Chapter 11
Penelope
“Not only no, but hell no.”
Carrie’s opinion of me working for Logan is fresh on my mind as we prepare breakfast together at the group home.
Not that my reaction was much different when we arrived at the third-story apartment he reserved for us. I hate to admit how beautiful it is with a balcony that faces the bluffs, and the ocean crashing against the rocks below in a lulling, relaxing cadence.
The fridge had been stocked with food and the dry bar, facing a modern, yet cozily furnished living room, is filled with world-class wines. And if that wasn’t obnoxious enough, Logan made sure both our closets were teeming with outfits in a range of different sizes and styles.
He left a handwritten note on the nightstand in my bedroom, his scent floating around and mocking me with its presence.
“Let me know how else I can care for you,” it read, stiff and cordial.
But the disappointment that nothing’s changed lingers, and as long as Silas still controls him, I don’t want him caring for me at all.
“Working for your ex is a terrible idea,” Carrie says, handing a bowl of scrambled eggs to Mable for her to distribute to the others. “And I’m not just saying that because I hate him for breaking your heart.”
I flick my braid over my shoulder and then swipe my hands on the front of my apron, aching for the blissful ignorance of childhood as Mable sings a song on her way out of the kitchen.
Dorthea had an emergency errand this morning and asked me to fill in while Ricardo works on some repairs. But I can’t call in on my second day at the office, which left me no choice but to lean on my sister to take care of things around here.
“And remind me why we took the bus instead of being driven by this chauffeur you mentioned?”
“Because I don’t want Logan knowing about this place.” I pin her with a look, matching her irritation. “Or Mom and Dad.”
She hands off another bowl, but not before muttering, “Great. More lies.”
Pouring another batch of eggs into the skillet, I breathe in the hot-oil aroma wafting from the stove and try to calm my frayed nerves. Maybe I’m letting my conversation with Logan fester, but I can’t help feeling miffed that she’s unhappy with me.
Carrie’s the one who said I take nothing seriously, yet when I find a solution, it still isn’t good enough.
I roughly click off the burner before scooping the last batch of eggs into the remaining bowls. My stomach clenches when I’m short one, forcing me to divvy the food into smaller portions before handing them to Mable.
“What’s your deal?” I finally snap once Mable’s out of earshot.
Her lips thin at my attitude, and there’s already an apology building on my tongue. “My deal is that you’re making rash decisions that are going to wind up getting you hurt. Dad would lose his mind if he found out about this. And if by some miracle he didn’t, the fact remains that Logan turned his back on you. Why would you even risk this?”
Carrie lives a life of adventure and success that I can’t compete with, so of course she doesn’t get the struggle. The restlessness and dissatisfaction of trying to find something I’m passionate about, only to consistently fall short.
I’m a triangle peg surrounded by square holes, and deep within the wound Logan pried open is a sense of loss and abandonment I wish I hadn’t acknowledged. A sense that I both desire my family’s approval as much as I want to rail against their expectations of me, and I don’t know if I can trust her to understand that. To understand me.
“It’ll work out, just like it always does.”
“Penelope…”
Grabbing her wrist, I walk her from the kitchen into the front room, where I throw my hand out to the wall that’s rotting from the inside out. Discarded plastering tools and buckets of paint are scattered about, evidence of Ricardo’s patching efforts.
I blur the lines of what’s true, muddying them like one of Mable’s chaotic finger paintings. “I saw an opportunity, and I took it. I’m using him. It’s as simple as that. And before you say it, this goes deeper than just asking Dad for money. This job gives me a chance to advocate for this place, sis. Logan has connections to people all over this city that I couldn’t dream of reaching on my own.”
I felt a twinge of satisfaction yesterday after nailing that contract with George. I could have what it takes to rebuild this place. I just need to get in front of the right people.
Her brows furrow as she considers this. “Okay, I hear you. But once that’s accomplished, then what?”
“Then I’ll quit, and I’ll never speak to him again.”
“And you’ll get a real job and start taking care of yourself, right? No more lying.”
I cross my heart like the little fibber I am. “That’s right.”
She stares at me for a beat before conceding. “Okay, okay. I’ll back off.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, hoping my relief isn’t as obvious as it feels.
Her approach may not always be the best, but I know in my heart that Carrie only does what she does because she wants what’s best for me.
That sentiment jars me, and the hair on my arms raises with a wave of goosebumps.
I’ve heard those words before, long ago. And they burrow through my mind, dredging up more memories with Logan that unearth themselves like the living dead.
Carrie pulls me in for a hug, but distracted by my whirling thoughts, I only catch the tail end of her apology. “… we’ve been arguing lately, but I’m sure it’s because this is the first time we’ve been apart for so long. So, I’m sorry for taking that out on you.”
She must be talking about her boyfriend, and I hug her hard, hating to have added to her stress. “I’m sorry, too.”
“It’s okay,” she says with a gentle smile, but it’s duller than usual. I don’t know why I take it personally, but I do.
“Look, I know this isn’t the vacation you expected, but I’d like to make it up to you tonight.” I remove the apron covering my work clothes and hand it to her. “Then we’ll make super-extra-fun plans for the rest of the week.”
When her smile brightens minimally, I grab on to that thread of hope that this will all blow over. “What do you have in mind?”
“I know the perfect spot for snorkeling. There’s a group of sea turtles that swim up every evening, like clockwork. We can go as soon as I get off.” I give her a nudge with my hip. “Don’t think I forgot how obsessed you are with them.”
Her laughter is like a bump of serotonin, forcing out the ick of upsetting her. “Just because I liked them as a child doesn’t mean I was obsessed.”
“Tell that to the teacher who called Mom because you wore the same sea turtle shirt to school for a week straight.”
She looks toward the ceiling, uttering a drawn out, “Okay, fine. I love them.”
A pair of skinny brown arms wrap around my waist from behind. “Wanna play doctor-hospital with me, Nellie?”
I check my phone for the time, realizing how close I’m cutting it to being late to the office, but those big eyes of hers are so full of light and hope that it damn near breaks my heart.
Kneeling to her level, I give her arm a gentle squeeze. “As tempting as being your patient sounds, I can’t. The boss gets cranky if I’m late.”
Carrie harrumphs, but I’m thankful when she crouches beside me, and says, “I’d love to play doctor-hospital with you, Mable.”
“Yay!” she shouts, giving me a parting hug before rushing out of the room to grab her toys.
“Don’t worry about these guys,” Carrie says as we stand. I grab my bag and pumps from the chair by the hall and slip them on. “I’ll man the fort until Dorthea gets back.”
“Thank you, Carrie. Seriously. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course.” I twist the knob just as she adds, “Go kick some ass, and tell your boss I’m grateful for the place, but his taste in wine is shit.”
I laugh as I descend the steps onto the sidewalk with an extra beat flickering in my heart.
See? Everything’s going to be okay.
And as the rising sun peaks at the end of the strip, illuminating Seaside with a sleepy morning glow, I believe it.
I pop my earbuds in and scroll through my go-to playlist, filled with a blend of songs from every decade and various beats that fit any mood.
A message from my dad pops up before I can click Queen’s ‘Fat Bottomed Girls.’
Hey, sweetheart. Didn’t hear from you yesterday.
“And you won’t be hearing from me today,” I mumble before flicking the notification away.
I want to know how your first day was. Call me when you make it to work.
His second message quickly disappears, replaced by a selfie showing half of his face and the thumbs-up he’s giving the camera.
Got our hotel booked for the conference. Can’t wait.
“Dear god,” I mutter.
“Oh!” My phone clatters to the ground when I smack straight into a woman exiting the bus.
“Shit, are you all right?” The top of the metal tin she’s carrying skids across the concrete, and I rush to grab it.
I offer an apology when I see that it’s cracked down the center, but the cupcakes it was covering looks mostly unharmed.
“Eh, don’t worry about it, sugar.” She dusts her hands down the front of a bright blue jumper, and my eyes fall to a pair of sandals with fuzzy red straps as she settles the lid back on top. “These are just extras I’m dropping off to some friends. My protégé and I made them fresh this morning. He’s awful at calculating the amount of batter we need, and we ended up with four batches.”
The cheeky wink she gives beneath a pair of checkered glasses makes me smile almost as much as the chunky, playful jewelry on her neck and wrists.
“Well, if you end up with more to spare, you can drop them off at the group home up the block.” I gesture up the street. “Those rascals would be more than happy to take the rest off your hands.”
“You got it.” For as old as she appears, her gaze is full of youth. “Name’s Ida.”
“Penelope,” I say before stepping up onto the bus. “It was nice meeting you.”
She pops the broken top off and reaches inside the tin for a cupcake. “Here, why don’t you take one for the road?”
I smile at the pink polka-dotted paper. “Thank you.”
“See you around, Penelope,” Ida says, waving as the door closes.
* * *
“Good morning, Margret.” I greet her by sliding the cupcake onto her desk, right beside her wooden cardinal figurine.
“What’s this?” she asks, eyeing the treat skeptically.
“A gift.” I raise my palms as I take a few steps back toward the hall leading to Logan’s office. “No strings attached. I just thought you might like it.”
“Buying my affection, are we, Miss Vance?”
“Is it working?” I nearly trip when she cracks half a smile.
“Maybe.”
The finger guns I sling at her have her eyes rolling. “Then yes.”
I halt in front of Logan’s door, hesitating to confront him after the way we left things yesterday.
“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” I mumble, practicing the speech I’ve prepared for him one last time. “I clung to your body like a tree jumping monkey, you gave me a massage, and then we had an argument. So what? We can still be professional.”
Taking a deep breath, I turn the handle.
“Uh, Penelope?”
“Eep!” I whirl around to find Declan leaning against the doorframe of his office.
Amusement twitches his lips as he studies me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Thought you might have heard my door open.”
“Oh, no. It’s okay, sorry.” Striving for casual, I tuck my jittery hands behind my back. “Is there something I can help you with?”
To his credit, he doesn’t outright laugh. “I was actually looking for your boss.”
I peer inside the suspiciously quiet room. “Well, as you can see, he’s either late or decided to play hooky.”
“Logan’s never late,” Declan muses. “And I think he’d rather let Javier run him over than miss a day of work.”
I don’t care for that curiousness staring back at me, gliding all over me like he’s trying to sort me out.
“Come on,” he says, leaving my question unanswered. “I could use some assistance next door if you’re not too busy.”
I worry my lip between my teeth, but without Logan here to boss me around, I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to be doing, anyway. “Sure.”
I’m struck by how vastly different Declan’s style is compared to Logan’s. A mist of peppermint steadily puffs from a diffuser in the corner and his wooden shelves are littered with leafy plants. To the left of his desk is a massive wooden table where rolls of blueprints, white pencils, and other measuring knick-knacks are scattered about.
I flip through some of his sketches. “Wow. You made these?”
He rounds the other side, removing one from the bottom of a stack of long rectangle papers. “I did, but I’m struggling with the design for this one.”
Twisting the blueprint for a better view, Declan points to a sketch of an entrance to an elaborate estate. “The trouble is, this project is going to be massive, so I want to put a different twist on it. But for the first time, I’m stumped.”
“Where will this property be in Topica Bay?”
He leans his hip against the table with a smirk. “Now that is top secret.”
“Should’ve guessed that would be the case.”
“Can’t chance our new temp blabbing to our competitors,” he says, and I surprise myself by grinning with him.
“If you’re going for fresh and innovative, then why don’t you try something with a little more… pizazz?” I pluck a charcoal pencil off the table and grab the scratch paper beside it. Haphazardly, I sketch a few additions to what was already there. “Something like this.”
Placing my drawing on top of his, I elaborate, “You could go with an Atlantis-inspired theme with carved columns inside the main lobby and a botanical garden that’s fed by an elaborate fountain. Aquamarine loungers and tons of gold accents all around would be so fun. You could even add built-in bookcases along these two walls, and a coffee lounge over here.”
Declan’s bicep brushes mine when he leans in for a better look. He’s warm and smells like the expensive cologne my dad wears.
“You sure you’re not an architect?” he teases. “You’re a natural.”
Being this close to a beautiful man like him should evoke the same heart-stopping reaction I get when I’m with Logan. But it doesn’t, and it pisses me off.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I smile timidly. “Thanks. Happy to help.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Logan’s cool voice travels from the door behind us.
Heart leaping to my throat, I spin to find him in a three-piece navy suit with a glare so full of jealousy, it threatens to ignite everything in its path.
My face and neck heat instantly. We weren’t doing anything inappropriate, and even if we were, I don’t know why he cares.
It’s not like we’re together. In fact, we couldn’t be more not together.
I expect Declan to jump away from me, but he boldly wraps an arm around my back and tugs me to his side.
Feet tangling, my hand slaps over his chest to catch myself—a movement that doesn’t go unnoticed by the brooding man consuming the doorway.
“Penelope was just helping me with some ideas, weren’t you?” Declan directs a smug grin at Logan, as if goading him intentionally.
“Do you have a death wish?” I mumble.
“Pen’s got quite the eye for design,” he says, ignoring me. “Maybe we should move her in here with me?”
Logan’s eyes snare on the hand Declan has on my shoulder.
Shrugging away from him, I laugh nervously. “You’re too kind.”
“I see.” He adjusts his sleeve cuffs meticulously, casually. Then that piercing gaze flicks up. “Is that what you want, Penelope?”
If I were Declan, I’d be shriveling under all that cold detachment. But he’s flashing his teeth with a broad smile, seemingly pleased with himself.
What the fuck is going on?
“Oh-kay,” I say when Logan pops his knuckles. I cross the room, stepping in front of him before he gets any ideas. “Easy does it.”
It takes a beat, but he eventually drags his attention from Declan to me. “I’ll see you in my office, Miss Vance. Now.”
That tone… I’d tell him where to shove that authority of his if it didn’t produce a whisper of desire in me.
He waits in the doorway, leaving no room for argument, and without another word, I stomp across the hall.
“Why are you so angry? It’s not like I was slapping Declan’s ass and calling him daddy—eep.”
The door slams behind us, ratcheting up my heart rate one rapid thump at a time, and I gasp when I whirl to find him crowding me.
My heels click as he backs me up, one step at a time, until my ass thumps the edge of my desk.
Pens and highlighters clatter at our feet as he growls, “I never want to hear the words Declan and daddy come out of your mouth again, understood?”
“If you’re waiting for a ‘yes, sir,’ then you’re going to be here a while.”
I flatten my palms against his chest, realizing too late that touching him only heightens this predatory trip he’s on. In a blink, I’m sitting on top of the desk with Logan’s belt at the same level as my knees.
A steady throb builds at my core as my body betrays me–arching when I should be pushing, thighs parting when I should be shutting down.
“He’s off limits,” he says, raising a finger to trace the hollow dip at the base of my throat, and I swallow beneath his fingertip, embarrassed by my lack of resistance.
“Keeping him all to yourself, hmm?” I ask, wondering who’s possessed my tongue, coating my words with a promiscuous purr that’s as foreign as the stranger who’s touching me.
His responding hum threads through the fine hairs at my temple, tickling my cheek. “More like keeping you from him.”
Untamed sparks of excitement skitter across my skin lightning fast. He’s hardly touched me, yet my chest and neck flame.
“You’re sounding awfully territorial right now, Mr. Anderson.”
I’d been prepared for a playful comeback, something reminiscent of our past, but not for the beast lurking in the depths of that lust-drunk gaze.
“That’s because I am.” Argument forgotten, his hand firmly grips the side of my neck, loosening several strands of hair from my braid. His hold is a mind-bending blend of gentle possession, and my traitorous body melts for him. “I don’t like other men touching what’s mine.”
My head spins, fighting for control while, at the same time, I want to fold. To answer his body’s call with a soul-reviving kiss and allow that hand at my throat to ease the ache he’s coaxed between my legs.
“I don’t belong to you,” I whisper, but it’s oh, so weak.
“You will always belong to me,” he rumbles.
I search his face for the truth. Does he honestly still desire me after all this time? And if I felt the same, would it matter? Because beneath the height of our still very existent attraction lies one enormous complication.
His father.
“You’re insane.”
A shrug, and then, “Maybe.”
“Stop it, Logan,” I say, speaking for my battered heart. “Whatever game you’re playing isn’t funny.”
Blinking away some of the haze, his pupils shrink as he gradually centers himself.
His brows pinch once he finds his voice. “Javier said you weren’t at the apartment this morning. Why?”
The question catches me so off guard, I barely have time to find a cover. “I needed to grab something from the market and took the bus. No big.”
His suit rustles softly when he straightens, and when he finds the dirt smudge on the top of my feet, I self-consciously cross them. “Do you own a car, or you prefer walking around the city like a barefooted heathen?”
My eyes narrow. “I don’t need a car. The bus takes me wherever I need to go.”
“I’ll have to take care of that, then.”
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl.
A call vibrates beneath my thigh where I heedlessly ditched my phone, startling me.
“I don’t suppose you’re hiding one of your little friends back there, are you?”
“You wish.” I smack his arm, ignoring that toe-curling smirk. “Do you mind if I take this?”
“By all means.” Logan’s perfectly smug while still crowding my space, and I roll my eyes, exasperated.
“Dad! Hi. How are you? What’s up?” I ramble when I answer the call.
“Just calling to see how the job is going.” He pauses. “You got my messages, right?”
Clamping both hands around my waist, Logan lowers me off the desk, making me squeak, “Yes! Started yesterday, and everything’s great.”
I bat his hand away when he reaches for my braid, pulling the band free at the tip.
“What are you doing?” I mouth, but Logan shushes me as he unweaves the wild strands, then smoothly re-braids them.
My heart hammers against my sternum, breathing him in and feeling each precise brush of his fingers over my blouse.
“And how’s your boss treating you?” Dad asks.
“The boss? Oh, he’s cocky for sure,” I say, swaying when a sexy smirk finds his lips, “but otherwise, manageable.”
Logan finishes securing the band before bringing his lips to my ear. “And how do you plan to manage me, Penelope?”
My breath hitches with him so close, spouting salacious nonsense that’s meant to rile me. But it’d be so easy, wouldn’t it? To bury my face in the warmth of his neck, inhaling that natural essence he hides beneath his fancy cologne.
“Are you okay?” Dad’s voice pierces the fog long enough to form a coherent thought.
I break away the minute Logan takes a step back, putting a hefty amount of space between us.
“I’m totally fine!” I say too cheerfully, fumbling with my phone when I almost drop it. “Why don’t I call you on my way home?”
He pauses for a beat, and when he speaks again, his voice echoes through the room on speakerphone. “Well, okay. But I want you to keep me updated. Keerah Financial is a cut-throat business. Everyone is expendable, so you’ll have to work hard to keep your position.”
I twist back to Logan as Dad launches into a spiel about working my way up the ladder. He raises his chin and crosses his arms arrogantly.
Busted.
“No messing around. Got it.” I can’t press the speaker button fast enough.
“I’m serious, sweetheart. I don’t want you making anymore rash decisions.”
Bit late for that, pops.
“And if you find yourself unhappy for any reason, call me, and I’ll talk some sense into you, okay?”
I scrub a hand down my face. I can almost guarantee that won’t be happening.
“Sure thing.”
We exchange ‘I love you’s’ before I end the call, and Logan tsks.
“What?”
“Patrick thinks you’re working at Keerah Financial.”
“Hello. You’re the one who said we should keep this under wraps, remember?”
“Yes, and you could’ve given him the name of any company, but you chose Keerah’s most competitive, highly regarded bank. Not to mention their employees hold their positions longer than members of the US congress.”
I don’t like the way he’s picking me apart, trying to figure out my motive.
“I’m putting two and two together here, sunshine,” he says, tipping his head, “and something tells me a man like Patrick Vance might not approve of his daughter’s previous career choices.”
“What’s your point?”
He looks positively putout with me when he says, “My point is, you had the nerve to accuse me of placating my father when you’re obviously doing the same thing.”
I snap my fingers. “You know what? We need some coffee. Why don’t I go make us some and never come back? Bye!”
He blocks my retreat, but there’s no way I’m hashing this out with him right now.
I twist for the mug sitting on his desk, only to stop short when I spot a cupcake wrapped in pink polka-dot paper.
Picking up the duplicate of the one Ida gave me this morning, I recall what she said about her protégé. It can’t be… can it?
I hold out the baked treat, carefully gauging his reaction. “A woman named Ida gave me a cupcake exactly like this before I came in.” When I move closer, he takes a generous step back. “You wouldn’t happen to know her, would you?”
“I don’t know what you’re going on about,” he says, but the moment he tugs his earlobe, I know he’s lying.
“My, my, how the tables have turtled.” His hand freezes before falling limply to his side, and I can’t help but gloat. “That’s what I thought. Not so fun when it’s your secrets being exposed, is it?”
“The… I’m sorry, did you just say ‘turtled’?”
“Yeah, like when they get turned over on their backs.” I kick one leg and pedal both arms for emphasis.
Logan pinches the bridge of his nose. “It’s turned, Penelope. The tables have turned.”
I shove the cupcake closer to his face, making his eyes cross. “What are you doing with this?”
More importantly, what is he doing, baking cupcakes with someone’s grandma in Anchorage Harbor?
He glares at me for several heartbeats before leaning in and taking a big bite.
My jaw drops as I watch him haughtily lick the icing from his lips. “Oh, very mature.”
Once he swallows, he brushes crumbs from his short stubble and smooths his suit. “Coffee sounds great now that you mention it.”
He rounds his desk before taking a seat, clearly done with this conversation, and any heat that had burned between us withers in a few fragile seconds.
I don’t want Logan in Anchorage Harbor. Hell, I’d prefer he not be on the island at all.
That harbor is my safe haven, and the group home is the one place on Topica Bay that’s judgment- and expectation-free. I can be as loud, colorful, and obnoxious as I want because they’re my kind of people. Unlike him.
Logan prioritizes money over everything, while I hardly keep anything in savings. He doesn’t want a family, but having one has been one of my greatest dreams for as long as I can remember.
He’s strait-laced, business-minded, and rough where every edge was once smooth. I’m the opposite of him in all the ways that count, but here I am, letting him wiggle his way back into my life, just like Carrie feared.
But I can’t say any of those things, and obviously, I’m not invited to his secret party, either. So I snatch the mug from his desk, march out of his office, and swear to myself that Logan Anderson will never get that close to me again.