9. Noah

I'm distracted.I have Cat on the brain, and it's getting in the way of work. I literally drew a cat on my napkin at the beginning of this meeting, which is the opposite of what the board wanted when they gave me some forced R R time.

I'm not even supposed to be in the office today. I'm only supposed to come in for twenty hours each week, max, and I'm using up too many of those hours today because I had to get off the island. I couldn't stay in the house with Cat there another minute, because being around her makes me want to say or do things I shouldn't. Especially now that she's my employee. I need to keep a strong, solid professional barrier between us.

Besides, this whole rest and relaxation stuff is not my thing. I'm supposed to be kayaking or meditating on the beach or something else emotionally productive, but it feels like a waste of time when we're about to launch the app that could skyrocket our brand and open the doors to more helpful apps in the future.

But since I came into the office today and moved the dinner meeting to now, Gina won't have to come out to Casa Belacourt tonight. The meal I asked Cat to get is unnecessary.

I want her to feel like she's earned her income, though, and I'd planned on asking her to stay for the meeting anyway. Maybe I'll still have Mateo come out to the island. We can go over some things, and I can introduce him to Cat. They might need to work together at some point this summer, anyway.

"The meeting with Jensen Advertising has been moved up to tomorrow," Gina says, tapping her heel on the vinyl office floor. "But I have it under control."

I should be running point on that meeting, but Gina's taken over that responsibility until I've proven I'm not going to bomb another one. "The projections are set. Don't let them lowball us."

Gina tilts her head, her short dark bob swinging with the motion. Her feline smile is telling me I should know better than to say anything like that, because negotiating is her middle name. She's a shark, and I'm glad she's on my side here.

My phone rings, and I lift it when I see Bree's name flash across the screen. "We done here?" I ask, already rising.

Gina closes her computer. "I'll compile the ad budget for approval."

Nodding, I answer the phone and put it to my ear. "How'd it go?"

Bree lets out a nervous, tinny laugh.

"Has it gone?" I ask, gathering my computer from the conference room table and carrying it toward my office. The workday is almost over, so I assume she's already done trying out for a slot in America's next big country music duo. "Are you finished with the audition?"

"Yeah."

It's silent while I walk into my office and put my computer down. I don't have a good feeling about this. "What is it, Bree?"

"I bombed it," she whispers. "Totally screwed the whole thing up. I'll be lucky if I get a callback from anyone in the business after this. You know how people talk."

I sit in my chair and swivel to face the window. "It can't be that bad. I've heard you sing."

"It was bad, Noah." She makes a frustrated groan. "I've never been so nervous in my life. I think it messed with my vocals."

That's possible. Sometimes my anxiety gets so bad I can hear my heart beating in my ears, which can't be normal. If that was happening while I tried to sing, it would mess with my voice for sure. But I don't tell her this.

I haven't told anyone in my family about my issues lately. They wouldn't know what to do with the information. Besides, everyone is so busy with their own problems and companies and filming and divorces, I don't want to add to their plates.

After I botched the investor meeting by panicking and walking out in the middle of the pitch, I agreed to slow down at work and take time off in Sunset Harbor, per my board of directors' decision. I made them agree to keep it quiet, that my episode wouldn't leave Scout offices. Which means my family still doesn't know about my weird situational anxiety.

That's what the therapist called it, at least. She told me it was likely due to my circumstances and could possibly be eliminated if I re-evaluate and reorganize my life. Like an anxiety amputation. I can cut it off and be all better.

I'm still trying to figure out how to do that. The time out in Sunset Harbor is supposed to reset my brain and help me get there faster. But, right now, Bree doesn't need me moaning about my mental health issues. She just needs to complain, and I'm pretty sure she hasn't told either of our other sisters about her Nashville opportunity. They've got a weird besties-but-also-enemies thing going. I don't understand it, so I stay out of it.

Bree moans again, and I can picture her flinging herself onto her hotel bed with an arm over her face.

"I'm guessing it wasn't as bad as you imagine it was."

"You weren't there," she says, whining. "I feel like an idiot, Noah. An idiot. I wore cowgirl boots so I'd look more the part, but I think it just made me look like a try-hard. The producer's assistant gushed before the audition. I guess she's a fan of the show. That's the moment I should have known they wouldn't take me seriously as a country singer."

"They want money and talent. If you have talent—which I know you do—they won't see your drama on The Belacourts when they look at you. They'll see dollar signs instead."

"Unless I bombed it and didn't sound like I have any talent. Spoiler alert: that's what happened."

For the sake of her dreams, I hope that's not the case. "When will you hear back?"

"No idea. That assistant who gushed over our show? She told me they'll be in touch." There's a sniffing sound, and I'm pretty sure Bree's crying now. "I don't want to go back to New York. Zoey and her boyfriend are so annoyingly in love it's nauseating, and Olive is off on location with Dash while he shoots that weird dinosaur movie she was telling us about, and Mom and Dad are just—ick."

Ick? That makes my chest sore. "Have you seen much of them lately?"

"Gosh, no. Dad's been difficult the last few years, you know, but now he's straight up incorrigible. His latest girlfriend is the same age as me."

"Gross."

"Don't quote me on that. It might be plastic surgery. But she looks my age."

My parents have been quietly separated for a few years, so you'd think the divorce wouldn't be that violent. But something about officially announcing the end of their marriage made both of them take the gloves off in the sparring ring, and now everything they do feels like a direct hit intended for the other. My sisters and I are just caught in the crosshairs.

My sisters more than me, since I've silenced the family group chat and don't live in Manhattan most of the time. Hardly ever anymore, really. I should probably lease my apartment out or something.

I think of the advice Dr. Stein gave about my situational depression. Go somewhere. Get out of your office and your head. Commune with nature and re-introduce yourself to things you used to love to do. Time and space and healthy breathing will heal this.

That was the official advice she provided my board of directors too, and they used it to give me a few work-related boundaries.

Maybe it could work for Bree, too.

"Have you thought of taking a trip? Get out of town for a while and distract yourself. Find your inner peace. Maui is nice this time of year."

"Like I could relax on the beach right now. I'm a high-strung mess. I need to work. To do something."

"Write a book?" I suggest.

She laughs. "Like it's so easy."

"Read a book."

"I wouldn't be able to concentrate. Hey! I just had a thought. You're launching your app soon, right? Do you need ads? I can do them for you."

"We're meeting with Jensen tomorrow to go over that, but most of the campaigns are all planned out."

"I'm not picky," she says. I can hear her getting up and going through a drawer or something. Is she packing? "Where are you shooting? The Florida office?"

Is she serious? I love Bree, but I'm not sure having her headline my campaign is the best move. She gets a little flighty sometimes. "Don't know yet. I was thinking Sunset Harbor, actually."

I don't know where that thought comes from, except shooting the ads on our private beach would cut down on costs, which is always a bonus, and it means I can be at the shoot without using up any of my allotted in-the-office work hours. Also, if it's on the beach, Cat can help. I've had the feeling from some of our interactions that she doesn't take me seriously, and part of me wants her to see me working. Like maybe she'll respect me more if she can see how capable I am. That I don't sit on my golden throne and let all my minions do everything for me.

It sounds ridiculous, but it's how I feel.

"I haven't been home in years," she says thoughtfully. "Are you there now?"

I swallow. If I tell Bree about my mental health retreat, the whole family will know by dinner time. So I play it chill. "Just for the summer."

She sighs quietly.

I hold my breath. I don't want my sister to come here. She'll figure out that I don't have my crap together. But her sigh sits between us, and I have to say something. "If you want to help with the ads, I can let you know the dates once they're finalized. I'd love to hang out for a weekend."

There, that wasn't too obvious. It gives her a reason to come home for a few days without crashing my entire summer.

"Thanks, Noah! I was hoping you'd say that. You staying at the resort?"

I can't tell her I've lent my suite to a friend or she'll want to know who, and then the entire country will know where Presley James is hiding. "No, just the house." Think, Noah. "I wanted to stay in my old room."

Old room? Why did I say that? But she must buy it because she sucks in a quick breath. "That kind of sounds fun. Like we're kids again. I'll get a flight out as soon as I can. But you have to promise not to play your weird games too long and take me out kayaking, okay?"

I haven't had many opportunities to play my weird games at all this summer, so she doesn't have much to worry about.

It looks like I'm stuck with her now. "I have a perfect kayak for you."

"Yay!" Bree squeals. "This is just what I need. A distraction. See you soon!"

"Bye, Bree."

We both hang up. I slump back in my chair, looking out over the water in the wharf and the lighthouse in the distance that marks the southern tip of the island. I might have chosen a location off the island for my company, Scout, but we can still see Sunset Harbor in the distance, a long, thin strip of land floating in the glittering ocean. The sun glares against my window, making me squint. For the first time in a long time, I want to be there instead of here in my office.

I'm guessing the beach isn't the reason for that.

A knock sounds on my door, so I swivel away from the window. "Come in."

Mateo pushes it open. "I have the ad budget Gina mentioned. She sent a hard copy to the printer." He puts it on my desk, and I motion for him to be seated while I take a look at it.

"My sister offered to help shoot the ads. I'm sure she'll give us a reduced rate if we want to consider that." I speak absently, going over the numbers. So far, everything looks good. "If we shoot on the resort's private beach, we won't have location fees."

"I'll make a note of it," Mateo says, typing into his phone while I talk. "Which sister?"

"Bree."

"Got it," he says, still typing away.

"Gina won't be coming to the house tonight, but I think we could still meet." I try to make my voice sound normal. "I hired an island girl to help a little around the house—calling her a PA, but it's just a summer job while I'm staying out there. I thought if you met her, she could help you with some things."

Mateo looks up, his hazel eyes widening. The kid is fresh out of college and everything I could dream of in a personal assistant. I want to tell him his job is safe and I'm only trying to help this girl out, but something stops me. I don't really want anyone to know that Cat needs the money, and I think I'll sound unhinged if it gets back to the board that I hired someone to do small chores just so I could pay her uncle's cancer bills.

"Your job is safe," I say, looking back at Gina's ad development cost projections. "I just need someone to get me coffee in the morning and handle my dry cleaning on the island."

"So this is who the extra credit card is for? Catalina Keene?"

"Yeah."

Mateo looks to where the bank card is sitting on my desk. He got it for me this morning, because, as I said, he is good at his job.

"Great." He shoots me an overly wide smile. "Can't wait to meet her."

"You'll love her," I say, because it's true. Everyone does. She is sunshine personified. "Stop freaking out. She's not taking your job."

"You could tell?" he asks, cringing.

"You don't hide your expressions very well. Don't worry, man. This really is just a summer gig. She's helping out a bit around the island and nothing more."

Mateo nods, and I can tell he's more on board with the concept now.

"She'll probably need your help, so I want you to come meet her. I want her to be able to reach out to you with questions, since you'll be able to answer them better than I can half the time."

Feeding his ego is working, and I can see I've shifted the situation in his mind so he now looks at Cat like a young Padawan and no longer like a Jedi threat.

"Seven?" he asks.

"Yes." I stack the papers that now have my notations on them and hand them back. "Bring the updated cost projections and we can go over them tonight."

"Will do. Should I pick up dinner?"

"Cat's taking care of that."

Mateo nods and slips out of the office. I shut down my computer and pack up, eager to return home.

To return to her.