He waves his hand around. “Yeah, yeah. Love stuff. Got it.”
“Second, I have plenty of money, a condo, and a boat.”
James rolls his eyes. “Brag much?”
My teeth clench, but I work hard to smile affably. “I’m trying to tell you that I can afford to take care of her.”
“Uh huh, okay.” He sounds completed uninterested.
I press on. “I’ve never been married, no kids.”
“Kathleen wants kids.” The nuts are mostly down the hatch now, thankfully.
I nod. “Me, too.”
“But maybe not with you.”
I frown. “Why? Did she say something?”
“No. But I’ll bet you guys would have super ugly red-headed freckly kids.”
My frown deepens. I really, really want to punch this guy. How does Kathleen put up with him? I’m starting to understand on a deep and meaningful level why she’s so desperate to win the Purina sponsorship. And I’m doubly interested in helping her.
“Okay, so here’s what I asked you here for. I’m hoping you’ll put in a good word or two or three for me with your sister. She’s told me you’re her only family, and she cares about you. So, could you do that for me? Maybe let her know that you think I’m a good guy, and she should give me a chance?”
The waitress puts our drinks down. James slurps his, but as he drinks, his blue eyes narrow at me over the top of the glass. He sets it down deliberately.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks.
“I already told you.”
“Yeah, I heard you, but why do you think you need me on your side? Kathleen already seems to like you. She went out with you when you could have been an axe murderer and she had breakfast and lunch with you and stuff. What are you worried about?” He studies me, making me feel like an insect in the hand of a sadistic kid. “What are you hiding?”
I swallow hard. James might be immature, annoying, and have failure to launch syndrome, but he’s been paying attention. I keep my expression neutral.
“I’m not hiding a thing.” Lie. “I just want to have every chance to win your sister over this weekend, and I thought you could help—with the proper motivation.” I take a crisp bill out of my wallet and lazily wave it around. “I guess I was wrong.”
His eyes follow the portrait of good old President McKinley. “I could probably say a few nice things about you.”
I place the bill on my side of the table. “Are you sure? I’ll be asking her what you think of me to see what she says.”
He nods. “I can do it. I know what to say.”
I slide the bill across to him. “Thanks, James. I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tonight for dinner.” I stand and pick up my beer to take it with me.
“What about the tab for this?” He gestures to his food and drink.
I glance at the money he’s sliding into his pocket and sigh. “I’ll find the waitress and sign the tab to my hotel room.” If I don’t, he’ll charge it all to Kathleen.
“Nice doing business with you, brother-in-law,” he says.
I wink at him. Now that’s more like it.
After I hunt down the waitress, I hurry back to my room, guilt creeping through me. Now, not only am I keeping the truth from Kathleen about owning Romeo, I’m also paying her brother to speak well of me, and I recruited my cousin to pretend to be me. This could all come crashing down on my head in spectacular fashion. And I’d deserve it.
But I’m doing it all, every bit of it, to have a chance to win Kathleen. And damn it, she’s worth it.
Chapter Fifteen
“So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them.”
- Romeo and Juliet (Act 3, Scene 2)
Kathleen
I feel remarkably calm as I rest with Juliet for a bit before getting ready for dinner and the award ceremony. Even if Juliet and I don’t win, this is a special night for us. I don’t know about her, but I’ve never been nominated for anything before, unless you count being voted Most Likely to Get a Sunburn in high school.
Juliet and I play with the duster for a while on the bed. I wish she could come tonight, but the CatFest organizers have a firm no-cat policy for the event. I guess I can’t blame them. Dining, boozy people, and live cats maybe aren’t the best combination.
The organizers had also been adamant that they would investigate the Catulet claims that the Meowtagues could be cheating. I’d made sure to tell the woman I’d spoken with, who’d seemed harried and a little distracted, that it was only a rumor, but that I was concerned. I don’t know if it did any good, but I’m glad my report is on record. If that Boyd guy wins . . . I don’t want to think about it. It would be so unfair.
After freshening up and changing into my robe, I do my hair, braiding bits and pieces of it before swirling the whole mess into a low bun at the nape of my neck with a few loose tendrils around my face. The award ceremony isn’t formal. The organizers encouraged nominees to wear whatever they felt comfortable in. If that’s cat footie pajamas, so be it.
But I’m wearing a cocktail dress. I want to feel confident and glamorous, and to be honest, I never have a chance to wear something like this. I grab my dress from the closet and take it back in the bathroom in case James comes back from wherever he is. As I slide the silky black satin over my body, I’m pretty sure I made the right choice to go formal.
The piece is long and slim, with a high neck, a low V in the back, and a thigh-high slit up the leg. I usually wear pink—my signature color—but tonight I go with mauve lipstick and a matching mauve wrap.
I evaluate the results in the mirror. My eyes glitter with a bit of sparkly eyeshadow, my hair flames in the bright light, and my pale skin looks soft and creamy. I feel . . . sexy.
And let me tell you, that’s not something I feel often. I’m usually covered in stray bits of other people’s manes and splashes of hair color.
I put my heels on last. Normally, I don’t wear them because I don’t need any more height, but tonight, I’m pulling out all the stops. For the ceremony . . . and for Joe.
I hear James come in through the closed bathroom door, so I sweep into the bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, fully clothed for once, petting Juliet and finishing off a drink. He pulls his gaze away from the television and says, “You look nice. Joe will dig that dress.”
The wrap almost slips out of my stunned hands. James never compliments me. “Thank you. That was nice—”
“He’s a good guy, you know.”
I stammer. “He . . . is?”
James nods, making his long, uneven bangs fall into his eyes. “Yeah. I like him. I think you should marry him.”
My knees give out with shock and I slump on my bed. “Why do you say that?”
He shrugs. “He’s got red hair; you’ve got red hair. You’ll have ugly, freckly kids. I told him that, too. But you’ll probably like them.”
“You and Joe talked about . . . our children? When? Why?” I throw a nervous glance at Joe Junior beside me in the chair. His stitched-on grin suddenly looks mysterious and sly.