Single Mom’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #2)

10. Logan

10

logan

“Shocker. I found the video game nerd in his video game cave.”

Oh, what would my life be without the snark of my best friend/publicist/temporary assistant?

I don’t say anything or turn away from the game I’m playing—a combat game where I can take my frustrations out on some bad guys—as she comes in and sits next to me.

If she was looking for me, this means one of two things: She missed me while I was away or she’s coming to scold me about something I did while I was away. It’s likely the latter, but I’m going to be hopeful it’s the former.

Wild card is she found out about Maeve—that we slept together and that she turned me down earlier today—and I’m going to get yelled at for that.

Honestly, it could be all of the above. Kat knows everything. I don’t know how she does it, but the woman has either planted listening devices around my house or she’s some sort of time traveler who can put herself into many different places simply by turning clocks.

She always was a big Potter head…

“Do you need something?”

I don’t make eye contact with her, which she’s used to. She’s been my best friend for a little more than a decade at this point, having met at freshman orientation at Stanford.

She stood next to me because she told me that she had a thing for guys in glasses. I snickered at one of her smart-ass comments to the tour guide. We’ve been inseparable ever since. But not in a romantic way. We got drunk one time and kissed. It lasted two seconds before we both backed away in simultaneous horrified laughter.

Sometimes the friend zone is a bad place to be. For me and Kat? It’s the best one.

I take a quick glance at her out of the corner of my eye to assess her mood. She looks stressed. Which isn’t new. She doesn’t look mad, per se, but she doesn’t look happy either.

What has me worried most of all is that she’s not talking. She’s just sitting still, staring at me, waiting for me to turn off my game and focus on her.

That’s when I know this is serious and I’m in trouble.

The question is, for what?

I press pause on the game, set down the controller, and turn to her. Her dark eyes are blank, and her hand is propping her head up as if she’s bored.

Oh no, this is about to be a sarcastic verbal spanking. That’s when she’s the most vicious.

I start to open my mouth to get ahead of whatever she’s going to yell at me for, but I’m too late.

“I thought that when I quit the corporate PR world to take you on as my only client, that my life would be easier,” she begins. “Only one person to worry about. I know everything about him. And he’s a self-proclaimed nerd. A man I once had to do a welfare check on because he was in the middle of a thirty-six-hour video game marathon. What trouble could he get into? He’s never been one to stir the pot. Surely I’ll be able to sleep more than I did for the first seven years of my professional career.”

Lectures like this have happened enough for me to know that I’m not allowed to talk until she tells me to. So I just sit back and brace myself for whatever is coming next.

“But no! Somehow I’m getting calls in the middle of the night from fucking rag news websites wanting to know why Logan Matthews is at a high-society New York party, caught in 4K sitting at the bar, alone, playing a fucking video game on his phone, while his date, Candace Kross, the woman starring in next week’s primetime lingerie fashion show, is dancing and all over another man? Care to tell me what was so important that you couldn’t even pay attention to her for two hours?”

I shrug. “She said she wanted to dance. I didn’t want to.”

Kat’s eyes go wide. “You didn’t want to? Seriously, Logan!”

“I’m sorry, but she was the worst of the dates you’ve set me up on.” I sound defensive because I am. “She told me FarmVille was her favorite video game, and the music at this club was awful. Fucking EDM bullshit. So I sat at the bar and took out my phone. My fingers just happened to navigate to a game. What’s the big deal? Better than me being spotted with another woman with her there, right?”

Kat throws her hands up in the air. Apparently that’s wrong too. “What the fuck, Logan? I thought we had an agreement. You go on fake dates and have pseudo relationships so your name is out there, you don’t look like a video game nerd recluse, and people will still talk about you despite there not being a second game in sight. In return, the models get good press for not dating fuck boys. This is the opposite of that.”

I hold up a finger. “In my defense, I didn’t want to be out with her. Or any of them. This entire plan is all your doing.”

Did I know this comeback was going to anger Kat? Yes. But that doesn’t make it less true.

“Oh no, Logan Matthews. You don’t get to throw this all on me. Was it my idea? Yes. I’ll take that smoke. But you went along with it. There was never one objection. So don’t throw all of this on me and act like a victim.”

I throw down my controller and hang my head. She’s right. The people pleaser in me didn’t offer one objection to her plan. In fact, I thought it was brilliant when she first came up with the idea to put me in the public eye.

It was what we had to do at the time to make sure my legacy didn’t end as a one-hit wonder.

I was twenty-two when I finished the final design of SpaceCraft, but the idea started long before that, back in England. When I needed something for my master’s degree project, I knew SpaceCraft was what I wanted to create, and it was the hit I thought it would be. But I wanted more.

What did I know about disseminating a game to the population?

Enter Kat Smith.

We were living together in a small, two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles after graduation. She got a junior job at a PR firm, and I was slaving away as a coder for some tech company. But I never stopped thinking that SpaceCraft could be more. And one night, as we huddled around our tiny table eating bad Chinese food, bitching about our jobs, she looked at me and said the one thing that would change my life.

“Just fucking do it. Figure it out and quit bitching about it.”

I told her she should double as an inspirational speaker. She told me to fuck off.

If that doesn’t sum up our relationship, I don’t know what does.

After she slapped me with her words of wisdom, I took the challenge she laid out and ran with it. I spent every free second I had further developing the game, and Kat discovered an angel investor, who is the only reason I was able to continue. I was able to bring on a small staff—all five of us—and we worked day and night on development, potential marketing, and distribution. The game went through a year of beta testing before launching, and though it had plenty of great feedback, I was still nervous. What if it was a flop? What if no one played it? What if my one idea was a disaster?

But what happened next, no one predicted.

In the first month of release we sold a million copies. I remember thinking the numbers and stats weren’t real. And this was all with a bare-bones marketing effort and relying on word-of-mouth recommendations from gamers.

By the second year of SpaceCraft’s existence, I needed a chief financial officer to make sure that everything was on the up and up and more accountants than I thought I’d ever need. We had merch, and expansion packs of the games, and everywhere you looked, SpaceCraft was the top game in the market. There were bloody action figures! My once-small staff of five turned into a staff of five hundred. I was the CEO of a company I originally started for tax purposes. I knew nothing about business or running a private firm. I was just a video game geek who once sought refuge in a digital world and wanted to give kids today the same feeling.

In no time at all the path was clear: it was time to take the company public and hire a board of directors. I figured I could be the CEO by title, and still maintain control of the day-to-day operations, while the board could handle big picture decisions and use their expertise to help guide me and my company.

Which is how we’re here today: they want the next SpaceCraft.

One problem with that: I don’t have the next SpaceCraft.

Actually, I don’t have fuck all.

What I do have is the video game developers’ version of writer’s block, and I can’t snap out of it.

I’ve tried. I’ve done everything I possibly can to get me out of this funk. I’ve tried making it a game to myself, trying to appease the guy who always loves a challenge. Nothing. I did market research to see if anything inspired me. That actually set me back mentally. Hell, I even hired a hypnotist. That was the biggest waste of money I’ve ever spent. I bloody moved to Tennessee, hoping a fresh start could solve my problems.

Then one night I received a not-so-subtle memo from the board, saying that stock prices were dropping and I needed to announce something soon. I was panicking.

But not Kat. She figured out a solution. Even if it was a short-term one.

And the name of the game was distraction.

She pointed out that all the board wanted to see were climbing stock numbers, which means sales. They don’t care where they come from, as long as their pockets are getting heavier. So she proposed that while I was thinking of the next big thing, I needed to get out and about. Get my name in the news. Be seen with beautiful women on my arm. If people are talking about me, that means SpaceCraft is going to be mentioned more. The more mentions, the higher sales. Higher sales, better valued stock.

And so began the endless train of galas, parties, and events where I had a different woman on my arm. The press took it as I was dating all of them. Kat never confirmed or denied, because it was working. The stock prices were going up just enough to keep the board happy.

The only problem is that now I’m six months into this charade and I’m no closer to coming up with the next SpaceCraft than I was then. And if I have to go on one more fake date, I’m going to pull my hair out.

Though, if Kat set me up with a beautiful woman who was maybe a few years older than me, had a quick wit about her, with dark hair that I could wrap around my fist, and who lets out the sexiest moans when I drove into her, then I bet then I’d be on board for a PR relationship.

Ha! Like Maeve would ever agree to that. And that was before she stormed out of here today, leaving a trail of smoke in her wake.

I don’t blame her. I took a gamble, and it backfired. I should’ve told her it was me on that airplane. Would it have changed her mind? Who knows. But I know this outcome, so I have to at least wonder what the other would’ve been.

“I’m sorry,” I say to Kat. “You’re right. I didn’t object. Ever. I agreed to it because I trust you and I needed to buy time. And it worked.”

This makes her soften slightly. “I’ll never get tired of a man telling me I’m right.”

“And I’m sure it’s not the last time I’ll admit it to you. But I do need to speak up now. I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired, Kat. The women…they…”

“Are vapid and you need an intellectual to keep you stimulated and you’re so straightforward you can’t even fake being interested?”

I tap my nose to Kat’s response. “Right once again.”

She lets out a sigh. “I know they are. But unfortunately, it’s not like I can put an ad out on social media asking for a girlfriend for my rich client. And unless you know someone who would do this voluntarily, or suddenly have the follow-up to SpaceCraft ready to go, we’re stuck.”

Maeve once again flashes through my mind. And even though I know I could never ask her to do this, I can’t help but think how perfect she’d be.

Though I wouldn’t want her as fake. I’d want her forever.

Too bad she’ll likely never speak to me again. I tried getting her out of my head after she left, but to no avail. I ran on the treadmill so hard I might have snapped the track. When that didn’t do it, I tried taking the coldest bloody shower possible, hoping to somehow freeze her out of me. After that I buried myself in my gaming room—also known as the only room in the house that’s set up and doesn’t need Maeve’s expertise.

“I know we are,” I say, burying my face in my hands. “I wish I could get out of this funk. Figure out what the next thing is and put my time toward that.”

“You know,” Kat begins, a hint of “I told you so” in her tone. “I’ve read on numerous blogs that a cohesive work space, one that’s decorated and decluttered and put together, is good for creative flows.”

I narrow my eyes at my best friend. “You’re not sneaky.”

She shrugs. “Never said I was. But now I need to ask the second reason I came in here today. Why did I see Maeve stomping out of this house and breathing fire like a dragon?”

I refuse to meet her eyes. “You don’t want to know.”

“Dammit, Logan. I know you weren’t keen on spending money on a designer, but I thought she would be perfect for you.”

She is perfect. And I fucked it up…

“She’s great. But unfortunately, she won’t be decorating this house.”

This makes Kat pop out of her seat as she starts pacing around the room. “What does that mean? Why the fuck didn’t you hire her, if she was perfect? Were you being cheap again? I swear to fucking God, you’re the worst billionaire in the world.”

“I wasn’t cheap. In fact, I told her a budget didn’t exist. She turned me down.”

This stops Kat in her tracks. She turns narrowed eyes on me. “Logan Matthews…what did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did something?” My tone is pitched so high I sound guilty even to myself. And I mean, I did do something, but she doesn’t have to assume that…

“Because I know you. Spill.”

I take a deep breath, ready for whatever response is going to come when I tell Kat the whole story. “I slept with her.”

“What!” she screams. “What do you mean you fucking slept with her? When? Where? Was there an NDA? Do I need to be on alert?”

I shake my head and bring her slowly down to a seat. “Let me explain.”

And that’s what I do for the next twenty minutes, and even after that, Kat is only partially calmed. Probably because she also thinks I’m an idiot for not telling Maeve on the plane.

“Logan James Matthews, I swear to Lady Gaga that I’m going to beat you with your Thor hammer.”

Oh shit…she’s bringing Gaga into this…she really is mad.

“I’m sorry, Kat! I promise, I didn’t know who she was prior to the plane. And if she wouldn’t have reacted in that way I probably still wouldn’t have known. But please know, you don’t need to worry about her going to the press. She didn’t even know who I was until I told her. She’s not looking for a quick payday, obviously. And I’m beating myself up how I acted, so you don’t need to keep doing it for me.”

Kat sighs and throws her head back. “I doubt it matters. Either she turns you down, or you would’ve kept canceling. Either way, this place was still going to be without furniture.”

I don’t say anything, because she’s right.

“Logan, as your friend, I say this with love, but this monstrosity of a house needs decorated,” she says, focusing her eyes back to me. “You’re twenty-nine years old. Whether you realize it or not, you’re kind of a big deal. You need a space that reflects you and the life you’ve built. You aren’t the broke boy who had to pinch pennies for a new video game. You earned this money. Show it off. Decorate a home. Be the man you’ve become in all avenues of your life.”

That was the nicest scolding I’ve ever received.

“Now, the lecture from your publicist,” Kat says. “We’re throwing a huge Christmas benefit gala in a month. I just finalized everything. If that goes well, stock shares will shoot up before the end of the year. I’ll sell pictures to every magazine in America showing that the SpaceCraft creator loves the holidays and is giving back to his new community at Christmas. Buzz will spread and this will give you a break of fake relationships. But I can’t throw a fucking party with rented folding chairs and plastic cups. You need this space to look good or it’s back to the models who want to know if you can get them an original Sims game.”

That was a good joke, but I can’t laugh.

Cause I fucked up. Royally.

“I’m sorry, Kat. I really am.”

She lets out a heavy breath as she falls back into her seat. “I know you are. We’ll figure it out.”

I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. “We always do.”