Royal Hearts (Love At The Lake #2)

Chapter 3

Three

CAT

T he halls of Brand Hub are tight, full of labyrinth-style twists and turns in a nondescript strip mall in San Francisco. Professional content creation and branding is not as glamorous as the internet would have you believe. A few co-workers nod their hellos. None of them look up from their phones, mind you, but they do nod.

I pop my head in Allyn’s assistant’s office. “She ready for me?”

“There you are!” she says as if I’ve been taking a nap under my desk.

Sloan knows good and well I’ve been traveling all day, also not glamorous, but she makes it sound like I’ve been chugging lattes over sushi trays while having a mani-pedi.

“How are the Rushmores’ socials tracking?” I ask.

“Good. You did a nice job with them. Over budget, which I’m assuming?—”

“I’ll figure it out. ”

“You’ve got to stop doing that. Allyn doesn’t like it,” she sing-songs, holding her natural inclination to follow rules over me.

“Which is why she needs me to come on board as the nice owner. I want that pro-bono arm of the company up and running by the end of the year.”

“Who would have thought you’d be the nice one?”

“Hey!” But, true.

She nods to the right and motions for me to continue down the hall to the last office—Allyn’s. “She’s ready for you.”

“Thanks.”

I lug my shiny black suitcase down the hall behind me, dreaming of the moment this day is finally over and I can go home to unpack and decompress. The thin wood door echoes as I knock while examining a stain in the ceiling that I’ve always thought looked like a banana.

“I’m back,” I say, pushing through and dumping my suitcase into a corner. I plop in a chair across from her desk. “Miss me? I know I’m over on the Rushmores’ budget but?—”

She waves a hand. “Fine, fine. We need to talk.”

Oh no. Not good. While Allyn is my boss, I also consider her a friend. But she’s got her business hat on right now, nary a girlfriend in sight. Whatever she has to say, it’s serious.

“The Streamflix deal is demanding, urgent, and going to take some serious dedication to pull off.”

Sitting tall, I wait for more as she eyes me head to toe. Always plotting, this one. Finally, I break. “Thanks for the cryptic email, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. This deal hit my desk days ago, and I’m afraid you may not like the fine print. But I’m prepared to sweeten the pot.”

“How sweet we talking?”

“I’m ready to make you a partner.”

I hold in a gasp and keep a straight face. “Sounds like there’s a big, fat ‘but’ coming. What does Streamflix want? What’s the project? Who’s the client?”

She opens her laptop and begins pecking at the keys, squinting slightly at her screen. “It’s confidential. There will be NDAs to sign. I need a PA on site for two months.”

I scoff. “I haven’t PA’d since college. Get someone else.”

“They want you.”

“Can’t,” I cross one leg over the other and settle in for a debate, “that’s over Christmas. I’m going to visit my sister.”

“Even with partnership on the table?” She glances up. “Cat, keep an open mind,” she says, holding a hand up to stop me before I can barrel on about how I’ll be tied to my phone and will work through the holiday anyway. At least I can do it while opening presents with Frannie.

“My client list is full, Allyn. Ask someone else.” Then I add, “But still give me the partnership, because you know I’m ready.”

She nods, not enjoying the fact I’m sparring with her, but she’s the one who taught me how to stay strong and know your worth in business. “They requested you. By name. It’s primarily to PA, though you’ll be asked to manage him in general for the duration of the Streamflix contract. He’s refused to work with anyone on their team—or on his own.”

“Who is this demanding, entitled little man?” I cross my arms. “And who would ask for me by name? ”

“NDA,” she repeats. “I’m working the kinks out now. Say yes.”

I pull a cold bottle of water from a fridge next to her desk and take a deep pull, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “You’re seriously not going to tell me? That high-brow, huh?”

I am intrigued.

While I’d rather have a shot of caffeine, the water brings me back to life. I needed the water. I’ve got to remember to drink more water.

“The highest. And a boon for the agency. A jewel, actually.” She leans in over her desk, and I mirror her. We’re eye to eye, hers twinkle, mine narrow. “It would change everything , Cat.”

“That’s good to hear, because I want everything. Co-owner, and the pro-bono budget I’ve been asking for.”

“Nothing would make me happier.” She stacks some papers on her desk, refusing to give me any positive reinforcement for basically accepting an offer to take ten steps backward in my career and work as a grunt over the holidays.

“I didn’t think you’d cave that easily.” I think quickly, adding to my deal if I’m going to give up Christmas with Frannie. “I want a raise and a company car, too.”

“Done. Are you ready to leave your friends, your family? Not only for this client, but in general? I don’t have to tell you, Cat. It can be a lonely life, working for yourself. I don’t regret it, but you’ve seen the way I live.”

“Impeccably, minus these shitty offices.”

“We’ll upgrade the offices together. Something bougie in the Bay. If we secure this client, everything will change.”

“If?” It sounded like a done deal in her email.

“There’s still a meeting with Streamflix, where you’ll both have to agree to the somewhat creative aspects of the project.”

Her twisting of words doesn’t scare me, if that’s what she’s trying to do.

“Fine.” We both knew I’d say yes. My work life balance has always skewed heavily to favor work. “Tell me where and when.”

I’m already pulling my luggage to the door. One thing about Allyn: she keeps her meetings tight and I can sense my dismissal.

“I’ll send them our official acceptance and email you details when I’m allowed to share. Sloan will send you a travel itinerary this evening. This whole situation is moving fast.”

“When we’re co-owners, we’ll both be privy to deals like this. You’ll always keep our line of communication open, right? No secrets.” I do not like being left in the dark.

“Cat, I don’t plan to work forever. I will hand you the keys to castle.” She’s got a real funny smirk on her face as if she’s just told a joke, but I’m not privy to the punchline. “Patience, grasshopper. For now, go home. Shower. Prepare.”

Now I have to figure out how to tell Frannie and Willow I won’t be with either of them for Christmas. Who knows where I’ll be? Streamflix could be shooting in any number of locations, from Dubai to the Dakotas.

I accept a high five from Sloan on my way out and tell myself to breathe through the exhaustion I don’t have time for. There will be surprises to come over the next twenty-four hours as the details of my new job come through. There’ll be hard days, and a demanding client from what little I’ve heard, but there will also be excitement, creativity, and growth.

This is the job.

A little pink dollhouse in the heart of the marina district sits pretty on a sherbet-dotted row-house street.

My car drops me unceremoniously at the curb, and I lug my bags down the sidewalk. I’ve lived here for years with my two best friends, one being my sister, but she’s moved to a small lake town with an annoyingly perfect-for-her-man. We’d decided to celebrate Christmas on Spirit Lake, a place we visited multiple times as kids, after she talked up pastries on Main Street, and comfy blankets, and lounging in Adirondack chairs with mugs full of spiked cider.

So much for that little fantasy.

Trudging up the stairs with layers of airplane ick on me, I’m looking forward to throwing the door open and seeing the smiling face of my last roommate standing. Though, I don’t know how I’m going to tell her she’s on her own for Christmas.

Inside our cozy apartment, I expect Willow to be curled up in her spot on the end of our lumpy couch near her beloved bookshelf .

But the place is silent. Willow is nowhere to be seen.

I drop my keys in a heart-shaped dish on the entry table. Frannie found the rickety thing a few years ago on the side of the road, hammered in a few extra nails, and spray-painted it a fresh white. My sister has a real eye for turning trash into treasure. I kinda like to think I do the same, only with entrepreneurs and their unfortunate choice in brand colors.

Huffing, I leave my things by the door and proceed to peel my clothes from my body. At least when I’m home alone, I can live like a thirty-year-old single woman and walk around naked in my own house. A glimpse in a mirror over our fireplace reveals truly puffy-from-exhaustion eyes, my blunt below the chin bob hanging limp. However, the black lace set of French lingerie lends a glimmer of hope.

I’d still give me a go despite a love life being the last thing on my mind.

A shower and a vigorously applied lavender sugar scrub have me feeling much better, and I decide to have tea and frozen pizza for dinner. Not a combo I’m proud of, but it’s kinda been a shit day. I’m exhausted, and that deserves a shit dinner.

Willow pops through the door just as I’m getting worried.

“Hey, where have you been?” I ask, muting the bad reality dating show I was watching and turning to greet her over the back of the couch. “I made crappy pizza, help yourself.”

“Thanks,” she says, a non-gooey, fake cheese slice with cardboard pepperoni already in her hand. “Long day. Also, I quit my job.”

“You quit?” I sit up straighter in a blood-red sweat set so dark it may as well be black. This is me branching out.

“Yup. The sub I had last week when I was out for surgery was looking for full-time, and we’ve only been back to school for a month. So, I went in to chat with administration and ran the idea by them. They were sad to see me go, but happy to offer the spot to Mrs. Sanderson. And now I’m a professional spinster.”

“Don’t start?—"

“Past my prime,” she laments like an overacting daytime TV star, “tea and cardboard for dinner, living with my best friend who’s as dateless as I am. Total spinster material.”

“You’re not a spinster!”

“Because that would make you a spinster.” She grins, kicking off a pair of wedges she borrowed from me and never gave back.

I don’t mind being the butt of her humor and winding her up if it makes her smile—but this I can’t stand for. “We’re not spinsters. Spinsters don’t exist. The patriarchy invented them to make confident single women feel less than. I think even your hero, Austen, would agree with that.”

She hammers me with bright blue eyes which, when paired with her strawberry hair, is truly commanding when she wants it to be. “So why ya watching One Night Stand Wedding again?”

I punch the power button on the remote and the TV goes dark. “It was background noise, I’m working.” I wiggle my phone at her as proof.

“You love that show, admit it. Singles thrusting themselves at other singles, hoping to couple up— the romance .” Now, she’s poking her fingers in those pretty eyes, removing contacts at the kitchen counter which is a bad habit after a long day.

Two contacts drop into a water glass and I make a mental note not to dump it in the dishwasher later. The girl is going to get an infection one of these days.

“Fine, I’ll admit it, but only because you have a wall of the same thing in book form.” I point to the shelves of novels to her right. You’d think they’d be tattered and torn with how many times I’ve witnessed her reading them, but no, they’re pristine. Virginal and untouched to the untrained eye because she never, ever cracks a spine.

“Those are different, as I’ve explained to you many times in detail.” She plops into her spot on the couch, folding her petite, curvy frame up like a pretzel in a baggy shirtdress and cardigan .

“Your romance novels are the same unhinged, flirty ridiculousness I watch.”

She rummages around in a side table and produces one of her many pairs of thick glasses and the book she’s currently reading. These are tortoise and my personal favorite. “Those books,” here she goes, pointing to her trophy wall. “Those books are filled with trials, tribulations, expectations, wounded souls, healing, and the list goes on! Reality dating shows are quick and dirty. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, to each his own, but there’s nothing solid or grown-up or evolved in anything on that show. It’s lust on top of exhibition in very questionable jacuzzi water.”

I chew on my bottom lip. Even though I don’t read the kind of books she does, I do love a 90s romcom, and the junk on TV cannot compare. “I hate it when you’re right. You should have been a lawyer.”

“I should have been a great many things, Mr. Mayer.”

“A quote?” Despite my lack of interest in anything remotely literary, I’m always intrigued when Willow talks bookish to me.

“Little Women.” A small smile crosses her face. I should have known. She’s made us watch every version of film adaptation since we were kids at Christmas, and I don’t hate it.

“So, what’s your plan for the rest of your life?” I kick my feet up and try not to look at my phone screen.

“Geez, Bloomfield, my life ?”

My phone buzzes, and I give in, discreetly checking it. It’s from Allyn, but I drag my eyes back to Willow. “Okay, not your life, but your future?”

Willow’s been hinting at quitting teaching for a while, so I’m not totally surprised, but I don’t think she’s got much of a plan either. Out of the three of us, she’s been the most uncertain about what she wants to do with her future.

She toys with a bookmark in the novel in her lap. “You are a dog with a bone.”

“Translation: best friend who cares,” I laugh at my quirky little friend. “Well?” I prompt her. I hate that I’m so attached to my phone, but I have to read the email from Allyn. I open it discreetly, planning to skim while focusing on my conversation with Willow.

Cat ,

Your new client is high-profile and European. You’ll have to sign an NDA before I can share more. This project is an extended on-site position on a new reality show. Pack for two months and travel details will hit your inbox this evening.

Your experience over the past five years has teed you up to execute this client’s expectations and needs, all while keeping directors and producers happy.

Along with the NDA, there will be papers for you to sign to become a partner in Brand Hub. Merry Christmas, early.

Allyn

I’m an owner!

Wait, I’m working on a reality show?

I glance at Willow and my head swims thinking of B-list celebrity men I might be chained to for the next three months. It’s a sacrifice for sure, but I’ve already agreed to the meeting and I’m finally getting papers to sign for Brand Hub. And a raise. And a car. Allyn and I will officially be partners.

Brand Hub will be my life. As if it wasn’t already.

“Hey, you asked me a question and now you’re reading your phone,” Willow says. She huffs and opens her book.

“I’m sorry, I am listening. It’s work.”

“It’s always work. Okay, so I was thinking . . .” Her voice fades out as my mind spins, though I am still listening. I’ve spent years training my brain to split into two and multi-task.

First, Frannie left for what she promised was a summer sabbatical which turned into a whirlwind relocation, and now I’m leaving, too? Leaving Willow alone for the holidays is especially gut-wrenching. Not to mention, if this client is as demanding as Allyn has alluded, I might not even get a Christmas. I’ll be stuck spending my favorite time of the year on a beach with a bunch of production people in God-knows-where-ville.

“Dog grooming.”

I blink at her, no idea how to respond. Surely, I didn’t hear her right. “Wait, what?” I ask, trying to process Allyn’s written words and what Willow is saying to me.

She can tell my attention is elsewhere and grimaces. “Washing, brushing—cuddling I’m sure is part of it— dogs. For a living.”

A few times a year, the girls usually have a sit down with me about my phone addiction, which is really corporate co-dependence. At least I’m aware. “But you’ve never owned a dog.” I’m trying to be supportive, but since when has Willow wanted to be a dog groomer?

“Yeah, but working with animals and not working with people sounds great. I’m maxed out on kiddos and adults are just as scary,” she laughs. “I can wear headphones while I do it, I bet. Think of all the audiobooks I could get through.”

“You’ve never once mentioned wanting to be a dog groomer,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. I press the pad of my thumb into pizza crumbs on my plate while trying to come up with a way to tell her I’m leaving tomorrow without breaking her heart. “Skate in the Ice Capades, yes. Own your own bookstore, obviously. But dogs? Wills, are you okay?”

If she’s not, I can stay. If this is some sort of crisis, I can turn the job down. Allyn will understand, and if she doesn’t . . .

Maybe this is your chance to get out of the rat race? I mentally shush my subconscious. I love the rat race, I do .

Physically, I wedge my phone under my thigh, almost sitting on it, so I don’t break focus on the friend in front of me.

“I’m fine. Time to put the boatload of money my parents gave me to good use and figure out what I really want to do in life. Unfortunately, teaching fourth grade is not it. I need some quiet.”

“Believe me, I understand that. Work is very loud right now.”

“So, you get it. And because I can, I’m going to give myself a minute to figure it out.”

“While grooming dogs? Shaving butts?” My phone buzzes beneath me and I jump.

“Stop,” she laughs. At least I did that, made her laugh.

Time to break the news.

“Okay, I like this for you. And maybe you can come visit me over the holiday.” I hold my breath and wait for her answer, hoping wherever I end up, it at least has a beach bar with unlimited margaritas.

“Where are you going?” She puts her book down in earnest and eyes me over the top of her glasses. “To see Frannie? A cozy lakeside Christmas? This is perfect, I’d love?—”

“No, not to see Frannie.” My face falls. “I don’t know yet, but I got assigned a new client and I’m leaving tomorrow-ish. Still waiting on Allyn for the details.”

“Oh, that’s short notice. You just got back.” Willow leans on Frannie and me, she always has, and I hate leaving her. “Need help packing? Want me to do a drugstore run?”

“I’m working on location for two months, Wills.”

“Oh.” She shifts, pulling at a piece of hair that’s fallen over her shoulder. “So you’re both missing Christmas here . . .”

“Yeah. It’s the worst part of this whole thing, not being with you or Frannie.”

“But it’s for your job, and it’s what you love.”

God, she’s a good friend. “You’re not mad?”

“Of course, I’m not mad, and yes, I’ll come visit. I’ll help you with whatever I can. Don’t forget: when your tripod’s broken and you need someone to hold your phone at odd angles for all your experimental content, I’m always your girl.”

Something tells me I won’t be holding tripods for Streamflix. “Willow, you are a sweetheart, you know that? You don’t need to run errands or help with anything, just hang with me tonight. I’m going to miss you. And Frannie. I can’t believe we’re not going to be together for Christmas this year.”

“The band really did break up, didn’t we?” We were all worried when Fran moved out that it was the end of an era, and we all lied to ourselves and pretended it wasn’t. She looks around our apartment, most remnants of Frannie already gone.

I nod and hum, feeling somber. For years, the three of us rented this house together and now, who knows if we’ll ever even live near each other again. It feels like we’re scattering.

“Should we sublet?” I hold her gaze, this is a hard conversation. “You want new roommates?”

“Nah. I’ll wait for you to come back.”

“Money bags,” I scoff, but I’m glad she has options.

My phone buzzes beneath me again and I give in to the obsession to check it, but it’s just a news notification.

Do I feel like a one-trick pony, living on the internet, social media post after post to keep up with trends so I can be an asset to my clients? Sure do. But I’m good at my job and that makes up for it. Do I feel like a heel for leaving Willow here alone on Christmas? Also, yes, absolutely I do.

Willow settles in with her book in the crook of her arm and I reheat my tea, then stretch my legs and put my stupid reality show back on while I doom scroll— for work.

Another buzz interrupts me as I’m watching a man trying to flirt with three women on the TV with one eye, and a viral video with a new dance on my phone with the other. This time it’s another email.

It’s from Sloan, the first few details of my travel itinerary coming in as fast as she can book them, I’m sure.

Tomorrow, per her instructions, I’m headed to Little Star Lodge in Garland, California.

Wait . . . Garland rings a bell, I think I almost booked a ski trip there once but then something for work came up. There’s always something for work coming up.

I do a search and sure enough, Garland isn’t far from here, about a four-hour drive into the mountains. It’s a teeny, tiny ski town and Little Star Lodge looks like it’s been plucked Mary Poppins-style straight out of a coffee table book on Danish architecture. The town boasts towering trees layered with twinkle lights, and holiday festivals with patrons walking cobblestone streets holding steaming drinks. If I could make a wish, this is where I’d want us all to be for Christmas.

And— oh my God — my fingers fly across the screen, in my sister’s new backyard.