“Romeo’s owner.” She must see me stiffen, because her expression grows puzzled. “Is that a problem? I thought last night’s, er, fight, was just theatrics. Your accounts are both very dramatic in nature, after all.” She smiles.
“It’s not a problem. It’s only, I heard that Boyd wasn’t the real owner, that he was a stand in. I don’t know the real owner’s name.” I take a deep breath. “What is it?”
“Oh, I can help with that. It’s—” She pauses and smiles and waves at someone behind me. “Actually, I think this is him now.”
When she stands, I plaster a congratulatory smile on my face and turn to greet whoever it is. The—how did Shakespeare put it in All’s Well That Ends Well? “The most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of no one good quality.”
As I scan the small handful of people walking in, my eyes are drawn to one familiar, beautiful man. He’s frozen mid-step, staring back at me, a mortified expression smeared across his face.
I can’t believe it.
I won’t believe it.
I have to believe it.
Romeo’s owner . . . is Joe.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“There’s no trust,
No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured,
All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers . . .
These griefs, these woes, these sorrows make me old.
Shame come to Romeo!”
- Romeo and Juliet (Act 3, Scene 2)
Kathleen
Joe approaches the table cautiously, his spine stiff and hands bunched at his sides. His face is brick red, and his eyes are pinched. He greets Maya with a handshake and a strained smile. My mind reels and the coffee curdles in my stomach as I watch him say hello. He won’t meet my eyes; he clearly wasn’t expecting me to be here.
I think back over the last few days. Did Joe already know who I was before he approached me in the lounge? Did he ask me out, take me to all those wonderful places, sweep me off my feet, and kiss me—several times—to . . . what? Target me? Toy with me? Persuade me to share the sponsorship if Juliet had won?
I feel ill. How did I not see this coming? How did I not know? Joe came on so strong, right from the beginning. He never really told me why he was at CatFest, other than that he likes cats.
I didn’t want to talk about Juliet or CatFest when I first met him, I remind myself. But Joe still had every chance over the last day and a half, all the chances in the world, to set the record straight. If not Friday night, then certainly sometime yesterday. My breath grows rapid and shallow, and my vision blurs.
Like a dislocated joint snapping sickeningly into place, certain things suddenly make sense. Joe at the meet and greet, looking uncomfortable. Joe pretending to be on my side when Viv and Jess talked about the Meowtagues possibly cheating. Joe at the awards ceremony, letting that poor man Boyd pretend to be him—including being stabbed by my brother. Joe so charmingly offering to support me financially.
I realize Maya’s taken her seat already, but Joe’s lurking by my side. I’m still standing by my chair, frozen. My knees bend abruptly, and I collapse more than sit, as if my body parts forgot how to work together. Joe reaches to help me, his expression intense, almost pleading, but now I avoid his gaze. He sits quietly beside me instead.
What is he pleading for? For me not to tell Maya about his duplicity? For me not to toss my entire glass of ice water at him and walk out? For me not to kick his lying butt from here to Florida?
How could I be so naive? So blind? I think of Joe Junior in our room. I’m such an innocent. I shift away from him suddenly, as if he has the plague.
Maya has asked me something.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” My voice is thin and papery, like it might tear any second. I don’t recognize it.
“I wondered if you and Joe had met before.” She looks from one of us to the other, her wrinkled brow indicating she can tell something is wrong.
So many castigatory words rush to my mouth that I can’t decide what to accuse him of first . . . but I dam them off. This isn’t the time or place to confront Joe. And I’d like to hear how he explains this to Maya.
“No, I don’t believe we have.” I hold out my hand to him, fighting to keep it from trembling with anger. “Hello, I’m Kathleen Caplin, Juliet’s owner. And you are?”
A cockroach? A rat? A flea? A flea on a cockroachy rat?
“I’m Joe Davis.”
I slide my hand back as soon as he touches me. If Maya notices his hangdog expression or the flares of fire and ice shooting from my eyes, she doesn’t mention it.
“Would you like to order breakfast, Joe? Kathleen and I are getting the buffet.”
“No thank you. I’m not hungry.” His own hand shakes as he picks up the mug of coffee the rushing waitress sloshes into his cup.
“You must be so happy Romeo won the Best Newcomer award last night,” I say. “Congratulations. I had no idea it would be so close. So many things about this weekend have been such a surprise.”
Maya blinks at my sharp tone. “It was a very close vote. The closest of the night. Juliet was only a few votes shy of winning the award.”
That’s just great, I think.
Joe turns to our host. “Maya, I’d like to thank you for the opportunity to meet today.”
Here it comes. He’s going to tell her how much he and Romeo deserve the sponsorship. First, he woos me into letting my guard down, and then he wins the award and goes in for the kill with Purina. He is clearly a total player, a cheat, and a liar.
He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “I understand it’s fairly common for whoever wins the Best Newcomer award at CatFest to be a top contender for the Purina Instagram CelebriCat sponsorship. And Romeo won.”
Rub it in, why don’t you? He ignores my furious stare. I think he had more to say, but Maya interrupts.
“Yes, about that. Things have changed a bit from Purina’s perspective.” She glances wistfully at the buffet. “I thought we might eat first, but you two clearly came ready to talk.” She pulls up closer to the table. “Deciding who to award the sponsorship is usually a simple decision. We do often give it to the Best Newcomer. But this year was different. Both Romeo and Juliet are gorgeous cats with great personalities, and you two have done amazing jobs with their accounts. Your fans last night made that abundantly clear.” She chuckles. “Purina loves to sponsor people who share the same love for pets that we do and those who inspire others. You both clearly demonstrate these values. But there’s only one sponsorship to give.” She pauses and smiles broadly. “So, we’d like to offer a more generous amount to both of you . . . If you’ll agree to partner and work together on your accounts.”
She pulls two packets of paper with Purina branding out of her bag. “You have a wonderful opportunity to unite your fans in a way few other Instagram accounts do. The, er, friction,” she glances from me to Joe, “that you’ve encouraged among your fans up to now has wonderfully reenacted the Capulet and Montague feud in a fun way, and now seems like the perfect time to allow Romeo and Juliet to fall in love. In the theatrical sense, of course.”