Chapter 13 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
There we were at Emeril’s restaurant, with cameras flashing outside, reporters elbowing each other for position, and Logan and Sophie seated at the best table in the house.
I sat in a corner, out of the way, pretending to be any other diner, headphones in, listening to every single second of their date. If someone had paid any attention to me, however, they would have thought I was on the phone.
But I wasn’t. I was listening to Logan. And that was becoming a problem.
Because I was starting to like Logan Richards.
Not in a real way. Not in any way that mattered. Just a little crush. That was all.
It was annoying how charming he could be when he wasn’t trying to get on my nerves.
How effortlessly funny he was—wry, a little self-deprecating, never taking himself too seriously.
That was the part I hadn’t expected. That, despite his reputation, despite the headlines and the messes I had to clean up, he had a sense of humor about all of it.
And, of course, he was gorgeous. That was objectively true.
He had that sharp, undone kind of handsomeness.
Dark brown hair tousled like he’d just run a hand through it for effect.
He looked like he’d stepped out of a high-fashion shoot: leather jacket, brooding expression, the kind of guy who bends the whole room to his will without even trying.
But none of that mattered because he was my client.
And crushing on a client? Unprofessional. Unacceptable. I tamped it down before it could turn into something more. This was nothing. Just a flicker of misplaced attraction that would be gone before long.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Logan’s hand twitched where it rested on the table, but his face stayed perfectly composed. Without missing a beat, he took a sip of his wine and leaned in toward Sophie with that easy, practiced charm.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
She giggled. “Thank you for bringing me that lily you picked. You’re so romantic.”
My breath caught. He had brought her a flower, just as I had told him to do. This was fine. This was precisely what I had planned. So why did it feel like my skin was too tight? Like my pulse was knocking a little too hard against my ribs?
I watched as Logan, so smoothly, leaned closer to Sophie. “So… tell me something real about you. What’s a secret most people don’t expect when they meet Sophie Hartwell?”
She lit up, laughter spilling out like champagne. There was a softness between them now, the kind of moment that sold a relationship better than any headline ever could.
Logan smiled, settling back. He was present. Charming. Connected. Exactly the version of himself I had been trying to build.
This was good. This was working. If anyone looked over now, they’d be thoroughly convinced. Hook, line, and sinker. I should have been thrilled, but instead I exhaled, forcing my fingers to unclench where they had curled against the table. I was being ridiculous. This was my job.
And yet…
Why did seeing Logan and Sophie giggling make my jaw tighten? I told myself that it was anxiety. That I just wanted this night to go off without a hitch. That it was professional irritation, nothing more. That I wasn’t feeling anything else. Because what else would I be feeling?
Jealousy?
I nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. I wasn’t jealous. I was his publicist, for heaven’s sake. This wasn’t real.
But my stomach clenched anyway.
I forced myself to take a slow sip of my water, schooling my face into a picture of neutral calm, reminding myself that any real professional wouldn’t be sitting here, gripping their glass so tightly that it might shatter.
Then Logan turned back to Sophie, nodding at his plate.
“And hey, this broccolini is fantastic. Would you like a bite?”
Sophie smiled and nodded: “I’d love that.”
He plucked a spear and offered it to her. My chest tightened. Not with jealousy, I told myself, but pride. He was doing exactly what I recommended.
Then Sophie reached for her plate. “Would you like some of my escargot?”
Logan didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please.” He closed his eyes like she was bestowing a gift from the heavens.
She grinned and dropped one right into his mouth.
The sight of it made my stomach flip.
And before I could stop myself, I said, “You’re a lucky man. Most people have to wait until they’re in assisted living to get spoon-fed in public.”
Silence.
Oh no. What was I doing?
I was supposed to be the calm, professional voice in his ear, not... whatever that was. Jealousy? Panic? Possession? Whatever it was, it was mortifying. I needed to shut up before I derailed the whole night.
But Logan didn’t look annoyed. Quite the opposite. His jaw twitched, eyes gleaming with barely suppressed laughter as he chewed with exaggerated pleasure, clearly enjoying every second of my meltdown.
“You know,” he said to Sophie, swirling his wine, “I never told you the kind of woman I’m into.”
This was my moment to recover. I adjusted my earpiece and leaned forward slightly, whispering the exact script into his earpiece like a seasoned producer feeding a teleprompter. “Honey-blonde hair. Dimples. Blue eyes. All-American girl-next-door.”
He leaned back. “It’s not about looks,” he said smoothly.
I frowned. That was not in the script. “Wait, what?” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Logan carried on like he hadn’t heard me. “I like a woman who can keep up, you know? Someone smart, sharp. A little unpredictable.”
Sophie smiled, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. “Mysterious?”
Logan tilted his head. “Not mysterious, exactly.” He paused, then sighed like he was suddenly waxing poetic. “I think the best kind of girl… is like a New Orleans summer.”
My stomach flipped. I nearly choked on my water. No. Absolutely not. Was he recycling lines from my brother? I stared at him, pulse kicking up. What in the world was he doing?
Sophie blinked, intrigued. “A New Orleans summer?”
Logan exhaled, his expression thoughtful. “Warm when she wants to be”—he casually lifted his glass—“and there’s no break from the heat.”
I went still. Heat curled in my chest.
Sophie laughed, delighted. “I love that.”
But Logan wasn’t looking at her.
For half a second, his gaze flicked to me. It was so quick that I almost convinced myself I had imagined it.
Something in my grip tightened.
Oh. Oh no.
I had gotten used to Logan flirting in a controlled environment, when I was safely out of the line of fire.
But this? This was something else entirely.
Because when he looked at me like that, when he borrowed words that had once been used to describe me, it made my skin feel too warm.
It made my pulse jump in a way I refused to acknowledge.
I forced myself to breathe, gripping the table as if it were the only thing anchoring me to reality. Sophie was still smiling, sipping her wine, utterly unaware of the chaos happening in my head. I swallowed hard and pressed two fingers to my earpiece.
“Logan,” I said in his ear, my voice deceptively calm. “I will kill you.”
“Warm like a New Orleans summer.” He smiled at Sophie as if she were the most fascinating person in the room. “Have you ever met someone like that?”
“Logan,” I hissed again.
When Logan turned back to Sophie, amusement still glinting in his eyes, something about it felt different.
He wasn’t looking at her like she was the one sharing the joke. He was looking at me, like he wanted me to react as if he were waiting for my response.
Oh, drat. I swallowed, shifting in my seat. This was fine. I was fine.
Sophie giggled, nudging the fork toward his mouth again. “I think I do know someone like that.”
Across the restaurant, Logan kept glancing toward me.
Not subtly, either, like some rookie at a poker table who’d never learned to keep his tells in check.
And he was doing it often enough that Sophie noticed. She followed his gaze, her brow furrowing slightly before she covered it with another bright, camera-ready smile. “You’re lucky your PR person isn’t as scary as mine is.”
I stiffened. Nope. This wasn’t good. She wasn’t wrong. I was his PR person, and I was supposed to be detached. Except now I was sitting there, in a very expensive restaurant, suddenly feeling very attached.
Sophie excused herself to the bathroom, flashing Logan a playful smile as she slid out of her seat.
I took the opportunity to exhale, to reset, to remind myself that this was work. That whatever tension was crackling between Logan and me wasn’t real, just collateral damage from spending too much time in each other’s heads.
But before I could even remind Logan to stay in character, he leaned forward, voice low. “You okay over there?”
“I’m just fine,” I muttered. “Stop talking to me.”
“Why?” he murmured, still pretending to focus on his wine. “I like our little chats.”
“Because though I look like I’m on the phone, you look like a fool talking to yourself.”
He stilled, then he began timing his words with natural movements. He took a slow sip of wine, exhaling as if considering something important, and shook his head slightly. “You sure you’re okay? Because you sound a little flustered.”
“I’m not flustered.”
“Mm. Could’ve fooled me.”
“Logan—”
He stretched out his legs under the table, completely at ease. “Just saying,” he murmured, “you seemed to really like that line about a woman being like a New Orleans summer.”
“I liked it when Jake said it. You butchered it beyond recognition.”
He grinned, swirling his drink. “I think you do like it.”
I groaned. This man.
He kept his voice low enough that only I could hear. “You know, you should relax and enjoy yourself. You’re getting very invested in my date.”
I clenched my jaw. “I’m invested in making sure you don’t mess this up,” I shot back.
“Mmm.” He smirked, hiding his mouth as he adjusted his cufflink. “If you say so.”
I was about to respond—probably with something that would get me fired—when I realized something.
Sophie had been gone a long time. Too long.
I frowned. “I’m going to check on Sophie.”
Logan hummed. “Jealous?”
“Over you? Never. But if she ditched you in the middle of your date, I’d like to know before TMZ does.” I stood and made my way to the bathroom, already preparing myself for whatever nonsense I was about to walk into. The second I stepped inside, I heard her.
Sophie’s voice was low but clear. “Babe, I know.”
I froze. Then, I took one step closer.
“No, it’s not like that,” she murmured. “You’re overthinking this.
” A pause. A sigh, frustrated but familiar, like this wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation.
“I told you, it’s fine.” Another beat. “I just, ugh, can we talk later?” Silence.
Then, softer. “Come on, babe, don’t be like that. ”
I pressed my lips together. Okay. That could mean anything.
But given the fact that she was supposed to be Logan’s devoted, adoring girlfriend—and she was currently in a bathroom whispering “babe” to someone who wasn’t him—it didn’t sound great. It would have been disastrous if somebody else had heard her.
The call ended, and before I could pretend I wasn’t standing outside her bathroom stall like a detective in a bad crime drama, Sophie swung the door open.
We locked eyes.
I folded my arms. “I heard you talking. To ‘babe.’” My voice was calm and measured. “You need to stay committed to this relationship.”
Sophie didn’t even blink. Instead, she smirked, looking in the mirror to freshen her lipstick. “It’s just a friend.”
I arched an eyebrow.
She let out a dramatic sigh, finally turning to face me. “I call everyone ‘babe,’ babe.”
I studied her, trying to decide if she was lying or if she genuinely didn’t care that she was risking this entire operation.
She breezed past me, but then—right before she walked back into the restaurant—she turned and tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she suddenly wanted to solve. “Okay, fine. I’ll keep playing my part. But tell me something, Elizabeth.”
I stiffened. “What?”
Her eyes sparkled, too darn perceptive. “What exactly is going on with you and Logan?”
I scoffed. “Nothing.”
Sophie hummed, clearly not buying it. “Sure doesn’t seem like nothing.”
I forced a dry smile. “Well, it is.”
She shrugged, looking entirely unconvinced.
I sat back down at my table, watching as Sophie returned to Logan. He shot me one glance before refocusing on her.
I sipped my wine, ignoring the heat in my chest.