Chapter 4
Logan
“Good morning, Mr. Anderson,” Margret greets me flatly.
Without pause, I cross the lobby and grab the stack of papers waiting for me on her desk.
“Morning,” I mutter after licking my thumb and sifting through the pages of new hires, expense reports, and other mundane tasks for me to delegate this week.
I hear a soft moan when I pass Declan’s office and stop to bang on the frosted glass. “Wrap it up. We’ve got a meeting in fifteen.”
There’s a moment of silence, then a feminine giggle precedes his cocky response. “You got it, boss.”
I swing my office door open before promptly slamming it shut. There’s no decor on the stark white walls, save for a set of shelves hung behind my desk. Declan’s always going on about ‘Feng Shui,’ and how important it is for balance, but my life is balanced enough between work and the occasional beer with my friend.
My shoulders twinge as I toss the papers onto my desk, my neck aching from pent-up anger, resentment, and most of all, confusion. I picked apart my conversation with Penelope at the bar all night long, tossing and turning with her cinnamon scent clinging to my skin and searing the forefront of my mind.
I approach the shelves and run the tip of my finger across various book spines, searching for an old photo album from my years spent at the University of Michigan.
The spine cracks when I remove it from the dusty shelf, and I carefully flip through each section until I find the youthful face of Rachel Davenport.
She’s seated beside me on a park bench, her head resting on my arm, eyes gazing up at me sweetly, and I trace her porcelain skin and vibrant red hair—so different from Penelope’s, as was the rest of her.
“How could she have known?”
Rachel was the first woman I dated after my summer with Penelope in Augustine. She ran with the same group of friends I had in college, and after some time hiding her feelings for me, she eventually asked me out.
She was also the first girl I brought around my family, and my parents were drawn to her instantly. She got along great with my mom and could talk with Dad for hours. She was soft-spoken, mindful of every decision she made, and sharp—but the god’s honest truth is that even while we were together, I was unbearably lonely.
In a way, I liked that Rachel was nothing like Pen—loud, anxious, and impulsive—because it kept me from remembering her. But in the end, I had to face the hard truth that I was using my relationship with her to placate my father’s hope that I’d forgotten about Penelope.
I turn to the pages filled with pictures of me, Declan, and our college buddies until I find a group of old newspaper clippings and printouts. Taking extra care with the edges, I slowly unfold them.
A flood of emotions rushes forward, forcing me to swallow them down. I touch a newspaper clipping of Pen and her family standing behind Carrie and her show horse—both covered in flowers after winning The American Gold Cup. The next several photos feature her and her friends that I found on an online profile I can no longer access, no matter how many times I’ve shamelessly tried.
The abrupt sound of Declan cranking the door open has me quickly folding my secrets away and shoving the album back where it belongs.
He helps himself into my office, but not before winking at the project developer who slinks her way into the hall. The curvaceous redhead wiggles her fingers with a flirty wave, but when she catches me glowering behind him, she ducks her chin and scurries off.
I grab a red stress ball and chuck it at the back of his head. “Stop fucking our employees, or I’m going to fire your ass.”
“For fuck’s sake, have you completely forgotten the bro code?” He swaggers toward my desk while squishing a sliver of air between his thumb and forefinger. “I was this close to my first nut of the week.”
“It’s Friday,” I say, utterly shocked.
“Exactly.” Tossing the ball back to me, Declan plops into the chair across from my desk and complains, “Now I’m even more behind schedule.”
“Well, if you don’t want a slew of sexual harassment claims, I suggest you keep your dick in your pants while you’re working.”
“My god… You’re being serious, aren’t you?”
Forever, it’s been me and Declan. Aside from Penelope, he’s the only person in the world who knows me. He also considers busting my balls a full-time gig.
“We’re still trying to make a name for ourselves here. You, of all people, should know how serious this is.”
I can’t afford any fuck ups risking my reputation—or worse, Dad taking it all away from me.
My friend raises his palms. “All right, all right. As boring as your rules are, I promise no more fucking at, in, or around the office.”
“Thank you.”
I sit, propping my feet up on the edge of my desk and leaning back. I watch the ball spin when I toss it up, then catch it, and repeat, oddly dreading this call with my father.
Probably because he never clues me in on what’s actually rolling around in his head, leaving me constantly guessing until he’s good and ready to reveal his plans. Or maybe it’s because he throws new projects at me, regardless of how busy I’ve been upstarting this new branch.
I think back to Penelope’s interview, hating to admit that I could use the help. But it’s almost like he’s intentionally wearing me out—seeing how much I can take before I eventually snap.
It was Declan’s suggestion that we hire an assistant, and although I’m sure we’ll get along fine without one, Penelope’s refusal only makes me want her that much more.
My cock stirs in my slacks at memories of her dancing on the bar, unabashedly gliding her hands over the female in front of her while laughter split her pretty lips into a smile. Then she did the most Penelope thing of all when she broke off on her own, with not a care in the world as we all watched her solo performance.
But my desire morphs into something much more primal when I remember the man who approached her, and the familiar way they got along.
Was it truly so easy for her to forget me?
The tip of my pen taps the desk twice. “Dad’s got something new for us.”
“Ah. That explains why you’re in such a shit mood.”
I glare at my friend, secretly envious that he’s free to live his life, however and with whoever, he chooses. “Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it?”
“Just trying to loosen you up for when you pitch your ‘energy efficient’ ideas to him.”
Declan is my best friend, and he’s become like a second son to my father, but he’s also intuitive. He knows we’re biting off more than we can chew, but for some reason, I haven’t told him the truth about my thoughts on our progressiveness across the island.
My father’s gotten hungrier in his pursuit of land for his vacation homes, gobbling up plot after plot before our competitors can blink. I haven’t spoken up about how he runs his business because, while I find his tactics sometimes insensitive, and often old school, his tenacity is what it takes to keep a business like ours going.
Or maybe it’s simply because I know I can’t.
I click the flashing call-waiting button on my desk phone the second Margret patches him through.
“Hello, boys.” He doesn’t wait for a response before charging onward. “The meeting for our build outside of Butterfly Cove went as expected. Declan, they couldn’t compliment your design enough.”
There’s a twinge of envy when Dec grins, but I stare at the blinking dot on my desk phone as Dad continues, “We’re going to begin the demolition phase immediately.”
My response is robotic, void of emotion or excitement. “That’s great. It’s a hotspot with the tourists, so there’s no doubt it’ll be a success.”
“Of course it will, but that’s not why I’ve called this meeting with you two.” Declan places his elbows on my desk and steeples his fingers in front of his lips. “I’ve petitioned a bid to buy out a building on Seaside Avenue in Anchorage Harbor. It’s a little run-down, but it’s got good bones. I have no doubt we can get it where we want it to be in a few months.”
Seaside isn’t far from Honey Hollow where Ida lives. Only a couple of blocks away, but that’s not what has me struggling to speak. It’s how adamant he was that the harbor area was useless and not worth our efforts when he first ordered me to shut down that property.
The hair on my arms bristles as paranoia sets in.
Has he been following me there?
I’ve been careful about the time of day I visit—always before work, never after, and sometimes on the weekends if I’m not running errands or elbow-deep in paperwork between our businesses.
Arguing with my old man isn’t something I do—not since I was a young adult who didn’t comprehend the importance and safety that comes with following the rules—but I can’t help raising concern. We have lucrative properties in nearly every city in Topica Bay. Never mind that he’s just secured a million-dollar takeover in Butterfly Cove. Shouldn’t that be enough?
“With the cost of setting up Summit Estates in Keerah, it may be best to wait until the Cove project is half-developed.”
Declan offers a supportive nod.
“So our competitors can outbid us?” he says, “I don’t think so.”
“Is the property you’re looking at vacant?” I ask casually, knowing he’s going to wonder what’s gotten into me. Any further questions could be seen as a threat to my father, and while he may not have the authority to run me until my feet bleed as he had when I was younger, the urge to submit remains.
He pauses as if to consider my question. “That’s for the owners to figure out after the contract is signed.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I think it’s great that you’re thinking that far ahead. But where would I be if I bothered my conscience with every person affected by the moves I make? The owners don’t have the funds to keep the place running, and it’s going into foreclosure. That’s all you need to know.”
He’s right, of course. This isn’t the kind of business for those with a conscience, and Silas Anderson is no bleeding heart.
“Logan, if you’re going to keep Elite and Summit running one day, you need to practice removing your emotions from necessary decisions starting now.” As usual, he leaves no room for comment. “Besides, this location has one of the best views in the area, and it’ll be your first official property son.”
He emphasizes ‘official,’ as if Honey Hollow never existed. As if Declan and I hadn’t poured hours of hard work into modeling our first set of condos without his involvement, only to have him pat us on the back with a ‘good try’ before claiming the coastal color scheme was obnoxious and insisting the design wasn’t up to the Elite Properties standard.
“I’m banking on it bringing more tourists to the area. More tourists means more money for both us and Topica Bay. It’s a win-win, boys.”
Seaside Avenue could use a good sweep. Beneath all the grunge is untapped luxury condo and apartment potential, and the notion that we’re going to be the ones who make that area shine definitely has an appeal. There’s a blueprint already weaving together in my mind’s eye.
A flicker of excitement rises at the prospect of finally having my name on a building. To take a piece of the proverbial pie my father’s worked so hard creating.
What if we could breathe life into that part of town and make it whole again? Isn’t that why we’re in this business to begin with?
“What do you need from us?” Declan asks.
“It’ll be at least three weeks before we hear back from the bank. In the meantime, Logan, I want you to work on securing a sponsor for Summit Estates.”
“But I’ve already got sponsors?”
He tuts. “Not those small guys. You need someone big. Someone whose name we print on every brochure, poster, and flyer to help spread the word, and give Summit some credibility. Spare no expense.”
Instantly, the back of my neck heats. “Are you sure you don’t want to send Declan?”
“Why would I send an architect to do the job of the man in charge?”
I click the pen against my desk, desperately seeking an out. “I don’t know. He’s charismatic and pretty.”
Declan winks and I flip him off.
My father scoffs as if I’m a foolish child. “Enough fucking around. Let me know when you get a meeting set up.”
The ‘or else’remains unsaid, but it’s there, warning me not to disappoint or embarrass him.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll catch up with you boys later,” he says, then quickly disconnects our call.
“I’m pretty.” Declan glares. “Actually, I’m going to take that as a compliment. But only because Penelope said the same thing.”
I fail monumentally not to let that tidbit dig under my skin.
“Why are you stressing, anyway? You’ve got plenty of appeal if the ghosts of girlfriend’s past have anything to say about it.”
Except that not a single one of my relationships—if you could even call them that—has been more than a pathetic attempt to move on from the woman who’s gatekeeping the purest parts of my soul.
“That was before,” I say to my friend. “I’m married to the business now.”
He makes a jerking off motion, and I duck when he opens his palm. “You’re thirty and happy to die alone as long as you have Daddy’s approval.”
Declan lays out my life as if he’s got me all figured out. But I suppose a schedule that only affords eating, sleeping, and working doesn’t make me all that deep.
“Don’t tell me you’d rather I have a bunch of whining kids running around and a wife calling up here all day.” I stand, feeling the sudden throb of each scar on my chest pressing against my shirt so hot, I’m certain they’ll sear a hole right through. “We can’t all be so lucky to find a woman like my mother.”
“A Stepford wife?”
I cut a lethal glare his way. “A woman willing to sacrifice what it takes for the sake of our business.”
Reaching for the handle, Dec quietly opens the door. When he looks back, he does nothing to disguise the pity in his gaze, which only makes those scars burn hotter. “We both know that’s not the kind of woman you want. Because if that were true, you wouldn’t spend so much time with Ida, and you damn sure wouldn’t be thinking of ways to get Penelope to work for you.”
“Fuck you, Dec,” I mumble, but he grins at the weightless jab.
“Love you too, puddin’.”
He steps into the hall in silence, leaving me trapped inside a cold office with thoughts of a young woman who wore flowers in her untamed hair and laughed just because it felt good. Whose smiles were like dares she knew I would never deny—like kissing her for the first time or touching her when I damn sure knew better.
My parents never cared for Penelope. They saw her as nothing more than a distraction, but she was so much more to me.
She was a woman who was the complete opposite of the one my father married. A woman who shamelessly defied his expectations, was born of his greatest enemy, and it was that same woman who ultimately claimed my heart.