Chapter 6
Penelope
Boxes in hand, I step inside the elevator and press the button for the eighth floor. Since Summit was only half a block away from my old place, I figured I’d pop in, make a few demands, and be on my way with a shiny new position and the promise of all this security my family seems to want for me.
The sweaty wisps that have slipped from my carefully constructed updo curl at my temples, but if one good thing came from Carrie’s makeover, it’s that at least I look professional.
“Sorry,” I mutter, making myself and my things as small as possible as a man no taller than my shoulder shuffles inside.
“You can do this,” I whisper, staring a hole through the closed doors as we glide upward. “You’re brave, smart, and capable. He will accept you for this position, and you will not think sexy, dirty, explicit thoughts about him.”
The elevator stops on the fourth floor, and before the man steps off, he adjusts his tie and juts his chin up. “Thanks, lady. I really needed to hear that. Wish me luck.”
“Oh.” My arms strain as I shift to wave at him. “Good luck!”
I step into the hall on the eighth floor with my head held high, exuding Carrie-esque confidence as I push the lobby door open, and help myself up to Margret’s desk.
Said confidence shrivels up the second her cold, lifeless gaze flicks up at me.
“No.”
With an exasperated huff, I use the edge of her desk to lighten my load. “What do you mean, no? You don’t even know why I’m here.”
“And I don’t care,” she says, licking her finger to turn the page of a gossip magazine.
“Come on, Marge. Margie. Can I call you Margie?”
Her wrinkly lips thin when I spot a decorative cardinal beside her stapler. Impulsively, I pick it up, inspecting the delicate carvings of the handmade piece. “Did you know female cardinals aren’t bright red like their male counterparts? They’re actually an ugly brownish color. Kind of feel bad for ‘em. Which makes me wonder… Why do men get all the nice things?”
“Miss Vance—”
“Well, the males are the ones who feed the females; they call it ‘beak to beak,’ and it’s romantic, I guess. But if you think about it, he’s really just regurgitating—”
“Miss. Vance.” She yanks the bird out of my hand and sets it back where I found it. “If you do not have an appointment, you may not speak with Mr. Murphy. No matter how persuasive he was when you saw him last.” She peers at the scheduling book. “And would you look at that? No appointment.”
“Oh, you thought we…? No, no. I’m here to see Mr. Anderson.” Giving the crotchety woman my most innocent smile, I say, “But not to have sex with him, of course.”
Trying to play it cool, I hike one cheek up to sit beside the boxes still perched on her desk.
She sighs when I promptly knock over a pencil holder and tape dispenser.
“Oops. Let me fix that.”
Before I can right her things, she swats my hand.
“Ow.”
I’m pinned with a stern look. “Thank you for that clarification, but the answer is still no.”
“What? Surely his schedule is free for the afternoon. I can’t imagine he works too hard around here. You know, because… Well, this is Logan we’re talking about.”
I snort. But then, she wouldn’t know that his younger self would outright laugh at the thought of being chained to a desk, working a corporate day job, would she?
“Margret,” Logan calls down the hallway, growing closer with each step. “Can you remind me when Mrs. Pikkah will be here this afternoon?”
It’s a simple question, one not even directed at me, but that commanding tone has me sliding to my feet, and my knees clamping together.
“We may have to move her to next Monday depending on—”
The rest of his thought doesn’t register as panic grips me in its claws. Tap, tap, tap. His ridiculous, probably-for-sure, over-priced dress shoes announce his presence, and my heart rate triples.
What the hell was I thinking coming here when I know damn well I’d make a perfectly decent stripper?
“Gosh, did you say his schedule’s full? Who knew he was such a popular guy?” I scramble to gather my stuff, hoping he won’t see me make a run for it. “Guess I’ll have to catch him next time. You’ve got my number in the system, so why don’t you just have your people call my people, and we’ll work something out, kay?”
She simply rolls her eyes, returning to her trashy magazine.
“Penelope?” Logan asks when he enters the lobby.
He’s sinful. Abso-fucking-lutely sinful in a crisp, white button-down that exposes his forearms, fitted charcoal pants, and black leather shoes. I guess he couldn’t be bothered to fix the top two buttons below his neck, but the sight of his tanned skin forces me to swallow.
Oh boy.
“Hi!” I shout too cheerfully, jutting my hand out for him to shake as if we’ve never met before.
I realize my mistake too late, when the boxes cradled in my arms clatter to the floor. Fate abandons me entirely when the lids pop open, and despite several people sitting in the waiting room, I groan, “Oh, fuck me.”
My knees hit the ground so hard it jars my spine, and my hands fly out to capture three of the seven vibrators currently buzzing, thrusting, and swirling across the floor.
“I think you’ve got that well under control, don’t you?” Logan’s grin is utterly salacious as he kneels to help me collect the bottles of lube that have rolled to his feet.
Our fingers brush when we reach for the same warming lubricant, and the static shock that ignites between them has me snatching my hand back.
“‘Cupcakes never tasted so good,’” he reads the label aloud. “Well, color me curious…”
“Will you shut up?” I hiss between clenched teeth, rubbing my stinging fingers against my thigh.
Margret’s cheeks burn with a blush that matches mine. Blanketed in horror, she scoots her chair away from one of the gyrating penises.
So much for Fate having my back, the cruel bitch.
“This was supposed to be kitchen supplies, dammit.”
I’m grabbing handfuls of lace panties and stuffing them back where they belong when Logan raises a purple, gyrating penis with a rabbit-shaped clitoral attachment between our faces. “You’re telling me this isn’t a scrubber?”
It buzzes in his palm before he switches it off, but it’s that arching brow and lone dimple which flushes my neck and face fully.
“Would you look at that? Mr. Straightlaced has a sense of humor.” I try to swipe the device from his grasp, but he only moves it higher, out of reach. “Hand Jorge Junior over, and nobody gets hurt.”
He studies me with genuine curiosity. “Where’s Jorge Senior?”
I shrug. “Had to put the poor guy down after a recent cleaning accident.”
A woman in the chair closest to us places a hand over her heart and whispers, “May he rest in peace.”
I nod, adding a sniffle for effect. “Thank you.”
Logan’s obnoxiously smug when he tosses the toy back into the box. “I had a feeling you’d come crawling back, but I wasn’t expecting you to bring me a present.”
His voice lowering huskily around the word ‘crawling’ makes my belly clench.
“These are off limits for you.” Stacking the boxes before rising to my feet, I search for some sense of familiarity in his expression. Something faintly recognizable that I can cling to without getting too close. “Unless, of course, you fancy having one shoved up your ass—in which case, I’ve got plenty of lube.”
He surprises me with a throaty chuckle, breaking his polished persona for a brief moment. “Margret, clear my schedule for the next hour while I meet with Miss Vance.”
Her eyes bounce back and forth between us before she dutifully nods. “Yes, sir.”
“I thought I needed an appointment?” I say, jumbling the boxes in my arms and following his lead down the hallway.
I coax my thundering heart to slow when he glances over his shoulder. “And now you have one.”
His office door clips shut behind me, leaving us inside a lifeless room, void of any color or scent, except for the cologne he wears. My nose twitches at the way it masks his woodsy essence that was once a comfort to me.
Without pause, he walks to his workspace–a simple L-shaped desk adorned with stacks of papers and manilla folders–but I don’t move another step.
“Mom would have a field day in here,” I say.
The woman sees a blank room exactly as a painter sees a blank canvas, full of endless possibilities, and I’ve always envied her talented eye for design.
“I like to keep things simple,” he clips, knowing what I mean without needing me to voice it.
“Since when?”
His eyes cut straight to mine, and I shift uncomfortably.
Right.Guess we’re not ready to hash all that out yet.
“You could have said please.”
Leaning against the front of his desk, he gestures for me to sit. “Care to elaborate?”
Defiantly, I rest my bounty on the arm of the chair in front of him and hug my arms across my middle. Carrie’s thin outfit doesn’t do much to ward off the chill in here, and I wish more and more that I had stood my ground and wore something comfortable.
Those cunning eyes absorb my every move, gliding up my legs as if dedicating every bare inch to memory—and I lose myself for a moment, giving his broad body the same painstakingly diligent treatment.
We’re nothing more than strangers now, yet that invisible tie remains. The force of that connection is so lifelike, so real, that I could almost reach out and tug it.
And maybe I would if I knew I wouldn’t be the one who unravels first.
“To Margret,” I clarify. “Do you bark orders at everyone who works here as if they’re beneath you?”
Logan casually crosses one ankle over the other, lengthening his body as he relaxes back, and I refuse to swoon over those exposed forearms he uses to support himself.
Dammit. He’s just so put together. So sure of himself in his fancy position working for his father, and I’m oddly self-conscious, if not curious, to know if he sees the same hot mess my family witnessed this morning.
“She technically is beneath me, as far as our roles are concerned.”
“I’m just saying, it probably wouldn’t hurt to add a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to your list of demands.”
He has the audacity to huff. “Fine. Will you and your pleasure arsenal have a seat, please?”
We glare at each other, over a decade of questions building to the point where we’re both clenching our jaws, waiting for the other to explode. But I take a piece of humble pie, remembering what brought me here in the first place.
Begrudgingly, I slide into the fancy leather chair, but only with one cheek. Can’t get too comfortable or he’ll think I’ve let my guard down.
He smirks at my blatant rebellion before all but pitching me off my high horse with a soft, unexpected compliment. “You look good, Pen.”
I curse my body’s reaction to this man. How my cheeks flame under his full attention.
“Aw shucks. Wish I could say the same.” I smile too sweetly, intentionally annoying him. “Never did care for the suit type, though.”
Filthy, filthy liar.
He points at my outfit. “You’re unexpectedly composed yourself.”
My eyes roll. “For your information, Carrie squeezed me into this. If it were up to me, I’d be in a pizza-stained T-shirt and bottoms that are way easier to take off.”
Really starting to think those eyebrows have a personality of their own with the way they keep arching like that.
I hold up a finger as a hint of humor tugs at his full lips. “Okay, that’s not what I meant.”
“Twelve years…” I’m shocked he knows how much time has passed, but not nearly as shocked when he asks, “Couldn’t bother to call?”
I freeze like one of those fainting goats. “Excuse me?”
“You know what, forget it.”
“That sounds about right, considering how easily you forgot me.”
Those eyes hold mine with anger and something close to regret clashing behind them, and if I weren’t doing my damndest to keep it together, I might shrink away from him.
“Not a day has passed since we’ve been apart that I’ve forgotten about you, Penelope. Not. One.”
Air. I need it, and I can’t seem to get enough of it.
“I don’t believe you.”
My breaths grow unsteady with his lies. And fuck him, because this is cruel and it fucking hurts.
When he places both hands on either side of the chair, I turn toward the only window in the room and put my hand between us.
His breath glides across my cheek, sweet with mint, and I decide I hate his gaudy cologne. I have half a mind to tell him, too, but I can’t seem to find my voice.
Avoid. Avoid. Avoid.
Eyes slamming shut,I try to control the urge to run, but I feel it as fiercely as his beating heart when he presses his chest into my open palm.
“Don’t,” I whisper, letting my hand fall to my lap.
The warmth of him lingers, dancing across my skin.
“Don’t what? Tell you something you’re not ready to hear?” More gently, he says, “Look at me, Pen.”
But I can’t. Not without remembering that he abandoned me.
I walked onto campus after that summer, only to be devastated that he wasn’t there waiting for me. I searched for him for days, hoping it was just a delay in approvals for his transfer, but the admissions office said they showed no record of him in their system.
And the shittiest part is that I did try to contact him, but the texts and calls never went through. I’d been blocked, and after one semester rolled by, then another with no word from him, I decided whatever future we thought we would have together was a fairytale we’d spun to survive our mutual wounds.
“Look,” I grit, finally meeting those burning blues. “I don’t want this job, and full disclosure, I’m going to make an awful assistant. But I need it. Nothing more, nothing less. So if the past is going to be a problem for you, then, as you said, forget it.”
His expression flickers before settling on icy detachment. He pushes off the chair, standing with unrecognizable arrogance. “All right. You can have the position, but there will be requirements.”
Relieved to have him out of my space, I sit back. “Whatever it is, agreed.”
He steps around his desk and gathers a stack of papers before mechanically attaching it to the clipboard. “You don’t want to know what they are?”
“Declan said I’d be doing menial tasks, possibly speaking with clients.” I shrug. “Nothing I can’t handle. You know I’m a talker.”
Logan plucks a pen off his desk before handing it to me. It’s thin and small between his long fingers, and I chastise myself for even noticing. “There will be times you’ll have to present yourself as a seasoned professional.”
Not appreciating the pointed look he gives me, I snatch the clipboard from him. “In other words, be drab and boring like you.”
“Think of it like acting. Sometimes you have to wear a different face to get what you want. Learn your opponent, note their every weakness, and then, when the time is right, you exploit it.”
I purse my lips. “Sounds unethical.”
“That’s business, baby.”
I blink up at him, wondering if the boy I once knew is still buried in there somewhere. The one who was never satisfied unless there was a smile on my face. The one who followed me all over Augustine in search of adventure. That boy was my friend, and the thought that he might be lost for good makes my battered heart ache.
“You sound just like Silas, you know.”
The thumb sweeping beneath his lower lip halts. “Speaking of my father, I think it’s best we keep you working here… off the record.”
I shut down an onslaught of memories. But the picture Silas showed me of Logan and his college girlfriend the day I came looking for him manages to squeak through.
“Fine by me.”
Besides, it’s not like my dad will be thrilled about this development, either.
“I’m a man of my word.” He nods at the papers in my lap, void of any emblems representing the company. “You’ll see I’ve addressed every detail of the job and what’s expected of you, including your pay—which, as promised, I’ve doubled.”
I flip through a few pages to see the generous amount of money he’s offering and blink up at him. “You already had this made up?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know I would be back?”
Logan analyzes me long enough to make me regret asking. “I didn’t.”
But he made the contract, regardless. Does that mean he hoped I would?
It doesn’t make sense. Why he’s here, why he never contacted me, and whyhe would want me working for him to begin with.
But none of that matters now. I quickly scribble my signature across the lines on each page, skimming a few of the important bits and not bothering with the rest.
“Done,” I say, handing him the clipboard.
He steps over to a copier and methodically inserts the papers into the tray. Once he’s collected them, he rolls them up and offers me his free hand.
Reluctantly, I take it. My head swims with his big body crowding my space, his hard chest rubbing the arm he’s yet to release.
“Tell me why you need the money, Pen.”
This close, I find the fine lines around his eyes curiously handsome. Made more so by time spent in the sun and paired with tiny pale freckles dotting his cheeks, like kisses from the sand.
When I try to move, he only holds me firmer.
“I just do, okay?”
He tsks, “Article two, section three of the contract: when asked a direct question, you’re to give a direct answer.”
Grinding my teeth, I eventually relent. “Because my apartment is currently underwater, and Carrie and I are living in a hotel until I can find a place. It’s not a big deal, and more importantly, none of your business.”
“I suppose it’s a good thing you’ll be living in one of our luxury villas, then.”
With my free hand, I jiggle my earlobe, positive I’ve misheard him. “Come again?”
“You and your viperous little sister will stay in one of our apartments on the upper east side.” I finally jerk my hand free of his, but he simply smiles. “Here at Summit Estates, you’ll learn we give only the best to our employees.”
“But I’m not on the payroll,” I argue. “You can’t make me live anywhere.”
“According to article twelve, section two, subsection C, I can.” Logan winks before shoving the rolled copy of our agreement in my hand. “I suggest you look this over very carefully, Miss Vance.”
I’m fuming by the time he settles in his chair, legs kicked up and irritatingly smug.
“For your information, I’m not the same girl you used to know. I might have followed you around like a lost puppy once, but I’ve long since learned to bite.”
A vicious smile, and then, “Now that, I’m counting on.”
I square off with him in challenge—a force to be reckoned with. Contract or no contract, he can’t dictate my life.
Any humor flitting across his face snuffs out entirely, eliciting a flare of unease when he dismisses me. “See you bright and early, Monday morning, sunshine.”