Epilogue Two
LOGAN
Six months earlier…
" S he likes you, you absolute moron. She's been flirting with you for months."
Bennett's words echo in my head as I burst onto the street, frantically scanning for Audrey. She's already at the corner, arm raised for a cab, and I sprint toward her like my life depends on it.
She likes you. How did I miss this? My brain cycles through every interaction—her sitting close to me tonight, the way she always sits next to me in meetings, how she laughs at my terrible jokes that make everyone else groan. She's been flirting with you for months.
"Audrey! Wait!"
She doesn't turn around. A taxi pulls up and she's reaching for the door handle when I finally catch up, breathless and probably looking deranged.
"Please," I gasp, grabbing the door before she can close it. "Please, just... let me explain."
She looks at me then, and the hurt in her eyes makes my chest constrict. This is my fault. She said ‘ I give up ’ and I just sat there like an idiot asking what she meant.
"There's nothing to explain, Logan. You made it very clear you're not interested."
"That's not—" I run my hand through my hair, trying to find words that make sense. "That's the opposite of true. Can I... can I come with you? Just to talk?"
She stares at me for a long moment, then slides across the seat. "Fine. But you're paying for the cab."
I scramble in beside her and give the driver her address, which I know because I've dropped off documents off at her apartment three times in the last year and never once had the courage to stay for coffee when she offered. Coffee. Was that flirting? Was she trying to… God, I'm an idiot.
The ride is silent except for the driver's music—something with a heavy beat that reminds me of the club, of Dominic saying "She's been trying to get your attention all night." All night. All year. Maybe longer.
When we pull up to her building, I throw cash at the driver—probably too much, but I can't think about that now—and scramble out after her.
"Audrey, wait.”
She stops at the glass doors of her lobby, her back rigid. "Wait for what, Logan? So you can explain again how you need more personal space?"
"No," I say, my voice raw. "To explain that I'm an idiot.
A complete, total, socially inept idiot.
" I take a step closer. "I didn't move away because I didn't want you there.
I moved because my brain short-circuited.
Because having you that close is all I've wanted for a year, and the sudden proximity of a successful outcome caused a catastrophic system failure. "
She turns slowly, her arms crossed. "A catastrophic system failure?"
"Yes. My processing power was entirely consumed by the proximity of your... shoulder. All non-essential functions shut down. Including, apparently, basic social awareness." I wince. "The logic gates that control my mouth just… failed."
A small, almost imperceptible smile touches her lips before she presses them together again. "You are unbelievable," she says, shaking her head. "Get upstairs before you reboot on the sidewalk."
She turns and swipes her key fob, pushing through the glass door without waiting to see if I'm following. I am. I follow her like a well-trained drone, trying to find the right words. The last time I was this terrified was my first thesis defense, and at least then I knew the material.
Inside, she turns on a lamp and kicks off her heels in a way that I find both fascinating and intimidating. The apartment is exactly what I would expect, organized, minimalist, with books stacked in neat towers that look structural. Not a single cushion is out of place.
"So," she says, turning to face me, arms still crossed. It’s the same posture she uses right before she systematically dismantles a flawed argument in a design meeting. I feel like a flawed argument. “Want to explain this without the computer analogies?”
“You want me to talk like a regular person?” I smirk, and that at least earns me an amused eye roll.
“Please. It’s late, we’ve both been drinking, and I’d appreciate regular words over programming jargon for a change.”
"Right. Regular words." I take a deep breath that does nothing to steady the erratic rhythm of my heart. My hands feel useless, so I shove them in my pockets. "Okay. The truth is... I'm an idiot."
"That's demonstrably false. You have two PhDs."
"Academic intelligence and emotional intelligence are completely different things.
" I force myself to look at her. "I've been in labs since I was a teenager.
I skipped most of high school, all the normal social development stuff.
I don't know how to read when someone is.
.." I gesture helplessly. "When they're interested.
Or flirting. Or sitting progressively closer to me at a nightclub because they like me. "
Her expression softens slightly. "Logan?—"
"When you got up and said you give up, I literally didn't understand.
Bennett had to explain it to me. In small words.
Like I'm five." The words tumble out faster now.
"I like you. I've liked you since before I met you because your work on NeuroTech was groundbreaking.
I read your papers. All of them. The one on signal degradation in high-density arrays?
Brilliant. I was a fan before I even walked into Carmichael Innovations. "
I stop, realizing I'm just listing her professional accomplishments like it's a job interview.
"My point is," I try again, "I've been intimidated by you from day one.
You're brilliant and funny and you make fun of my organization system but then you use it anyway and you're the only person who's ever made me want to be better at this stuff but I don't know how and tonight when you got close I panicked because I don't know what I'm doing and?—"
"Logan." She steps closer, and my brain short-circuits. Again. "Stop talking."
She rises up on her tiptoes, her eyes closing, and terror floods my system. This is it. My first kiss. I haven't researched this. I don't know the mechanics, the angle, what to do with my hands, what if I'm terrible, what if…
I react on pure, unfiltered instinct. My hand flies up, a clumsy shield between my mouth and hers.
It connects not with a soft press of lips, but with the bridge of her nose and her mouth.
My palm flattens against her face. Her wire-rimmed glasses twist sideways, one lens digging into her cheek.
Through the gaps between my fingers, I see her eyes snap open, wide with shock.
The warmth of her surprised breath ghosts across my skin.
Oh. Oh, god. I am a catastrophic failure of a human being.
We both freeze.
For a long, agonizing second, the only thing I can process is the faint imprint of my fingerprints on her skin. Her expression shifts from surprise to a kind of blank, wounded horror. She stumbles back, yanking her face away from my hand as if I’ve burned her.
She shoves her glasses back into place, her cheeks flaming a shade of red I’ve only ever seen in high-temperature exothermic reactions. Humiliation radiates from her in waves. It's a palpable, devastating force.
"You need to leave," she says, voice tight. "Right now."
"Audrey, please, that's not what I?—"
"GET OUT!" The words explode from her, and there are tears in her eyes now. "Just... get out, Logan. Please."
I stand there for another horrible second, wanting to explain but having no words that could possibly fix this. How do I tell her it's not her, it's me and my complete lack of experience? How do I explain that I panicked because I've never even?—
Fuck.
I flee like the coward I am, taking the stairs three at a time, my palm still tingling from where her lips touched it.
~AUDREY~
The door slams behind him and I sink to the floor, tears coming fast and hot.
He blocked my kiss. With his HAND. Like I'm something disgusting, something to be kept at a distance. Like the very thought of kissing me was so repulsive he had to physically stop it from happening.
I replay the last hour in excruciating detail.
"I give up," I'd said at the club, and he'd just stared at me with that confused expression.
Everyone at the table knew what was happening except him.
And then he'd chased after me, and I'd thought—God, I'd actually thought it meant he felt the same way.
He said he did. He said he liked me. He said he's liked me since before we met.
But then when I tried to kiss him, when I tried to act on these supposed feelings, he literally put up a barrier between us.
A sob escapes me. I'm twenty-seven years old and I just got rejected in the most humiliating way possible by the only guy I've had real feelings for since grad school.
What's wrong with me? Am I that repulsive? He can like me in theory but not in practice? He wants to admire me from a safe distance like I'm some kind of specimen in one of his experiments?
I pull out my phone, opening my messages. My fingers hover over the group chat with Layla and Serena. I start typing: You're never going to believe what just happened. Logan literally put his hand over my mouth to stop me from kissing him.
But then I delete it. They're still at the club, celebrating Caleb's good news. They're happy. They're having fun. The last thing they need is me dumping my humiliation on them. It can wait.
I close the messages and open my email instead, desperate for any distraction from the burning shame in my chest. Spam, lab equipment newsletters, a reminder about next week's department meeting…And then I see it. An email from the Karolinska Institute in Stockholm.
Dear Dr. Greene, We are pleased to offer you the position of Senior Research Fellow in our Molecular Genetics Laboratory. As discussed in your interview, this is a three-month appointment with possibility of extension...
Sweden. Three months. The position I applied for when everything was up in the air with the Carmichael/Mercer takeover. I never heard back, and Bennett ended up partnering with James Tech, so I didn’t think anything of it. But now…
I read the email twice more, then look around my apartment.
It’s no longer my sanctuary. It’s a crime scene.
The exact spot on the rug where he stood, the lamp casting the same humiliating light, the lingering scent of his stupid, expensive cologne.
My life here feels contaminated. Three months.
A new city. A new lab where no one knows about the catastrophic system failure of my love life.
It's not running away. It's a strategic retreat.
It's the only logical move. My fingers fly across the keyboard, typing a reply before I can second-guess myself. I accept.
Three months later, Dr. Audrey Greene returns from Sweden with one goal: avoid Logan Whitman at all costs.
Too bad they're assigned to the same high-stakes project.
Too bad their lab is the size of a closet.
Too bad Logan's determined to explain why he literally put his hand between their mouths when she tried to kiss him.
He has ninety days to tell her the truth—that he's never kissed anyone.
She has ninety days to resist the urge to try again.
And they both have ninety days to save a billion-dollar biotech deal.
But when the virgin genius finally finds his courage... will the woman who ran to Sweden give him a second chance?