Chapter 2
Logan
Ida takes one of the sweet pecan muffins I made from the tray, testing the weight and feel in her knobby hands before trying a bite. Her keen eyes squint as she deciphers the layers of flavors, and I wait patiently, trying not to break a sweat.
“Perfect,” she says, her voice sharp and proud, if not a bit shaky with age. “Though adding a touch of cinnamon would really give these puppies some warmth.”
I grin at my old friend. “Next time.”
Hercules, Ida’s chihuahua, yips his excitement when I pinch the rounded edge and toss him a bite.
“Well, go on and get to work, baby. We don’t want you getting in trouble for being late.”
I cross her knick-knack-filled apartment to the electric-blue recliner where I left my suit jacket. I’m already late, but I’m not going to tell her that—or that I lied to skip out on a meeting with my father and the men holding the key to our newest investment.
Ida and Hercules are two of three living beings that bring me any semblance of joy, and the less my father knows about them, the better. “Don’t apologize. There’s no way I was skipping our twice rescheduled muffin lesson.”
Her wrinkled lips lift in a smile, painted the same cherry red as the glasses she pushes higher up on her nose. “I’m going to make you the most eligible bachelor in Keerah, just you watch.”
“You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you,” I say.
Across the room, an antique grandfather clock chimes, and a cuckoo clock and several others chirp with it.
As always, Hercules sees me to the door, his little paws tapping against the tile, and I can’t help but smile at all the odds and ends Ida has acquired through the years. Her friends here in Honey Hollow have even dubbed her a friend collector, and if I’m honest, I’m honored to have a spot in that collection.
I don’t get far before the woman’s fussing over my suit jacket, straightening it while reminding me of the party she and her friends are planning. “Don’t forget about our sunset soiree in a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll be there, I promise.”
When she’s satisfied that I’m put together, she pats my chest and I bend so she can place a chaste kiss on my cheek. “You know, Mrs. Henderson has a granddaughter about your age… Maybe I should invite her?”
My smirk mirrors hers, enhancing the mischief in her gaze. “Baking and blind dates… I should have known you were up to something.”
She offers me the rest of her muffin before leaning against the doorframe and crossing her arms. “There’s no reason a handsome man with biceps like those should be single.” Mr. Carter perks up from his garden next door, sweat beading at his snow-white brow when he glances our way. “Isn’t that right, Charles?”
“That’s right, Ida,” he agrees, but I think his enthusiasm has less to do with my physique and more to do with his infatuation with Miss Ida May.
Parked in the circle drive of her complex, my driver, Javier, waits patiently beside the blacked-out Escalade my father had custom made for me. I nod at him, and then turn back to Ida. “I’ll check on you in a few days, okay?”
“Don’t you worry about me. Take care of yourself, baby.”
“I always worry about you. You get into trouble when I stay gone too long.” I arch a brow, recalling the time she pranked the complex with an army of plastic garden flamingos.
Ida’s laugh weaves its way around my heart as she waves to Javier. “I’ll see you soon, then.”
I head down the porch steps, relishing the salty breeze rolling through my hair, wishing my father could comprehend the magic of this place.
Honey Hollow was the first property our luxury homes business opened outside of Tauntuma. With the harbor three hours from Elite Properties’ headquarters, the smaller complex started as a test project, allowing us to explore the surrounding communities and get a feel for whether we could make money in the area.
Six months later, its charm and welcoming community has been long-forgotten by my father, while becoming a hideaway for me.
“Morning, sir.” Javier steps aside, tone as judgy as the eyebrow he’s arching. “You’re late.”
I flick a parting glance at the massive sun mural on the far wall behind the courtyard and check the Rolex my father gifted me last month before settling into the backseat. “Yes, and I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Through the installed window separating the front and back of the SUV, I catch his smirking reflection. “He may be… exuberant at times, but I trust Mr. Murphy can act professionally during an interview with a temp, sir.”
“You forget this is Declan we’re talking about.”
My best friend was adamant that I hire an assistant, but put him in the presence of a woman, and his professionalism falls dormant to his primitive need for sex.
Javier guides us away from Honey Hollow, through clusters of colorful coastal houses that branch off the main road leading back to Keerah, and I relax against the cool leather bench seat that matches the side across from me.
Seaside Avenue is the artery that feeds all the neighborhoods in Anchorage Harbor—most of which stretch out over the water like veins—but it’s the ocean-facing side of the strip, with miles of beach and crystalline waters interspersed by tall mountains, that makes the spot so eye-catching.
I watch those mountains glide by the window while I eat the rest of the muffin. The peaks are tall enough to touch the clouds, framing the waters surrounding the quiet harbor town, making for a stunning backdrop. Sure, the businesses and homes around here are a bit weatherworn—and Seaside itself could use some tender loving care—but it’s homey, comfortable, and best of all, my father hates it.
As we approach the building that houses the Summit Estates office, my phone buzzes in my palm.
Smoothing my fingers down my silk tie, I clear my throat and answer the call. “Dad, hey. How did the meeting go?”
“They’re going to agree to the contract, son. I can feel it in my bones,” he says as Javier rolls to a stop. He parks before walking around to let me out, and I face the twenty-story building, silently waving him off. “These investors will be eating out of the palm of my hand, and I’ve got you to thank for suggesting we clear that fifty-acre residential lot by Butterfly Cove. Once we do that, we’ll have plenty of space to expand.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” I say, though his rarely given approval inflates my pride. “We’ll celebrate if they decide to sign.”
“It’s not about if; it’s about when. If means we’ve given them an option.” In that cold, businessman tone of his, he adds, “And there is no option in this.”
“You’re right,” I amend quickly, loosening my tie half an inch on my way inside the building. “They’re going to say yes, and we’re going to turn the Cove into something extraordinary.”
“Now that’s more like it,” he says, and I can hear the same touch of amusement in his voice as when I was a child. When he wasn’t so strict, and we could laugh about the silly things I found exciting.
Only nothing about this contract is silly. I want our companies to create more than just luxurious homes. I want to unite people and create communities like the one I helped build in Honey Hollow.
I anxiously recheck my watch. Thank fuck there’s no way for him to know I’m fifteen minutes late, though I’m doing a pretty good job berating myself for him.
He ingrained the importance of holding a professional appearance in me long ago, and tardiness—no matter the reason—is unacceptable.
I cram down memories of the days when we used to argue as he continues, “One day, when you take over the company, you’ll know exactly how it feels to be on top. You’ll know what it’s like to best the ones who want to watch you fail, and well… it’s better than sex.”
I scoff as I press the button for the eighth floor. It’s been a minute since I’ve indulged, but somehow, I doubt that.
“Let’s meet at the pier for dinner at seven,” he adds. “We can talk business over a couple of beers.”
My lips thin as the doors close. I haven’t had an evening off in over two weeks, and Declan and I had plans to watch the Chicago Bears tonight. I can already hear him busting my balls about canceling, but there’s no room for argument when it comes to my father.
“Sure. Good luck with the rest of your meetings. I’ll call you when I finish up for the day.”
“Don’t be late,” he clips before hanging up.
I pinch the bridge of my nose with a heavy sigh, but something has the hair on the back of my neck rising. A sweet, delicate scent fills my chest that’s familiar, yet foreign. Like a distant memory, it batters my senses, demanding attention like a fly trying to escape through a closed window.
Once I’m on our floor, I pick up the pace, not bothering with hellos for anyone other than our vicious secretary.
“Hello, Margret.”
She makes a show of checking the time before she deadpans, “Good morning, Mr. Anderson.”
“I know, I know. I’m late.”
She has the temper of a hornet, and I’m fairly certain she hates me, but she’s great at weeding out the bullshit, which is why Declan and I chose to keep her on board.
I take a deep breath and straighten my already pristine suit. Outside Declan’s office, I hear feminine laughter, and again I’m hit with that strangely memorable fragrance. It’s reminiscent of summertime, mixed with delicious warm honey, but for the life of me, I can’t place it.
Knocking twice, I swing the door open. “Apologies for my tardiness, I—”
I stop dead in my tracks when I catch sight of the woman sitting before Declan.
“Ah, how nice of you to join us,” he says. “I was just going over the requirements of the position.”
I’d know that wild, wavy hair anywhere, and it flutters like mad when she dashes up from her chair, wobbling before grasping the edge of the desk to steady herself.
My mind short circuits as I cross the room without thinking, like I’m being yanked toward her by an unseen force.
“Pen?” Instantly, my mouth goes dry, halting a thousand questions that threaten to pour from my lips.
I haven’t spoken her name since one drunken night, years ago, when I recounted the summer we spent together for Declan. A time when I loved her the only way two lost souls can love, and we made promises no eighteen-year-olds should have been making.
Then I never heard from her again.
“Are you all right?” I ask when she finally turns.
Her frown grows angrier by the second, but I’m still filtering the shock of seeing her in the flesh. Like a ghost, my past comes back to haunt me. Only, instead of a wraith, I find a fully grown, breathtakingly beautiful woman.
Her hair waves in a playful, careless way that frames her pretty face and dark brows, accentuating those deep brown eyes which hold the same wonder for the world I always loved, but have sharpened with time.
Sun-kissed and stunning in a cream pantsuit and lavender top, she looks every part a polished businesswoman. But the longer I study her, the more cracks I see in her armor.
“I-I was just leaving,” she stutters.
When my eyes fall to her bare feet, her toes curl, and damn if that one little reaction doesn’t knock something loose within me.
I don’t have to look at Declan to know what he’s thinking. In fact, the idiot happily voices his thoughts.
“Ah, so this is Penelope.” His voice carries the tell of a smirk, but I can’t take my eyes off her—the only woman, past and present, who’s had my heart in a vicious chokehold. “I knew I recognized your name.”
“Declan,” I warn coolly. I don’t need her to know how much it hurt to lose her, and I certainly don’t want her to know I’ve never truly gotten over that summer.
The tone shuts my friend up while eliciting a shiver from Penelope.
I cock my head.
That’s new.
The girl I knew would mock me for being authoritative, not flutter her lashes while her cheeks blister red.
Her pretty red lips move, yanking me back to a time when I craved her animated, unfiltered love for life. Back then, she’d befriended a poor boy from Ohio who longed for delicate touches and late afternoon conversations about nothing and everything.
My heart races as she speaks, but I don’t hear a word through the pulse pounding in my ears. I don’t even know who that boy is anymore.
“I’m sorry, what was that?”
Her eyes narrow, forcing me to blink away the thoughts of her innocently probing my tongue with hers when I taught her how to kiss. “I said, what are you doing in Keerah?”
What may have been a brief show of desire is now entirely consumed by fury.
Mad are we? Well, that makes two of us.
“My father’s branching his business across the island. We moved a subbranch for luxury homes here about six months ago.” She snorts, and I agitatedly flex my hands. “Declan and I run this office.”
I don’t like the flash of alarm in her eyes at the mention of my father. “You’re working for him?”
“Logan’s the uptight boss, and I’m the sexy architect responsible for all the incredible designs.” Declan threads his hands behind his head. “Though, I should mention I keep the best ones at my place.”
I’m going to choke the life out of you, my glare communicates. To Penelope, I elaborate, “Dad’s in charge of Elite Properties in Tauntuma.”
Dad? I’m already slipping into familiarity with her, and I don’t know how to feel about that. Nor do I know how to feel about reassuring her that he’s hours away, on another part of the island.
“I see,” she says, uncrossing her arms.
Her blouse dips low, exposing lightly tanned collarbones, and I can feel her bare skin against my lips as easily now as what feels like a lifetime ago when it was soft, sun-warmed, and supple beneath my inexperienced touch.
“And your girlfriend? Excuse me, she’s probably your wife by now.” She feigns an apology with a hand splayed over her chest. “Where does she fit in with your fancy new role working for your tyrant father?”
I can’t help but be curious of the jealousy lacing her question. “No girlfriend, no wife.”
Pen studies me a moment longer, and when I check her hand for a ring, she quickly hides them behind her back.
I don’t know what game fate is playing at, but it’s taking every ounce of self-control I possess not to drag her across the hall to my office and keep her there until I have the answers I’m looking for.
Popping her lips, she spins to Declan. “On second thought, I don’t think I’m the right fit for this position.”
“What? You’re more than qualified,” he argues. “I mean, graduating from Stanford was impressive on its own, but with a degree in communications, you’re more than fit for the job.”
Our gazes lock, and I know she’s going to bolt any second.
Her hands fly up, head shaking as she hurriedly crams her foot inside her shoe. “I’m lucid dreaming. That’s the only explanation for why you’re here, in my city, with a Chippendale for an architect.” She slips the other shoe on before snapping her fingers. “Any minute now, you’ll disappear, and you,” she says, jabbing a finger at Declan, “will rip that suit off, dance on top of the desk, and I’ll have a good laugh about this whole thing once I wake up safe, sound, and far away from here.”
Dec and I share a wary glance.
“I mean, I’ve done much shadier things for less…”
“Shut up, Declan.”
Attempting to make an exit, she skirts around me, but I latch my hand around her arm. “Wait.”
The contact vibrates through my palm, electrifying nerves that have long since been severed, burned, and purged from my body. It takes more effort than I care to acknowledge not to groan, and I’m not even touching her skin.
Stay,my heart screams. Please.
But I tell the stupid thing to shut up. To quit being so weak when I’ve worked so hard to perfect a vision of a man of strength, power, and worth.
My friend sputters a snort-cough when Pen karate chops my wrist. I blink at her, rubbing the spot in surprise before she grabs the base of my tie and hauls me down to her face. “I’ve done enough waiting, Logan Anderson, and I won’t wait a moment more.”
An animalistic noise rumbles my chest at how pretty she is, even in anger. Hell, especially in anger. But none of what she’s saying makes sense. She’s the one who cut ties twelve years ago, after promising me a future she had no intention of seeing through. Gone. Ghosted, just like that.
So why the hell is she furious with me?
From my periphery, Declan slowly removes a bag of chips from his desk drawer, watching the show with wide-eyed amusement.
Our noses are barely an inch apart as she seethes. “I never would’ve applied for this position if I’d known I would be shackled to you—money be damned.”
She might as well have slapped me for as much as that remark stings, but no matter. In her fury, she’s given me a vital piece of information. “So, it’s money you need? Odd, considering your father is a billionaire.”
“Well, unlike you, I don’t depend on Daddy’s money to survive.” Pen watches my gaze fall to her heart-shaped lips, and with a huff, she releases me. “Just forget I was ever here.”
I slide the top of my tie back into place before dusting my hand down the front of my jacket. Forget? Un-fucking-likely.
I’ve tried and failed to forget Penelope Vance the same way I’ve tried and failed to fill the yawning void she left behind, because forgetting this woman is like wishing to unravel time, useless and impossible.
She makes it halfway to the door before I smoothly offer, “I’ll double your pay.”
Declan makes a chuffing noise, throwing his arms up dramatically, but a warm sense of satisfaction slithers up my middle when she pauses at the threshold. “Consider it a birthday gift.”
If she’s even remotely taken aback that I’ve remembered what day it is, she masterfully conceals it, swiping the arrogant smile from my lips. “There’s not enough money in the world to make me say yes.”
Without another word, she swiftly exits the office, leaving me and Declan in suffocating silence.
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” Dec muses before settling back in his chair with a heavy sigh. He then frowns, growing serious. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.” He pats his lap. “Here, come talk to Poppa.”
“You’re an asshole.”
He flashes a grin when I make for the exit. “Gosh. You really do say the sweetest things.”
Laughter follows me across the hall where I slam my office door.
Maybe I’m reading into Penelope needing money, but the thought of her needing anything sets me on edge.
I can’t stop questioning if someone’s waiting for her back at her place, wherever that may be. Does he make her happy? Is she well taken care of?
The very idea of another man’s mouth claiming parts of her where mine once had ignites a blind rage deep inside me. If I were a better man, I might feel guilty for claiming her for myself… But now that she’s finally back in my life, there’s no chance in hell I’m letting her slip away again.
Penelope is mine. Always has been, and always will be.