. If she sees you, she'll make us read parts, and Jane won't be there to stop her when it gets spicy."

Not sure what that book is, but I have a feeling I wouldn't mind reading parts with Cat. "Jane Hayes?" I ask, remembering the girl from school.

"Yeah. She saved us all last time."

My smile grows. "This has happened to you before?"

"Not while I was alone, but I wouldn't put it past her." She looks at me, then drops my arm. "We're in book club together."

"Got it."

"Here, at the retirement home."

"Cool."

Cat's waiting for me to say something else, but I'm not sure what.

She blinks at me. "You aren't going to laugh at me for spending my free time hanging out in a retirement home?"

"I think it's sweet."

"It's not charity," she mumbles, waving to the receptionist. "See you later, Sandra!"

"Y'all have a good day," the lady calls.

We step into the sun, and Cat is already walking down the sidewalk. We wade through thick, warm air toward the town square. My golf cart is parked in the opposite direction, by the mechanic shop, but I'll worry about it later.

I want to ask if she's thought over my offer, but I don't want to rush her. It's unclear why this is important to me, but I've known Cat a long time and I want to help. She's too prideful to accept a blank check to cover Otto's treatments, and Scout's board of directors doesn't need another reason to label me incompetent and nutty. I'm on thin ice as it is.

We walk through the town square, the fountain in the center trickling with sea water that's been routed from the ocean. "You read a lot of cowboy books with the retirement ladies?"

Cat looks at me. "You wanted to talk?"

No more chitchat then. "Yeah, about my offer."

"I'm listening."

It's suddenly become so much warmer outside. I'm a man who can run a board meeting, has built a multi-million dollar company from the ground up, spent last Easter in Greece with my middle sister and her boyfriend, who is the biggest superhero movie star in the last five years—but facing this girl? I'm a goner.

Olive's boyfriend might be Superman, but I still have kryptonite, and her name is Cat Keene.

"Are you okay?" she asks, squinting into the sun.

I reach for her sunglasses and gently push them down from her head until the bridge is resting on her nose. She's gone silent.

Did I just cross personal boundaries? Pull it together, man. "I need help."

She stands there in front of the post office in our town square, one hand on her hip, the other holding her canvas bag of jam. "Let's talk responsibilities. What did you have in mind?"

My heart rate picks up. She's not saying no, and that's something. "Dry cleaning. Morning coffee. Small errands."

"I have responsibilities at the BB, and I clean three houses during the week."

"I'm flexible, Cat," I say softly.

The bell jingles as someone steps out of the post office, so I tug her to the side, around the pastel clapboard building. We don't need an audience for this conversation.

"What about scheduling?" she asks. "Will calls come to me and I'll have to field them for you?"

"Not really. For the island job, I really just need small things. Someone to be able to get to the house if I have deliveries while I'm at the office. Sometimes things will come up, maybe, but Mateo is on the mainland and he'll still manage my calendar."

"So I'm really just an errand girl."

I hold her gaze—what I can see of it through the black tint of her round white sunglasses. Something about her defensive stance, the way her arms are crossed over her chest, tells me how much she needs for this to not be charity. Fine, Cat. She wants a boss? I'll be a boss. I'm pretty good at that.

"I'm hiring a PA," I tell her. "Which is more involved than an errand girl. I'm happy to be flexible regarding your other jobs, but you won't be getting paid for doing nothing. I'm willing to provide a list for you each night so you can schedule your day ahead of time, and you can let me know if I'm giving you too much. Communicate with me and we'll adjust."

Something about her posture relaxes. "This sounds like a lot. I expect you'll pay accordingly."

"I'm a busy man with a lot to do, and I'm hiring you to help me. You in or not?" Yikes, my voice was too crisp. Was that too much? That was probably too much. I got into Office Noah mode and powered through a little too strong.

Where was Office Noah during the Genesis Investment Firm meeting? On a mental cruise to Jamaica, pretending his life wasn't falling apart, that's where. But he's back for a minute now because Cat needs him.

"How much will you pay?"

I've thought this part through. She needs a lot of money, but I don't know how much. For cancer treatment, possibly surgery, I'm guessing it's somewhere in the hundreds of thousands. If I jump ahead with something like fifteen thousand a day, she'll run for the beach.

I play it cool. "Same thing I pay Mateo. Four thousand dollars a day."

Cat is frozen. Or time is frozen. Her lips are parted slightly, and they've captured my attention like clickbait. I can't look away.

"You pay Mateo that much?"

"He works hard," is all I can say. I pay him well, but not that well. Besides, this isn't forever. It's a summer job. I just want to help Cat and Otto so they don't lose their house. I can be a little frivolous for once.

Her stare is worrying me now. Did I go too far? Offer too much right out of the gate?

As long as Scout doesn't find out and add it to the list of reasons I'm unfit to run a company. But they won't. How could they? She's not tacky enough to walk around telling everyone how much money she makes.

"Is that not enough?" I can't help but say, trying to reiterate the idea that this isn't a ludicrous amount of money for running errands. I might be wealthy, but I'm not stupid.

"It's too much, Belacourt."

"I plan to get my money's worth." My voice comes out low and husky.

Her eyebrows rise above the white rims of her glasses.

"In an appropriate work-related way." I grin because her cheeks are starting to pink. "Not in the mood to be sued for coming on to my employee."

She shakes her head. "How long are you planning to stay in Sunset Harbor? Two months? Three?"

"Probably two." The new dating app we created at Scout launches near the end of July. If I can get through the launch and the big party without having a meltdown, Dr. Stein will write a great letter of approval, the board will be off my back, and I can return to life as normal.

I'll still spend a fair amount of time on the island, but my apartment is just over the bay on Florida's mainland.

"And the job ends when you leave?" she verifies.

"Yes."

Cat pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing at it. She's totally captured me again. She's not just clickbait. Hook, line, and sinker, I've clicked the bait. I'm all in, scouring the article to find out what new routine the Rock is doing to build up his lats.

Only this is so much better.

"Two thousand," she says, her voice so quiet I don't know if I heard her. "Four is?.?.?." She shakes her head. "Crazy. Way too much."

"What?"

Cat straightens her shoulders and pushes her glasses up on her head to look me in the eyes. "Two thousand each day, and I'll do whatever you want. I'll run your errands, do your grocery shopping, wash your clothes, clean your house—we can include that in this fee—walk your dog?.?.?."

"I don't have a dog."

"I'll get you a dog, train it, and then walk it every day. I'll make your bedtime snack and tuck you in, Belacourt. You make me a list every night and I'll be your fairy godmother, making it come true the next day."

"Two thousand dollars each day?" I verify, making sure she knows this isn't a paid-by-the-week gig. I'd pay her ten grand if she asked. I don't care.

Cat swallows. "Yes."

Her voice is so firm, it's adorable. I'm distracted by the freckles dusting her nose and trailing under each eye, and I have the overwhelming urge to lean forward and kiss each one. But then I'd definitely be sued. She needs this to stay professional, and I can give her that. I reach for her, hand out, and wait for her to take it. "You have a deal."

Her shoulders sag in relief and she takes my hand, shaking it firmly.

I can't help but smile. She thinks I'm doing her the favor, paying her a ridiculous amount for handling my dry cleaning and coordinating the lawn guy's appointments. She doesn't realize I'm the one who wins here.

I get to hang out with Cat Keene all summer long.