Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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4. Empire

My afternoon is slower than my morning. A fault in the IT department means that the internet is down, making the online research that I wanted to do for my new projects impossible. I delight in hearing my phone ring an hour before the end of the working day. Please be someone that’ll talk my ear off for the next hour, I beg, as I answer in my usual receptionist-style.

My wish is granted: it’s Logan.

“Look up,” his voice purrs.

I do, expectantly, and I’m not left disappointed. He’s standing in the doorway between reception and the large room in which my cubicle sits. He is simply perfection. Automatically, I stand as he walks over to my desk.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pleased by the surprise.

He bows his head to brush his soft lips against mine. “We’ve got a meeting,” he smiles at me.

“No, we don’t,” I stammer. Do we?

“Yes,” Logan insists, “look, it’s right here…” He retrieves a pen from my desk and proceeds to write in my work diary under Monday, March 3rd:

Meeting with Logan Leary at 4.30PM ♡

“You are good at drawing love hearts,” I tease him.

Laughing, he says, “There’s not much to it, baby.” Then he takes my hand and (no doubt having been in one before during previous business meetings with Amélie) he leads the way to one of the meeting rooms, aptly choosing the one room whose blinds are down. Butterflies fill my tummy as he pulls me inside and changes the sign on the door from Vacant to Meeting in Progress: Do Not Disturb. He shuts the door and turns to look at me, his eyes filled with longing.

I try to ignore the feelings that have abruptly risen in me; such amorous emotions are not welcome at my place of work. I try to be cool and casual as I say, “So, this meeting…what did you want to discuss?”

“Your many curvatures,” he says.

My eyes widen, and I can’t keep the smile from my face. “Oh? Those?”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about them all day,” he tells me.

“What about them in particular were you pondering?” I ask, twirling around and showing off my curvatures.

“Well…” he smiles.

I hold up a hand to stop him. “Damn, I’ve forgotten my pen, I can’t take any notes,” I sigh. I walk over to him, a smile playing on my lips, and slip my hand into the hidden breast pocket of his jacket where I know he keeps his phone. I pull it out, and ask, “You don’t mind if I take notes on here, do you?”

“I could have just handed it to you,” he points out, grinning.

“I prefer getting it myself,” I say honestly. I call up Siri and command her to start taking notes. “Now, Mr. Leary, my many curvatures…what about them?” I ask, the phone held high in my hand, taking note of our conversation.

“Well,” he begins again, “since you are so good at your job I’m sure you’re familiar with the concept of less is more. I really do believe that in the case of your curvatures, the less fabric there is covering them, the better.”

“I see,” I nod. Don’t swoon, Gemima, not yet. “Uh, just so I can fully grasp your meaning perhaps you could give me,” I pluck a number from thin air, “three examples?”

Logan smiles at me, enjoying our play with words. But before he feels able to touch me here at my place of work, his eyes dart to the four corners of the room and he asks me cautiously, “Are there security cameras in here?” His words hold so much hidden promise.

“I don’t know,” I say, my mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t think so, but if there are, you can bet Amélie will be knocking on the door momentarily.”

We wait a few seconds; there’s no knock.

Logan’s smile returns. “Three examples?” he checks, and I nod again. “Alright, let’s begin here…” His hand rests on my left hip and runs south over my thigh. “And here…” He does the same thing on my right side. “And here…” He takes a step towards me so that we’re flush against each other, and then runs both hands from the small of my back down, over my backside. His hands glide smoothly over the fabric of my skirt, his touch turning me on. As he speaks and strokes me, our eyes pour into one another’s, our lips only inches apart.

We wait another few seconds; still no one interrupts us.

“That’s three,” I say breathlessly.

“No, no,” he chuckles. “They count as one.”

Oh? I grin at him and raise an eyebrow. “Two more then,” I permit.

“Very good, Samuels,” he says. ”These count as one as well,” he tells me, his hands skimming over my breasts. “And these…” His hands trail along my collar bone, over my shoulders and down my upper arms. “And then there’s here…” This time he uses his lips to kiss the curve of my neck.

“That’s already uncovered,” I point out. Uh, shut up, Gem!

“So it is,” Logan murmurs, kissing my neck again, more fervidly. “And this curve…” He kisses my cheek. “And this one…” My nose. “And here…” My eyelid.

All uncovered also, I don’t say.

“And, of course,” he smiles against my lips, “these curves…”

He kisses my lips, and I’m undone. I throw my arms around his neck and cradle his head, kissing him with gusto. Mmm, he tastes so delicious, his passion and fervour for me evident in the way that he holds and kisses me. A moan escapes me as our tongues crash forcefully against one another. He’s come here, to my work, and seduced me entirely. This definitely beats actually working.

“Before you distract me completely,” Logan breathes, sounding as flustered as I suddenly feel, “I feel I should add that there is one more curvature that I happened to know, from previous experience, that I cannot access when this sexy skirt of yours is on.”

“Curvatures uncovered. I understand,” I tell him. “You’ve made your point. You’ve made it very well, Mr. Leary.” I look down at Logan’s phone and tell it to stop taking notes: it’s heard quite enough.

“What would you like me to do with the notes?” his phone asks me.

My eyes grow wide. Technology talking back to me is still so weird!

“Send them to my mother,” Logan jokes.

“Sending to your mother,” the phone says in a monotonous tone.

I blanch. Fuck! I stab the cancel button and, mercifully, the action is cancelled in time.

“Oh my god! Can you imagine if that had actually been sent?” I exclaim, flooded with relief.

Logan laughs at my reaction, but when he kisses me again my panic disappears, and I’m back in our hot and sensual bubble.

“At least I didn’t pocket-dial her this morning,” he whispers mischievously.

“Ah, this morning,” I reminisce about our encounter in the elevator.

“I’ve been thinking about that all day, too,” he tells me.

“As I’ve heard it, your day has been spent putting out fires of a different kind…”

“Oh, yes,” he sighs, “some nosey people had some nosey questions,” he admits. Then he shrugs, “Most of the guys at work thought it was pretty funny.”

“Why is it even being talked about?” I just don’t get it. “You’re not going to get into any trouble, are you?”

“I believe I’m under strict orders to only get my trouble from you,” he grins. But seeing that I’m concerned, he adds, “It’s all gossip, without any real consequences this time. I am lucky in that, I know I am, and it won’t happen again,” he says. “Unless Jerry calls you a whore again, in which case—”

“You’ll have to get in line behind me to punch him.”

“Yes,” Logan nods. “But I don’t think he’ll be calling you anything anymore…” Something about his words makes me feel like there’s more to them than he’s letting on. Proving me right, he slowly adds, “I called him to set things straight.” He sighs again. “I thought it was for the best to make things settle down quickly.”

“Oh, wow,” I breathe. Then I blurt out, “That must’ve sucked!”

Logan bursts into laughter. “Oh, I love you so much,” he laughs. “You have the greatest reactions to things.”

I grin back at him. “So, what did you say?” I want to know.

Still smiling, Logan reveals, “I said that I was sorry for punching him, that it was beneath me, which it was, and that’s all.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked a bunch of questions about you…about how I’m treating you…about whether or not you’re happy. Then he said that he was sorry for calling you everything that he did, and for starting the fight. And he, uh, told me to tell you goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yes,” Logan says tentatively, “it seems that his mother is very sick, and so he’s flying back to Florida soon.”

I’m instantly torn: gratified to know that Jerry is leaving Paris, but certainly not gratified to know his reason why. I look at Logan impassively, and from his expression, I suddenly realise, “You don’t believe him, though, do you?”

“No,” he confesses slowly, “I don’t believe him.”

Maybe my glee at a Jerry-free Paris was premature, I wonder. Moving along, I ask, “What did you tell him about me?”

“I told him that you are the best thing in my life, and that I will look after you, to the best of my ability, until the day I die.” He smiles a little as I gaze up at him besottedly. “That shut him up,” he adds

“Finally,” I giggle. “And now you’re here to look after me?” I grin.

“I’m here to take you home and uncover those curvatures we’ve been talking about. Then I have to go to a late meeting with Buddy,” he tells me. “You know that job he won last Friday?” he asks and I nod. “Well, he is bringing me on as a subcontractor and he wants to meet ASAP.”

“How late?”

“Nine PM.”

I whistle. “He’s busy until then?” Hmm, maybe he found a woman on that Tinder-thing to occupy his evening? “I spoke to him earlier,” I say.

“Yes, he reluctantly passed your message along,” Logan tells me, looking amused.

“Good,” I giggle again. “Did he, uh, tell you about my whoopsie?”

“No, what whoopsie?”

“Uh, well, in the space of this morning both he and Amélie found out that I know about them,” I confess sheepishly.

“Oh… How did they react?” he asks.

“Buddy laughed,” I tell him quickly. “Amélie was a little more terse, but honestly, she didn’t seem that surprised, embarrassed, or perturbed by it,” I recall. I wrap my arms around his waist, adding, “I am sorry, though. I don’t want to get you into anymore trouble,” I tease.

Logan grins at me. “It’s OK,” he lets me off of the hook.

The simmering desire between us climbs rapidly as we stand and gaze at each other in silence for a few moments. Oh, how I’d love to jump his bones right here and now, if only we were somewhere a little more private. But the door can be locked, I tell myself, so…

Get a grip, Gem! The meeting room table was not designed to accommodate me flat on my back, with the weight of my adorable, gorgeous, sexy boyfriend on top of me, his hips thrusting against mine as I cry out in ecstasy that the whole building can hear, climbing higher and higher as he takes me faster and faster, until…

Logan smiles at me. I pounce, gripping the front of his jacket and pulling him towards me as I kiss him greedily. His hands take a tight hold of my hips, before swiftly cupping my backside and forcing my crotch against his. I can feel him getting harder; he’s ready, and I know I am too. We can get away with this, I know we can.

“You’ll never guess the images that just went through my mind,” Logan smiles, walking us over to the edge of the large and I hope sturdy table.

I grin into his mouth. “Oh, I think I can!”

A second later I’m sitting on the edge of the table, Logan looming erotically over me. Ah, I want him so badly.

“Lock the door,” I beg him.

He does so, and is back with me in a quick moment. He stares down at my skirt, “What are we going to do about this interfering piece of fabric?”

I stand up before him. “I believe you know where the zip is,” I say, eagerly.

Logan’s arms wrap around me and meet at the zip at the back of my skirt. My breath hitches, my mind reels. Are we really going to do this? He has the zip halfway down when his phone starts rings loudly, interrupting our amorous moment, and making us both jump in surprise. We stare at one another. To answer or not to answer, I think for the second time today.

Logan groans, and I sigh in defeat.

“Answer it,” I tell him petulantly. While he’s on the phone, I’ll gather my things together, we’ll go back to mine, and continue our sexploits there, in private and uninterrupted.

Similar thoughts are running through Logan’s head. “The very second we get to yours,” he says, giving me one final kiss before pulling out his phone once more. He looks quizzical. “It’s my dad.” He hits Answer Call and taps the Speaker button. “Hi, dad.”

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Logan’s father yells down the line at him.

My eyes widen in horror – that text message, it must’ve sent to his mom! How am I ever going to face his parents now?

Logan’s brow furrows. “Dad, I—” Logan begins, but his father is in a tirade.

“If this dickweed presses charges, you’re going to be in serious trouble, son,” he shouts.

Oh! He’s talking about Jerry, not the message. Logan’s troubled past comes to the forefront of my mind, and that he was warned if he had one more arrest he’d be put in jail. But that was sixteen years ago, at least! Surely his father isn’t still monitoring Logan’s behaviour? He’s been impeccably behaved until last Thursday when he encountered my ex and got into a scrap because of me. Dammit!

“He’s not going to press charges,” Logan reassures his father quickly. “I’ve already spoken to him. In fact, he was apologising to me. He was in the wrong, dad, but it’s all fine,” he says calmly.

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely fucking sure? For shit’s sake, Logan, what could he have possibly done to provoke you to hit him?”

Logan is silent, deciding what to say, though I doubt any excuse will be good enough for his furious father. “He’s Gemima’s ex-boyfriend, he was incredibly rude to her. His behaviour was unacceptable.”

Mr. George lets out an angry hiss. “You are a juvenile!”

Logan’s eyes grow dark. I can see that his father’s words are taking him back in time to a period in his life that he’d rather not revisit. “Stop talking,” he snaps at his father. He looks at me apologetically and requests, “Could you give us a minute?” Not only does he seem pissed off at his father, but regretful to have hit the Speaker button and to have allowed me to hear everything.

“Of course,” I say. I give his arm a squeeze and head for the door, my erotic feelings all but gone, and my mind now full of worry, not only about Logan getting into trouble, but (selfishly, I scold) about his parents blaming me for being the impetus of Logan’s outburst. I so wanted to make a good first impression. Shit, shit, shit! I unlock the door, open it, and lean against the frame waiting for Logan to finish his conversation.

Margaret, my cubicle neighbour, walks past. “Did I hear the door unlock?” She stops in front of me, smiles knowingly, a little too knowingly, and peers into the room behind me. “Ah, so that’s Logan Leary.”

“You haven’t seen him in person before?” I ask.

“Nope, I’ve only seen him on your computer screen, when I caught you doing research,” she laughs. Oh, yeah, she totally busted me! She gives my boyfriend a cheeky once-over.

“I charge for ogling,” I tell her, and we both laugh, though my mind thinks: that would be a nice little earner. My worry feels a little lighter.

Margaret agrees, “You’d make a fortune.” Then she continues on her way, “See you tomorrow, Gemima.”

“Bye,” I say, as behind me I can hear Logan heatedly yelling at his father, “Because I love her!” and my worry feels lighter still. He’s not going to get into trouble, I decide, not for one punch, sixteen years after his last indiscretion. It’s not like he’s spent the in between years in prison; he’s been building one of the most successful companies in Paris. No, he’s not going to get into trouble. Logan today is miles apart from his former-self.

Suddenly I realise that Rupert’s old emotions and fears about his beloved son have come flooding back and have overwhelmed him. Yes, that’ll be it, I decide; that’d be the best outcome of this situation.

His next words seem, in my mind, to support my theory, as he refers back in time. “You need to remember how much fucking trouble you’re in, Logan, you can’t forget it!”

“Of course I can’t forget it, I have you reminding me all the fucking time,” Logan seethes.

“Don’t be a little shit,” his father snaps, and for some reason I can’t help but grin. Hearing Logan being called a little shit is so bizarre that it’s humorous. His father continues, “Everything I do, everything I’ve done, is because I love you. You need to fix this, Logan. Fucking fix it!”

Logan’s voice is softer when he says, “I have, dad. I promise you. It’s not a big deal, I had a long chat with the guy earlier today. Would I have done that if I’m still a juvenile?”

Rupert huffs, conceding, “No, I suppose not. Well, that’s good,” he says sternly. “Well done,” he adds, changing his tune.

There’s a long, tense silence.

“You’re very sweary today,” Logan tells his father.

It’s with a hint of amusement that Rupert says, “That’s not a word, son.”

Logan looks up and sees me watching him. Busted again. I quickly avert my eyes.

A second later, I hear him saying, “I’ve got to go. I was in the middle of something when you called.”

My heart skips a beat and my head darts up to look at him again; he’s smiling at me, eager to get me home. I grin back at him, and nod vehemently.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Logan says.

“Alright. Bye, Logan,” his father says heavily.

“Bye,” Logan replies curtly, swiftly hitting the End Call button and then striding across the room to join me. He stares down at his phone as he walks, and I can hear him growling in frustration.

I say nothing, remaining impassive, letting him speak first.

“That was fucking ridiculous,” he sighs.

“Yes,” I agree. Then, in an attempt to lighten his mood, I say, “Sweary is totally a word.” My job done, he smiles at me, and I hasten to add, “Baby, he’s probably just worried about you.”

“I know he is, but he doesn’t have to be. It’s so stupid, and it’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to hear me being spoken to like I’m an eighteen-year-old delinquent. I want you to think I’m cool,” he tells me, with a huff that’s comically similar to his father’s.

I grin at him again. “I think you’re so cool,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and rising up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips.

He responds by taking my face in his hands and kissing me with ardour. I am momentarily lost in our kiss, forgetting completely that I’m at work.

“Eh, pardon?” a shrill French voice interrupts us.

Logan and I break apart to find a surprised-looking Amélie Clémence observing us. I feel my face flush crimson. As if her overhearing me talk about Logan this afternoon wasn’t bad enough, now she’s caught us completely entwined in the middle of the walkway.

However, to my great astonishment, Amélie is in a rather playful mood, quipping to Logan, “I knew a day would come when you and I would be even.”

I can’t believe it – she’s openly talking about the awkward moment that Logan walked in on her and Buddy having sex; she’s talking about it in front of me, as though it’s a common and casual topic of conversation, when she just told me never to talk about it again! It’s Logan, I know it is, he brings out her fun side.

“We are not even, Amélie,” Logan laughs.

Oh, there are so many things that I’d love to say, but I (unlike my boyfriend) feel wholly intimidated and uncomfortable making jokes about my boss’s sex life.

“Mr. Leary, do you ever actually go to work?” Amélie asks him.

“We had a meeting about the project you assigned me,” I pipe up. “It’s in my diary and everything,” I add.

She looks at me like I’m a little peculiar, and Logan stifles his adorable smile.

“It was just a preliminary meeting,” he tells her, “in preparation for our on-site meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

Uh… Our what? Just smile and nod, Gem. “Yes,” I agree, having that awful feeling that Amélie manages to evoke in me of being totally see-through; she so knows something else is at play here, I just wish I knew what it was.

“I see,” she says, forcing her best smile on for one of her best clients. This account from Logan’s company is huge, she’s not going to jeopardise it by asking too many personal questions.

“Four-thirty tomorrow, right, baby?” Logan asks me.

“Yes,” I smile. “It’s…in my diary,” I bluff.

“Very well. So what I saw just now, what was that?” she refers to seeing us making out.

“That was an exchanging of ideas,” I say, trying to keep a straight face, while Logan nods next to me.

“I see,” she says again. “And do you converse with all of my clients in such a way?” she asks me.

“Absolutely not,” Logan cuts in. “You know I’m a special client, Amélie,” he teases her right back. Jeez, he’s so much braver with her than I am.

“Of course, Logan. I understand your birthday is fast approaching. Your fortieth, is it?”

What? “No!” I shriek, appalled that she could think my gorgeous, fit boyfriend is a day older than he is.

Amélie looks at me in surprise. Again. “Is there something wrong with being forty, Gemima?”

The words digging and hole come to mind. “No,” I cry again. “It’s just…he’s not that old,” I say, my voice getting quieter with every word I utter. Kill me, kill me now, I think dramatically.

Logan is silently laughing. I give him a help me look, and he does.

“I’ll be thirty-five on Thursday. My family is flying in from the States,” he tells her.

“Your parents are coming?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” he nods.

“You’re meeting his parents?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I say.

Humour becomes her. She breaks into laughter at the thought of me, a sufferer of chronic verbal diarrhoea, meeting my boyfriend’s parents. “Oh, I’d pay to see that,” she laughs.

I roll my eyes. I’m not going to be that bad. I hope.

Logan has every confidence in me, saying, “Gemima is brilliant at expressing herself openly and articulately.” He adds, “As for her proclivity to speak her mind prior to considering the consequences—” That’s a nicer way of saying verbal diarrhoea, if ever I heard one.

“Yes,” Amélie interjects, “that is what I am so gleeful about!”

Logan takes my hand and kisses the back of it. I feel my face blush again.

“It’s all part of her natural appeal,” he smiles at me.

I grin back at him and when I turn to face Amélie once more I feel very smug indeed. Did you hear that, Amélie? Natural appeal.

“I cannot deny that there is something…unique…about your presentation,” Amélie sort-of compliments me. “Our clients certainly seem to find you charming.”

Ah-ha! Any niggling insecurities abate completely, and my surety comes back in droves. I am so going to win over Logan’s family. Oh, unless they blame me for the punch-up last week. I shake my head at the horrible thought. Stay positive, Gem.

To Amélie I say, “Maybe being French isn’t as much of an asset as you previously thought?”

“Don’t be absurd, Miss. Samuels,” she snaps, and I grin again. “There is nothing better in the world than being French.”

“You obviously fell under the American charm at one point,” I say. Oh. My. God… Did I really just say that out loud?

Logan chuckles at my unintentional audacity.

“A mistake I’ll not repeat,” Amélie assures us. “Perhaps you’re aware that it’s been brought to my attention that you went back on your word to never divulge the dealings between myself and Mr. Jackson,” she rounds on Logan.

“I’m sorry, Amélie,” he says, not making any excuses for himself.

“One person in eight years is pretty good going,” I come to his defence.

“Hmm,” she’s obviously unconvinced. “Lovely as it’s been talking with you both,” she says with an air of sarcasm in her voice, “I must get going, though I do have something for you, Logan.” She reaches into the pocket of her perfectly tailored linen pants and when she brings her hand back out, her middle finger is raised and she holds the symbol up in front of Logan as retaliation for him telling her secret.

Logan bursts into laughter, my mouth hits the floor. Amélie Clémence, usually one of such composure, is flipping the bird at my boyfriend!

“Good day to you both,” she smirks, as she walks away.

I stare at Logan in disbelief and he gives me a fair enough kind of look. Still in shock, I return to my desk and hurriedly pack away my things, including the photograph of me contained in a cardboard tube and the padlock that I bought last week, both presents for Logan’s upcoming birthday, and which I therefore hide from him as best I can. I’m saved his attention when his phone rings again. He looks at the Caller ID and growls.

Hitting the Answer Call button, he says in a less than enthusiastic voice, “Hi, mom…” He listens for a few moments, before exclaiming, “A bit of a mood? He was fucking fuming!” He listens again, and when he deems it safe, he hits the Speaker button. “Can you say that again?”

“I’m just calling to check on that hair appointment,” I hear Mary-Gene say.

“Desperation is not a good look,” Logan tells her, moodily.

“Oh, just ask her, would you?” she snaps at her son.

Logan rolls his eyes. Clearly there’s an air of tension in the George household today.

“It’s all sorted, Mary-Gene,” I tell her quickly. “This Friday evening.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” she says, her voice abruptly softer. She doesn’t sound like she thinks this is all my fault, I tell myself.

Evidently not in the mood to speak to either of his parents, Logan winds up the call quickly, while I flit around my desk, trying to find the little green house key that I had made for him. It somehow managed to lodge itself down the side of my desk. What else, I then think. Oh, yes, our meeting tomorrow, I remember, making a note of it in my diary.

Straightening up, I turn around with the key in my palm. “Logan Leary…will you accept the key to my house?” I say, theatrically.

He beams at me, unable to hide his enthusiasm, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Our meeting tomorrow, is it real?” I then ask him, as we make our way out of Pierson House, hand in hand.

“Of course not,” he chuckles alluringly, sparking my curiosity.

“Bye, Layla,” I say automatically, as we walk past reception.

“Bonsoir,” she says, doing a double take when she realises that Logan is here.

I grin a little smugly. Silly, Gemima!

“I do want to meet on-site, though,” Logan says about tomorrow. “There’s something I want to show you, and it has to be before sunset.”

“Intriguing, Logan.”

He smiles to himself, his dimples becoming pronounced. Desire shoots through my body and I commit to myself to drive home as fast as I possibly can.

“We can discuss work if you want to…but there are other options, too,” he leaves me guessing. Seeing as we’ll be on a building site I’m convinced that he can’t be referring to anything amorous, but then, what does he mean?

“Very intriguing,” I say again.

He then promises me, “I’ll leave my phone in the car tomorrow. I don’t want anymore untimely, unwelcome interruptions when I’m with you.”

My desire spirals higher. I check the time on my phone, and inform Logan, “We’ll have about three uninterrupted hours before you have to leave to meet Buddy.” I reach up to kiss him goodbye. “Drive fast,” I tell him as I begin walking to my car. “But safely,” I shout behind me.

He smiles and nods, watching me leave.

* * *

We lie sprawled across my bed, staring at each other in the mirrors on the ceiling. We bask in the afterglow of our love making for a long, gratifying time, before eventually migrating to the kitchen. As I haven’t been home since last Wednesday, any food in the fridge is questionable, and so our dinner tonight is comprised of three readymade meals, one for me, two for Logan.

We sit and eat at the dining table, for only the second time since I bought it, which reminds me giddily of the first time, with Seamus and Amber ten days ago.

“Amber’s pregnant,” I tell Logan excitedly, before stuffing a huge fork-full of food into my mouth. Unfortunately the flavour leaves a lot to be desired.

Logan grins, and confesses, “Yes, I, uh, I already know that.”

I swallow hard. “What?” I exclaim. “How?”

“She called me this morning,” he says, before amending, “Well, she called Leary Constructions and got forwarded to at least five different people, who tried to decipher what she wanted, before the call finally came through to me,” he laughs. “She said that she was going to ambush you for lunch and wanted to know if you and I already had plans. I figured she was up to something,” he says, and I like that he has already gotten to know her character so well, “so I asked a few questions. Eventually she spilled the beans,” he smiles. “And then she threatened lots of pain if I told you before she did.”

I laugh out loud. That sounds exactly like something Amber would do.

“I wanted to ask you about your lunch date earlier at your office, but you dragged me into that meeting room, and my mind went blank,” he teases me.

Grinning, I say, “Your memory is faulty, Mr. Leary.” We eat in silence for a few moments, before I ask, “Did she, uh, say anything else?” I suddenly wonder if she questioned him about children the way she questioned me.

“Only that I should remove your pill from your bedside table and destroy it at my earliest convenience,” he says casually, before laughing at the shocked look on my face.

“I…I’m sorry about her,” I say hastily. “She’s very pushy when she wants something.”

“It’s fine, baby,” he grins. “I’m thirty-four years old—”

“Thirty-five,” I interrupt with a cheeky smirk.

He rolls his eyes and I giggle. “My point is, that’s not the first time that I’ve been questioned by a woman about having a baby,” he tells me.

I drop my fork. “Who’s questioned you about babies?” I ask loudly. I want to know her name, I think immediately.

Logan smiles at my dramatics. “My mother, my sister-in-law,” he says cooly, “and Grace, the main project manager at Leary Constructions. You might meet her tomorrow at the site,” he adds as an afterthought.

Good, I think. The mother and sister-in-law, I can understand, but… “Why is Grace asking you about babies?”

Logan grins at me, and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “I suspect because she enjoys having them so much,” he says. “She and her husband – did you hear that? – her husband,” he reiterates with a laugh, poking fun at me, “have three of them, with another on the way.”

Oh… Way to overreact, Gem! “That’s wonderful news, I’m thrilled for them,” I say, picking up my fork once more and trying not to smile.