Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 25 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
“Of course,” I nod up at him, stroking his cheek; he’s already missed his whole day in Marseille, he shouldn’t miss any more.
He looks at me for a split second longer before suddenly shaking his head at something. He taps the Answer Call button. “Pascal, je suis désolé pour l’interruption aujourd’hui. Je peux tout expliquer et compenser le temps perdu demain. Est-ce que je peux vous appeler le matin?” he says rapidly, and then waits for a response. Pascal, I’m sorry for the disruption today. I can explain everything and make up for lost time tomorrow. Can I call you in the morning? “J’apprécie votre patience, mon ami. Passez une bonne nuit,” he smiles into his phone and then hangs up. I appreciate your patience, my friend. Have a good night.
He throws his phone onto the sofa somewhere and then lies back down once more, moving so that our faces are only inches apart. “No long phone calls,” he says quietly. “I’ve missed enough time with you today,” he explains.
“Baby, if you have to, I don’t mind. You’ve missed time at work too,” I say, wanting him to know that it’s perfectly OK if he has to work for a while.
But Logan is adamant. “I don’t care,” he reaches forwards to press his lips against mine. “You come first. You will always come first,” he whispers against my lips.
I know his words are sweet and meaningful and endearing, but I can’t not hear the double entendre in them. He’s got a point, usually I do come first.
I try hard to keep myself composed, I really do, but I’m completely unable to keep a straight face. Seeing this, and instinctively knowing the reason why, Logan smirks and playfully rolls his eyes at me as I burst into giggles. Now this feels more like us, I think happily as a well known passion and playfulness explodes between us. He starts tickling me, teasing me, and I squirm so much that I inadvertently roll out of his embrace, tumbling off the edge of the sofa with a shriek and landing on the floor with a thud. Nice one, Gem!
“Oh, shit!” Logan’s startled face appears a moment later, though I can barely see it, my eyes are watering from laughing so hard. He joins me on the floor a second later, squeezing himself in between me and sofa, and saying in faux-dramatics, “Where does it hurt?”
“Are you going to kiss it better?” Oh, I could so take advantage of that, I think coyly. But I don’t, instead I behave myself. Sort of. “Just here,” I tap my lips.
Chuckling, Logan says, “Somehow I doubt that.” He leans closer and smiles against my lips.
“They’re really very sore,” I mutter, and I can say no more.
Logan kisses me with ardour, our first proper kiss of the day. He slips his tongue into my mouth, and I accept him readily, allowing our kiss to deepen in both passion and meaning. He shifts his body so that he’s straddling me and I wrap my arms around his neck, my hands loose in his hair. We don’t let-up. It’s the longest kiss that we’ve ever shared, but that seems appropriate after the day we’ve had.
“Gemima?” Logan murmurs many intoxicating minutes later.
“Mmm?”
“I love you,” he tells me.
I smile into his mouth. “I love you, too, Logan. More than anyone, more than anything,” I steal his line.
“Good,” he whispers, before kissing me once more. More delicious minutes pass, until
he says, “Gemima?” again.
“Yes?” I grin.
“Do you think that you could be pregnant?” he asks me out of the blue, pushing up on his hands so that our faces are now a foot apart.
Huh? “Uh…no,” I say slowly. “Why?” I ask back, looking up at him with wide eyes. How long has he been pondering that, I wonder, and then I remember him questioning me in the bathroom about how many times I’ve thrown up today. I also realise that it was after that enquiry that he became less hostile. Perhaps in an effort to avoid upsetting his potentially pregnant fiancé? Except I’m not pregnant, I’m sure I’m not, and yet despite this certainty, I can’t stop the memory of Amber’s phone call last night – she’d be over the fucking moon!
“Just a hunch,” Logan says. “You threw up yesterday as well as today, remember?”
“A coincidence,” I try to convince him.
“Maybe,” he allows, “but we do have a lot of sex,” he tells me needlessly, making me grin, “and with that comes the chance. Can you take a test?” he asks.
“I’m getting my period in a few days,” I remind him. “If it doesn’t come, then I’ll pee on a stick for you,” I promise. “Alright?”
He starts chuckling. “Alright,” he nods, lowering himself back down to me.
“But I really don’t think I am,” I add, my arms sliding over his shoulders once more. I’d feel different if I were, wouldn’t I?
“Just in case. We can’t have you falling off sofas if you are,” he says earnestly.
It’s my turn to roll my eyes, making him laugh. “I’m not,” I whisper against his lips with confidence. “But if you want to place a bet on it, I’m more than happy to take your money, Leary,” I smile, and he looks intrigued by the prospect of another bet. “How does one hundred million euros sound?” I jest.
Laughing again, Logan informs me, “For one hundred million euros, I’d destroy your pill myself,” he teases me right back.
Hmm… “Maybe just five euros, then?” I amend.
“A steep drop, Samuels, but infinitely more realistic,” he smiles, getting to his feet, and pulling me to mine too, before we fall onto the sofa once more, this time in a tangled heap.
I hold out my hand and we shake on it. Logan’s hunch verses my hope, because I really don’t want to be pregnant, that’s for sure. It’s too soon for us to give up our time to another being. We’re happy being consumed in one another, and that’s exactly how I want it to remain. To prove this point, we lie down again, me draping my body over his, and we continue our make out session, until we’re interrupted for a second time. Can’t we catch a break today, I think, somewhat manically. The elevator pings, and I sit bolt upright, peering over the back of the sofa.
“Who is that?” I wonder out loud.
“It could only be one person,” Logan says with a grin.
The doors slide open and Buddy strides into the apartment, stopping when he sees me.
“Are you alive?” he asks me possibly the most ludicrous question that I’ve ever been asked, prompting my second eye roll in under three minutes.
“It would appear so,” I point out.
“Does Logan know that?” Buddy asks, looking slightly frantic.
On the sofa, out of Buddy’s sight, Logan gives my waist a squeeze, making me squirm.
“Seriously, Gem, there was a shooting where you live, so you should call Logan because he’s going to freak,” he busies himself with his phone for a moment, quite possibly sending Logan a message.
While he’s distracted, I take this moment to mouth to Logan, “Wow, he knows you so well…maybe the two of you should get married?”
He squeezes my waist again and I let out a little squeal.
Buddy looks up at me and tells me, “I know you’ve only seen his fluffy side—”
“His what?” I laugh.
“You’ve never seen him lose his shit, is what I’m trying to say,” Buddy continues.
I have now, I think.
“He’s going to go fucking crazy,” Buddy informs me.
Yup, he sure did.
“It’s all good, Bud,” Logan says, sitting up as well and finally revealing himself to his best friend.
Buddy stares at him, perplexed. “What the fuck are you doing in Paris?”
“I heard about the shooting,” Logan explains.
“Wouldn’t a phone call have sufficed?” Buddy scoffs.
Logan and I exchange a comical look.
“You’d think,” I giggle.
“We, uh, had some issues with communication today,” Logan puts it delicately. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”
Buddy looks at him as though that’s completely obvious. “I’m here to make sure your woman is OK, aren’t I? With you out of town, isn’t that a best friend’s duty?”
“Oh my god,” I look at both of them, grinning broadly, “you two are freakin’ adorable,” I can’t help coo.
Ignoring my sort-of compliment, Buddy continues, “I heard about the shooting on the radio, and once they named the location, I figured I should get on top of it.”
“I appreciate that, man. Thank you,” Logan says sincerely.
“Yes, that’s lovely of you,” I agree. “You’re only,” I check the time on Logan’s phone, “eleven hours too late, but it’s still very sweet of you,” I grin.
“Better late than never, Gem,” Buddy tells me.
“Shit, is it already past seven?” Logan asks, taking his phone from me to check the time for himself. “I’m supposed to be picking my parents up from the airport. Does that fall under a best friend’s duty too?” he asks Buddy with a dimply smile, testing his luck.
“Nice try, Loges, but I’m running late myself. I’m supposed to be picking Noah up and Olivia will have my balls on a skewer for being late. So…good to see that you’re alive,” he says to me. “I’d come over to shake hands and shit, but you’re probably both naked from the waist down, so I’m just going to leave.” He turns and pushes the button for the elevator. “Oh, FYI, Loges, that thing that you were waiting to hear back about…about the you-know-what?”
“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice suddenly eager and urgent as Buddy steps into the elevator.
“You got the green light,” Buddy tells him.
“Yes!” Logan exclaims happily. “Thank you, Bud,” he says to his best friend again, who waves as the doors shut and he disappears.
“Him acting as a kind of pseudo-Logan is really very sweet,” I blurt out. “What green light?” I then ask.
“Oh, nothing big,” Logan says sarcastically, “it’s just the green light for our wedding location,” he reveals. “Your dream location, I think,” he adds.
“Where?” I enquire hurriedly.
“It’s still a secret,” he says, “but only for a little while longer.”
* * *
With nothing but an apple for his dinner, and a long kiss goodbye from me, Logan leaves for the airport, assuring me that he’ll be home in a couple of hours.
Feeling ravenous, I then reheat one of Mercy’s meals, and throwing my previous plans for the evening out of the window, I settle at the dining table, simultaneously eating and continuing with the sketches that Amélie requested I do. Long after my plate is empty I stay here, drawing design after design, some to Amélie’s specifications and some out of my own inspiration. It’s cathartic for me to draw like this. Any leftover stress, frustration, or tension seems to leave my body as I put pencil to paper. And while throughout my life I’ve found that drawing anything has this calming effect on me, the fact that tonight I’m drawing something that I’m so passionate about, adds an element of fun and excitement to the experience.
Without effort and without even meaning to, I complete my assignment for Amélie, looking over the six designs she asked me for and marvelling in how resplendent it would be to walk through the real life versions of them. I then put my drawings into my bag to give Amélie in the morning, and have a piping hot shower, washing away the mental and emotional dirt of the day, before sliding into bed and snuggling under the soft covers.
Despite the early hour, I anticipate sleep to take me immediately given how exhausted I am, but it does not. I lay awake for a long while, with nothing in particular to blame for it. I have sudden bursts of activity, during which I triple check the alarm clock on my phone, or send Amber a message telling her not to worry if she happens to catch sight of the news, but nothing sends me off to sleep. Soon enough, I hear the familiar ping of the elevator as it delivers Logan back to the apartment.
Now I purposefully keep myself awake, gazing at the ceiling in the darkness, trying to decipher his movements through what I hear, though I struggle to hear a thing. Perhaps he’s settled behind his desk, intent of doing some work before coming to bed? Or maybe he’s jumped into the pool – his own version of stress relief.
My impatience gets the better of me quicker than I ought to allow it. I want to see him, I want to hold him and kiss him once more tonight, I want to fall asleep in his arms. I reach out to turn on the bedside lamp and then I whip the covers off of me, my bare skin instantly shivering in the cold air. I get up, take one step, and then jump in fright when I realise that Logan is sitting on the end of the bed, still fully clothed, staring at me in reverence.
“Jeez, Logan,” I exclaim, my heart rate abruptly spiking. “I was coming to find you,” I then tell him, taking a deep, calming breath before sinking back onto the mattress and crawling over to him.
He smiles at my words. “I was watching you sleep, baby,” he says quietly, and whether he means it to or not, the simple gesture of watching me speaks volumes. His words are telling of just how shook up the events of today have made him. He was scared, really scared, and it’s as though he’s now captivated by the simplest of things. Like watching me breathe.
I put a comforting hand over his and reach forward to lightly kiss his lips. With ardour, he takes his other hand and glides it over my cheek until his fingers are immersed in my hair, and then he holds me to him as he kisses me deeply and with an air of urgency. It’s yet another telling sign of how afraid the thought of losing me has made him. He’s back in that vulnerable, emotional state that I saw a few hours ago.
After several long, intoxicating moments, he breathes, “Are we still OK?”
“Yes,” I grin into his mouth.
“Good.”
His hand strokes my cheek once more, and in the corner of my eye I can see something written on the back of it. Taking his hand in my own, I stare at the number inked in permanent marker on Logan’s skin, recognising it at once. It’s my mobile number.
“I don’t know yours either,” Logan admits, “but I ought to. Today is proof that we can’t afford not to know each other’s numbers,” he says.
“Agreed,” I nod.
“We need to always be able to contact each other,” he adds.
“How do you feel about homing pigeons?” I ask lightly.
He cracks a smile. “I, uh, think I’ll stick with this,” he stares at my number. “It’s staying here until I’ve committed it to memory. I’d like you to do the same,” he then requests earnestly, “because I can’t ever have another day like today, Gemima. I honestly don’t think that I can take feeling that scared again,” he tells me candidly, confirming my thoughts. I move closer to him, letting him hold me, starving off his fears, and the cold that I feel. He whispers into my hair, “I’ve been to hell and back in my youth, but I know now that that wouldn’t come close to losing you.”
My heart aches uncomfortably hearing him talk like that; I don’t want his mind plagued with such thoughts, I don’t want him living in that space of fear, yet I don’t know what to say. My parents’ story sits at the forefront of my mind, until I suddenly realise that we are not them. Our future won’t repeat their history, and I have to let what happened to them go. It’s burdening my own thoughts, and dampening my usual optimistic, hopeful outlook on love. Yes, I think, letting it go is the right thing.
I look up at Logan. “You can talk about losing me in fifty years time,” I murmur against his lips, “but not before then. The meantime is our chance to live, to be happy, to enjoy every moment that we have together.”
His face lights up. “I like that plan,” he smiles, before his lips effortlessly part my own. He kisses me for a long moment, all of his fear and tension dissipating, leaving nothing but the passion and the eagerness that I’m used to from him. “You’re very wise for someone so young,” he teases me, grinning into my mouth.
I try to stop my eyes from rolling, but I cannot, they roll, making Logan chuckle.
“I love being in love with you, Gemima.”
I take his words in, letting them seep into every pore of my being. “Baby, I love being in love with you too,” I tell him, and it’s the most truthful thing that I’ve ever said.
“And you’re right, I should concentrate on the good, and let this day go,” Logan says, standing up and pulling me up too. He walks to his side of the bed and pulls back the duvet for me to crawl under once more.
A few minutes later, the entirety of his outfit on the floor, Logan joins me, lying half on me, half beside me under the covers. I relish the feeling of his silken skin on mine, I relish the sensation of one of his hands in my hair and one of them caressing my body as we kiss one another.
This is why I couldn’t get to sleep; I would’ve missed out on feeling him kiss me so deeply, a kiss so full of relief, and celebration, and honour, that I lose myself in it entirely.
If this is living, if this is happy, if this is enjoying a moment together, then Logan’s right too – I must be wise, because I’m certain that life doesn’t get any sweeter than this.
13. Everything Has Changed
On Tuesday morning, I wake up in Logan’s warm embrace, one arm lying under my neck, one tight around my stomach. His torso is flush against my back, his face buried into my mass of long hair. His mere presence means that today has already gotten off to a better start than yesterday. The feelings of happiness and security within me are enough to cause a goofy, sleepy smile to spread across my face. What a difference a day makes, I think, stretching leisurely. My instincts and insights are a world away from what they were yesterday, no unnerving thoughts plague my mind, only peace and gratitude.
Disrupting Logan as little as possible, I reach for my phone on the bedside table and spend the fifteen minutes that I’ve got before my alarm is set to go off, staring at Logan’s mobile phone number, memorising it as best as I can. When Logan’s alarm rings loudly at the same time as mine, he wakes with a start, and as he rolls away from me to hit the snooze button, I turn over, so that by the time he rolls back, we’re face to face.
“Bonjour, mon amour,” I whisper against his lips. Good morning, my love. I then immediately recite his number to him, only having to peek at my screen once for help.
“Très bien,” he smiles at my progress and I nod back, pleased with myself. Very good.
“Sommes-nous toujours ok?” I then tease with a giggle. Are we still OK?
“Mieux que jamais,” he chuckles. Better than ever. “Oh, today is going to be so much better than yesterday,” he says knowledgeably, stretching his beautiful body.
Nodding once more, I rest my hand on the side of his torso and run it all the way down his body, gliding over his smooth skin until I come to a stop on his thigh. “I loved last night, Logan,” I tell him honestly, reveling in the memory of how our kissing evolved into something more amorous. “The way you moved in me.”
He smiles again. “I loved it too, baby. You put my mind at ease like nothing and no one else can,” he says.
“Good,” I breathe, his words a perfect validation. “I’d gladly put your mind at ease a little more right now,” I grin mischievously, “but, alas, work beckons…” I sigh. Then I decide spontaneously, “I think I’m going to wear one of your shirts today.” I mentally scan his wardrobe, trying to think of an outfit for my day. “And you can wear one of mine,” I add, laughing at the thought as I give his lips a quick kiss and get out of bed, stretching entirely nude in front of him.
“Who needs coffee as a pick-me-up when I get to look at that,” he says, his eyes scanning my body appreciatively.
I give him a wink and then beckon him to follow me, desiring a little company in my morning shower.
* * *
Rather than wearing one of his shirts, I select a plain white teeshirt of Logan’s instead. With two strategic pleats folded into the back of it, it actually looks pretty good tucked into my pair of grey work pants. I’m able to hide the overly large arm holes under my favourite work jacket, which results in an outfit that no one would guess wasn’t entirely my own.
My car at my house, I take the metro to work, and as I walk from my exit stop to Pierson House, the lingering smell of Logan around me is invigorating. I’m going to kick ass today, I decide, intent on making up for my lack of productivity yesterday, and I’m going to do it whilst breathing in the scent of my delicious fiancé.
Getting ever closer to my work, I pull out my phone (which I’ve actually remembered today) and message Logan:
*This teeshirt thing was a great idea. I feel like you’re all over me ;)*
His responding text arrives as I walk into Pierson House, making me smile:
*All over you is my favourite place to be.*
He sends another text a few seconds later, which makes me laugh out loud:
*I wish I could say that wearing your g-string was also a good idea…*
He’s joking, I know he is, and yet his words inspire a very pleasing image in my mind. An image of the best backside that I have ever laid eyes on. I stared at it for five solid minutes this morning when he lingered in the shower after I was finished. He had to stay under the torrent of water a little longer in order to wash off the suds. Totally my fault. In our joint shower I suggested using Logan’s bottle of body wash as lubrication for the hand job that I was eager to give him, and though at first it was a perfectly practical choice, soon the lathering action kicked in, and an enormous amount of foam was produced, much to our amusement.
I type back:
*It probably smells like potpourri down there now!*
Then I stand stock-still in front of the double doors that lead through to my desk, quickly looking behind me to make sure that nobody is snooping over my shoulder; those last messages read out of context could be disastrous. I notice that for the second morning in a row, Layla isn’t at her desk and I’m about to find out why.
Much like yesterday, today my colleagues have gathered just beyond the doors and this time when they shout, “Congratulations,” I don’t fall to the ground, nor do I burst into tears. Instead I beam at them all, and very consciously exit my messages application and drop my phone into the depths of my bag.
I spend the next fifteen minutes talking with them in pairs or small groups, which not only enables me to thank them, but also saves me a time consuming trip around the entire office regaining favour after yesterday’s embarrassing display. Everyone I speak to, familiar faces and not so familiar, is extremely nice and mercifully no one accuses me of muffin thievery. Layla is very lively and chatty, and I’m almost certain that I hear her tell a few women that she and I migrate in the same social circle. I don’t have the heart to set her straight.
Amélie is quick to excuse herself from the short gathering, requesting that I stop by her office before the end of the morning. Once the chatting and mini-celebrations have died down, before I settle at my desk, I retrieve the drawings that I finished last night, as well as several notebooks full of garden sketches and designs, which I keep tucked away in my desk drawer, and I set off for her office. The extra elements that I’m handing over to her are all in keeping with my new Tuesday morning mindset. Whilst sitting on the metro earlier, I made the decision that I would communicate more openly here at work. No more tiptoeing around Amélie, pretending not to know things that I do know. I’m going to be open with her, and I’m sure that if she doesn’t like it, she’ll let me know in no uncertain terms.
I knock on her office door.
“Entrez,” her stern voice calls. Come in.
I immediately scan the room, looking for Rosita. Good, she’s not here, I think, however someone else is – André Pierson is visiting once more. Ah, what now, Gem? We stare at each other for a long moment. What would Logan do in this awkward moment, I ask myself. An answer coming to me immediately, I stride towards my boss’s boss, my hand outstretched.
“Mr. Pierson, we weren’t properly introduced the last time I saw you. I’m Gemima Samuels,” I say formally and courteously. Soon to be Gemima Leary.
“Oui, bonjour, Gemima,” he smiles and nods a little, and shakes my waiting hand.
“What is all that?” Amélie asks me, eyeing the amount of notebooks and papers that I’ve brought with me.
“Oh…” I look from Amélie to Mr. Pierson and back again. Do I continue with my new mindset? Yes, I think, confidence filling me as I lay everything down on Amélie’s desk. “Mrs. Clémence, these are the drawings that you asked me to do,” I begin. “I’ve completed the six that you requested, as well as other sketches that I thought you might be interested in seeing. These notebooks are full of ideas. Ideas largely inspired by the work of Madeleine Lily,” I say pointedly.
She looks at me in that way she does, as if able to read my thoughts.
Throwing another quick look at Mr. Pierson, I then tell Amélie, “I know about the possibility of her coming to work here and I’m guessing you’re thinking about having me work with her in some capacity. I don’t know where in the process you are with everything, and I know that it’s none of my business, but I just wanted you to know that I’m in,” I say surely. “I enjoy the job I do now, don’t get me wrong,” I add hastily, “but this,” I tap the notebooks, “this is what I’m really good at, Amélie. And given what you said to me the last time the three of us were in here together, I assume you think I’m good at it too.”
Her expression is hard to read. I can’t tell if she appreciates my forthcomingness or if she’s pissed off, thinking it brazen of me, especially in front of her boss. Shit, Gem! Have I been too open?
“I, um, just wanted to be honest,” I explain myself, my confidence wavering.
“Son audace me rappelle la vôtre, il y a vingt ans,” Mr. Pierson says, looking at Amélie with an amused look. Her audacity reminds me of you, twenty years ago.
Uh…is that a good thing?
“Elle parle français, André,” Amélie tells him. She speaks French.
“Uh, oui, je le parle,” I say to him as well. Yes, I do. I look back at Amélie who appears undecided in her response to me. “I’ll leave these with you,” I indicate my work.
“Merci,” she nods.
“I’m sorry, you were probably in the middle of something—” I’m about to excuse myself, but she cuts me off.
“We’re just discussing how much we should offer to pay you to be Madeleine’s apprentice…”
I can’t contain my squeak of excitement. Oh my god! “So you really are launching the new sector of the company?” I blurt out.
“It’s a very real possibility,” she reveals.
I hold my second squeak in, though I’m overly aware that due to containing my excitement I probably look like I’m constipated. Deep breaths, Gem!
Amélie sighs, telling me, “Seeing as you already know about this potential, we might as well inform you of the condition that would be in place on you. You would have to retrain part-time for several months, at least. I won’t have people pay to hire you if you don’t have the correct qualifications.”
Back to school, I think. Sure, for my dream job, why not?
“All expenses will be covered, naturally,” Amélie adds.
“Absolutely,” I stutter, feeling amazed by the prospect. “No problem at all.”
“It won’t be happening until autumn at the earliest. And no one is to know about it until then. No one,” she impresses.
I nod my understanding. According to Rosita, Amélie’s entire reason for wanting to branch out into a new design field was to stay ahead of the competition, and it seems that she wants the element of surprise on her side when she does.
“Les salaires sont la prochaine chose à discuter,” Mr. Pierson says. Salaries are the next thing to be discussed.
“Quelque chose de généreux,” I suggest for mine. Something generous.
André laughs at my words and Amélie Clémence actually cracks a smile. A world first?
“There are several things still to be discussed,” she then tells me. “Your enthusiasm is evident, Miss. Samuels, and therefore I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Nothing is set in stone.”
“I understand,” I say.
“However, it is encouraging to know that you would be willing to take up a new position within the company,” she continues.
“More than willing,” I press, unable to keep the smile off of my face. We then stare at each other for a moment. It starts to get awkward. “OK, I’ll, uh, wait to hear more,” I say, getting to my feet.
“I will look through your drawings with interest, Miss. Samuels,” she says as I walk towards the door. “Before you go…” she calls me back, and I turn on the spot. “How did you find out about Madeleine and these new prospects?”
Fuck!
Cue Marvin Gaye to start playing in my mind. “I heard it…through the grapevine,” I nod sheepishly.
“Qui ça?” Mr. Pierson asks Amélie. The what?
“Broutement américain,” she says to him. American chatter. “Elle parle comme cela parfois,” she then explains on my behalf. She speaks like that sometimes. “I don’t believe you,” she tells me, “but as I doubt you’ll give me another answer, you might as well get to work.”
“Absolument. Au revoir, M. Pierson,” I say, and then I leave, practically skipping back to my desk.
I have an amazingly productive morning, somehow spurred on by the thought of there being a limited number of days left that I’ll be doing this job. Sure, Amélie said that I shouldn’t get my hopes up about a new position, but it’s way too late for that! I’m giddy as I phone clients, make orders, and finalise sketches for my existing jobs. I’m on such a roll that come lunchtime I consider just staying here to continue working, but as I move my chair from one end of my large desk to the other, I roll over something on the floor which inspires quite different plans. It’s the project file for Leary Constructions that I threw over my shoulder in frustration yesterday; it’s been waiting for me to pick it up ever since.
An abrupt new plan in mind for my lunch hour, I grab my handbag and head for the door. Hurrying out of Pierson House, I look up Logan’s office as I walk, already knowing the vague direction of it, but needing to confirm its exact location. I should message him to see if he’s even there, I tell myself. It’s highly probable that he’s out at one of the many sites that he’s running, but I ignore my own advice, and march to Leary Constructions’ main office in Place de Papier quickly, looking forward to surprising him. After the horror of yesterday, something sweet and spontaneous feels just right.
His company has four offices scattered around Paris, but the one in Place de Papier is the largest and where Logan spends most of his time. The eye-catching, geometrically-shaped building is situated in a square that looks similar to the one where cafe Genévrier is. However this square is surrounded by offices, rather than eateries, and is more placid and infinitely quieter. Throughout the large open space several prominent trees have been planted, whose buds are only now starting to reappear as Paris moves into springtime. Underneath each of the trees are wooden benches, most likely intended for lunchers.
