6. Logan
6
logan
“Un-fucking-believable!”
I nearly jump at the hissed outburst from Maeve. I had turned away from her, knowing I needed to because the amount of staring I was doing when she wasn’t looking at me was borderline harassment. But now that I’m looking at her again, her face getting red as she throws her phone into the seat pocket in front of her, only for it to bounce back into her lap, I can’t help but think back to last night when I made her cheeks red for a whole other reason.
Both sets of cheeks.
“Is everything okay, Love?”
She snaps her narrowed eyes my way and I flinch. “I know there was a bet and I lost and blah-blah-blah. But that was past me. I was a very different person last night. So I’d appreciate it if you quit calling me that.”
“A different person?” I say it in a teasing way, because I have a feeling she doesn’t mean that. No, clearly whatever has her tossing her phone is making her say such things. “So what kind of person are you today? You know, since I didn’t get to ask you that this morning.”
I wasn’t surprised when I felt Maeve slip out of bed before the sun came up. Frankly, I was surprised she didn’t do it sooner. I knew last night was out of her comfort zone. I’d be a liar if I said I’d never snuck away in the middle of the night from an encounter. Then again, mine was to avoid the paparazzi. Maeve’s was to avoid me.
But I’m not focusing on that. Instead I’m choosing to focus on the positive, which is that the Gods of Airline Travel were looking out for me when they rebooked us on the same flight. And that she likely lives in Nashville. And since I’m now a Nashville resident, this very much delights me.
All night I kept going back and forth between feeling grateful for the time I had with her and wishing for more. I didn’t get to explore her body how I wanted. I wanted to fuck her across every inch of that hotel room. But I knew my time was limited.
Now it’s not. Now maybe there’s more time.
That is, if she quits shooting daggers at me with her blue eyes.
“I told you, I wanted to get to the airport early,” she huffs. “And speaking of last night, I’d really appreciate it if we could just forget it ever happened.”
I snort out a laugh. “No can do. You don’t forget a night like that, especially when it’s the bloody best sex of your life. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Is it presumptuous of me to assume that I’m the best she’s ever had? Yes. Do I still have nail marks in my arms from when she clung onto me? I do.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Why, thank you,” I say, knowing full well she meant it in a negative way. But I’m coming to find that getting under Maeve’s skin is my new favorite hobby. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are narrow, and I know she’s trying to come off as intimidating, but I just find it sexy.
I don’t know what that says about me, and I can talk to my therapist about it later. Now, I’m just going to bask in the fact that I’m enjoying spending time with this woman, even if she’s pretending she doesn’t like me. It’s been too long since I’ve been able to flirt with a woman who didn’t seem to care about my bank account. And Maeve has proven she doesn’t give two shits about my money or my celebrity.
“Are you always this full of yourself?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Only when I know I’m right.”
We stare at each other for more than a few seconds. The second I lock in with her beautiful blue eyes I’m immediately transported back to last night. It feels like a dream, almost. I lick my lips, and I swear I can still taste her.
“I can’t with you,” she says, turning her attention back to her phone. Her cheeks start to redden again as she furiously types on her phone. I know it’s none of my business, but I have to know what’s making them turn that color, because this time I know it isn’t me.
“Is everything okay? It looks like you want to throw that mobile out the emergency exit.”
She eyes me for a second before letting out a frustrated breath. “A client. Well, not a client. A potential client? I’m not even sure.”
“How can you not be sure?”
She quickly glances to me, then to her mobile, then back to me. “Because they keep canceling on me. Multiple times. It’s just frustrating. Not as frustrating as you, but close.”
I want to come back with a zinger, but a twinge of guilt passes through me. I’m the worst when it comes to canceling meetings. I hate them. They’re pointless. Can’t it be covered in an email? Most of them can. Or even on a blasted Teams Call. I mean, if I’m going to be scarred for life by the sound of that incoming video call ring, let’s at least use it for the meetings function.
“I mean, they reached out to me,” she continues without prompting. “And I don’t even know who ‘they’ are, which is why I keep saying ‘they.’ It’s a random email from an assistant with a name that is so generic it sounds made up. The company isn’t even on it, so for all I know this could be fake as hell. But if it was fake, that’s just dumb, and the worst prank in history. I mean, why would someone contact me for my services and then just cancel on me?”
Her words have me sitting up a little straighter.
She’s an interior designer.
Specializing in men’s homes.
When I woke up, I messaged Kat to cancel all my meetings today and push everything back this week.
Which I’d bet includes a meeting with an interior designer.
Because I’ve canceled that meeting multiple times.
Bloody hell…Is she—No. What would be the odds?
“Do you know anything about the job?”
She shakes her head. “No. Well, the bare minimum. I know it’s in Nashville. I know it’s for a multi-million-dollar home, though I don’t have the address for it, and that it was promised to be a five-figure commission. That’s the only reason I’ve put up with this nonsense.”
The more Maeve talks, the more I think that the mystery home is none other than mine.
It would make sense. I’ve kept the move quiet because it’s not yet announced publicly that I’m moving from California to Nashville. I was starting to feel stifled out west, and Kat thought it would be a good idea to move part of the operations to the southern part of the country, to hedge bets against environmental catastrophes and bad weather. But we didn’t want to make a big scene out of it. Building permits were filed under Kat’s name. My board of directors hasn’t leaked it. And no one who has worked on the house has violated their NDAs.
I didn’t know how Kat was communicating with contractors that needed to come in for jobs, but I’m guessing she was going with the premise that the least amount of information the better. And no, it’s not Kat’s job as my publicist—or as my temporary assistant until I can find one in Tennessee—to be my liaison in home building, but as my best friend, she’s taken it as her mission to make sure that I’m living in a space that reflects my status in the business and tech world.
Actually, I believe her exact words were “you’re not a gamer nerd in the dorms anymore. You need to fucking act like it.”
But since I couldn’t give two shits how my new home was decorated, I relented and told Kat to find someone to handle it, but that I didn’t want to be a part of it. She insisted that I needed to make some decisions personally. I then told her to please handle it herself if she was so insistent on it. She again said it was my house and I needed to pick out the flooring.
So she scheduled the appointment.
I made her cancel it.
She scheduled it again.
Rinse and repeat.
All of this happening, I’m guessing, under her legal and professional name, Katherine Smith.
A very generic sounding name.
Selfishly, I didn’t think about how this would affect the designer. Or, if my guess is right, the woman sitting next to me who I experimented in exhibitionism with.
“Fascinating,” I say as I swallow the lump in my throat. “And you said they keep canceling?”
This is the only line of questioning I can think of to make sure I’m not jumping to conclusions.
She nods. “Six times. Today’s email is the sixth cancellation.”
Fuck, it’s up to six? I’ve canceled on this woman six times? I’d throw a lot more than a phone if I were on the other side of my actions.
Also, I could have met her months ago. Damnit. But you know what? That’s my punishment. I canceled, therefore I was denied meeting the woman I’m becoming more and more transfixed with by the second.
“Did they say why?”
She shakes her head. “Never. Just some bullshit about a scheduling conflict.”
“I’m sure they feel bad about it.”
Since I’ve known Maeve, which is now a total of twenty-four hours, I’ve seen her in varying degrees of anger. There’s been annoyed anger, mock anger, and frustrated anger. But now? I don’t know if it was the words I just said or the actions she didn’t know I’ve done, this is downright pissed off.
“I don’t want to fucking hear it,” she snaps. “My time is just as valuable as this phantom person’s. And you know what? I’ve been nice and not charging them missed appointment fees, but I’m about to. Do you know how many clients I might have missed out on because they can’t be bothered to keep a fucking meeting?”
She stops like I’m supposed to answer the question, so I do, guilt prickling my skin. “A lot?”
Her eyes crinkle at my attempt at a genuine, albeit hypothetical, answer. “Yes, a lot. I have about half a mind to email this Katherine Smith back and tell her that her client can pay me a stupid amount of money for the cancellations and that I’m done.”
Yup. There it is. Katherine Smith.
No need for an internet forum to tell me what I already know…I am, indeed, the asshole.
And an even bigger one because I’m not going to tell her.
Not yet, at least.
“Done? You’re really going to put your foot down?”
“Yup,” she says confidently. “They can find someone else to decorate this unknown home.”
Well, that’s not going to happen.
“Passengers, we ask you to put your tray tables up and to have everyone return to their seats as we prepare to land in Nashville.”
With the interruption of the announcement, Maeve turns her attention back to her phone, typing something as I just watch her. The way her fingers are flying and her nose is crunching, she’s emailing Kat.
I need to stop her from sending that email, but what do I say?
“Oh, hey, funny story. It turns out I’m the client who keeps canceling on you. Yeah, that vague assistant who goes incognito until NDAs are signed? She’s mine. Sorry about that. Care to still decorate my home? And while we’re at it, would you like to go on a proper date with me?”
Yeah, I’m sure that would go over well…
“You firing back that response?”
She shakes her head and puts her phone on her lap. “No. I was. I typed it. It’s saved in my drafts. But I know better than to react while angry. I watched my brother for years act before he thought, and while I love my brother, that is one of many ways I strive to be the opposite of him.”
I laugh, and also inwardly let out a sigh of relief. “But acting on impulse can be fun.” I give her a wink.
She fixes her eyes on me, making sure I hear whatever is about to come out of her perfect mouth. “Not in the least.”
The double meaning is clear as day, and while I might love pushing her buttons, I also know when to give an angry woman room to simmer down.
Neither of us say another word as the flight starts to descend. I still can’t believe the odds of all this. I had only entered the first-class lounge where we met because I finished my business in Atlanta early, so I arrived at the airport ahead of schedule. When I saw her sitting there alone, I knew I had to say hello. The rest of the night was gloriously unplanned.
We’re not the only two flying first class today, though I couldn’t tell you who else was around me. Once I realized I was sitting next to Maeve, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Or replaying the events of last night.
Before I know it, the wheels of the plane hit the runway at the airport. The second our plane comes to a stop and the seatbelt light flashes off, Maeve has jumped from her seat, grabbing her overhead suitcase and tossing her mobile in her oversized purse.
“In a hurry?”
She doesn’t even look back to me. “I just want to go home. Return to real life.”
“I get that,” I say, standing to grab my bag from the overhead bin as well. “Good luck with your client. Maybe I’ll see you around sometime?”
A cocky thing to say? Yes. Especially because I’m choosing not to tell her who I am.
She finally turns to me, eyes tired and a drained look on her face. “Logan. Last night was fun. But that’s all it was. One night of forgetting responsibilities and letting go a bit. Can we call that for what it is?”
“I get it,” I say, but not before leaning in toward her. “Can I ask you to do one thing for me though?”
She swallows a lump in her throat. “What’s that?”
“Don’t forget me, Love,” I whisper. “When you need to find the calm, remember last night.”
I turn my head just enough to place the smallest kiss on her cheek. I see her shiver when I do, but we’re quickly snapped out of it by the loud rush of air coming in as they open the exit door.
Maeve quickly steps away, her cheeks flushed as she hurries out of the plane. I should follow her, but I think she needs a minute.
Which is fine. I have a very important email to send.
To: Katherine Smith
From: Logan Matthews
Subject: Interior Designer Appointment
Kat,
Put the meeting with the interior decorator back on the schedule for tomorrow. If she can’t do it then, ask when she can. Whatever her answer is, cancel any meetings I have. My appointment with her is now top priority. Also, issue a check to her for $25,000 for the canceled meetings. Scratch that. Make it $50,000.
And make sure there’s cold Diet Coke at the house for whenever the meeting is scheduled.
Talk soon,
Logan