Chapter 16 Logan
LOGAN
Music had always been the one thing that made sense to me.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers drifting over the piano keys, playing through the chords again and adjusting the weight of each note until they felt right. The studio was warm and dimly lit, the air carrying the faint scent of coffee and cologne.
For a while, Mick had been there, cracking jokes and pretending he wasn’t hovering to make sure I rehearsed.
Elizabeth had arrived a little after him, still in her blazer, tablet in hand, multitasking like her life depended on it.
I think she thought Mick would stick around.
Heck, I’d assumed the same. But then he’d gotten a call, muttered something about a “vendor emergency,” and ducked out with a promise to be back soon.
That had been over thirty minutes ago.
Now, it was just us. The only sounds were the quiet hum of the city beyond the windows, the soft tapping of Elizabeth’s fingers against her tablet, and the occasional rustle of fabric as she moved.
She was getting ready for a charity gala while I rehearsed.
I’d agreed to perform at a benefit for the local animal shelter—a small, intimate event with a live auction and a cocktail hour, where I’d play a stripped-down set to help raise money.
It was something that mattered, and Elizabeth had thrown herself into making sure it was perfect.
The studio felt different with just the two of us. Comfortable. Easy.
She was perched on the edge of the couch, scrolling through her tablet, all business, while I ran through the chords again. The whole setup felt nice. The quiet hum of the city outside, the warmth of the dim lighting, the casual rhythm of her flipping through pages while I played.
Familiar, even. Like we’d done this a hundred times before.
Which was dangerous.
Because the more I got used to this—to her—the harder it was getting to pretend I didn’t want more.
So, there she was, double-checking details, flipping between event schedules and whatever other plans she had running through her head.
And I was trying not to get distracted by how beautiful she was. And how close she was.
Elizabeth barely looked up from her tablet. “I need you to be on your best behavior tomorrow.”
I grinned, leaning back against the piano bench. “Define ‘best.’”
She still didn’t look at me. “Not getting banned from the venue for throwing a statue would be a good start.”
I pressed a hand to my chest. “That was one time. And, in my defense, how was I supposed to know that statue wasn’t bolted down?”
Now she did look up, brow raised. “Because it was made of ice.”
I shrugged. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”
Elizabeth glanced up at me, and for a second, something softened in her expression—something like amusement, like she was fighting back a smile. Her expression sent something warm through me. I loved making her smile, loved these moments when she let herself enjoy me, just a little.
Then, just as quickly, she schooled her face back into something unimpressed and returned to her screen. “Unbelievable.”
It shouldn’t have made me grin like an idiot. But it did. “In my defense, it was a deeply boring event. Most people would’ve left early if I hadn’t livened things up.”
Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose like she was reconsidering her entire life. “You and Sophie will pose for the cameras. You’ll dance. You’ll be introduced after the auction. You’ll play three songs, smile for the cameras. That’s it. Easy-peasy.”
I nodded solemnly. “Right. So what I’m hearing is: improvise.”
Her eye twitched. “This is a very different audience than you’re used to.”
“Yeah,” I said, stretching my arms over my head. “No one’s throwing beer at me. No one’s lighting up in the front row. Feels unnatural.”
She shot me a warning look. “Let’s keep it that way.”
I leaned in conspiratorially. “I don’t know. Rich people get feisty when they lose a silent auction. I’m just saying, if some hedge fund guy gets outbid on a golden retriever puppy, we could have drama.”
Her lips twitched like she was holding back a laugh. She shook her head and went back to her tablet, flipping through her notes, all professional again. “Just… read the room, okay?”
I grinned. “I always read the room. It’s not my fault the room usually wants a show.”
I watched her for a second, taking in the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating.
She was gorgeous.
And funny. And smart. And so close.
I dragged my fingers over the piano keys, trying to play it cool, but my pulse was racing.
Hanging out with her, teasing her, watching her almost smile was too easy. Too fun. Too… something.
I turned back to the piano and played the same section of the song again, letting the melody fill the space between us.
She said quietly, “You’ve played that same section five times.”
“Yeah?” I smirked. “And?”
She hesitated. “It’s good.”
“That sounded dangerously close to a compliment.”
A flicker of a smile.
I should have left it at that. But instead, I said, “Come here.”
Elizabeth blinked. “What?”
I nodded toward the piano bench. “Sit.”
She let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t play the piano.”
“I didn’t ask if you played.” I scooted over, making room for her. “Come on. You micromanage everything else in my life, so you might as well see if you can improve my playing, too.”
She hesitated. I could see the wheels turning in her head. She was calculating the risk, weighing the pros and cons.
Then, finally, she moved. The second she sat beside me, warmth radiated between us. My pulse skipped.
She smelled like coffee and lavender.
Not distracting. Not at all.
“Okay,” I said, tilting my head. “I know you’re a control freak, so just press a key. Any one.”
Elizabeth shot me a look. “I’m not a control freak.”
I snorted. “Elizabeth, you color-code your emails.”
She sighed, but then lifted a hand and pressed a key. A single, simple note.
Her fingers brushed mine, and it was like a live wire shot through me.
I didn’t pull away.
The air shifted. Her breath caught slightly, and I heard it, felt it. She was close enough that if I just turned—
No. I couldn’t. Shouldn’t.
But she wasn’t moving away either.
The air between us felt charged. The faint scent of coffee and lavender curled around me, and she was so close, just a breath away. If I leaned in—
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
Elizabeth jolted like she’d been shocked, fumbling for her phone as the alarm blared between us.
“Seriously?” I exhaled, half-murderous toward whatever had just ruined the moment.
Elizabeth's eyes widened as she silenced the alarm. “Oh. Right. I, uh, I set a reminder.”
I arched a brow, fighting back a smirk. “For what?”
She shot me a glare, cheeks slightly pink. “To check the final auction item list before the event.”
I let out a short laugh, running a hand through my hair. “You schedule everything, huh?”
“It’s my job,” she muttered, but there was something softer about her voice now, something almost flustered.
I watched her for a moment, the weight of what almost happened still hanging in the air. She had felt it too. I knew she had.
But then, she was all business again, tapping furiously at her screen as if she hadn’t just been centimeters away from kissing me.
I exhaled, fingers drifting back over the piano keys, letting the melody fill the space between us.
Elizabeth cleared her throat. “You know, I don’t get you.”
“Yeah? Join the club.”
But she didn’t laugh. Instead, she rested her hands on her lap, watching me. “Why did you sabotage your career? Why are you like this?”
I arched a brow. “Like what?”
She exhaled. “Rebellious. Reckless.” Her voice softened, like she wasn’t just saying it to scold me. “Like you want to be self-destructive.”
I didn’t answer right away. Not because I didn’t know. But because, for the first time in a long time, I wanted to answer. I hit a few soft chords, my voice quieter. “I spent my whole life being told who I was supposed to be.”
Elizabeth didn’t interrupt.
“I was the son of a legend, which meant I had to be a certain way, sound a certain way, act a certain way. When I finally got my career, I didn’t know how to separate myself from all that. And then… when my dad got sick…”
I stopped. Jaw tightening.
Oh no.
I shouldn’t have said that.
Even to her. Something told me that I could trust her, but it wasn’t public information, and I wasn’t ready to talk about it.
Elizabeth’s posture shifted. Subtle, but I felt it. Her focus sharpened, like she was mentally rewinding my words, picking them apart.
“Sick?” She was watching me too closely now, and I didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way her expression softened, like she saw through me for a second.
I needed to shut this down. I cleared my throat, shifting on the bench. “What about you?” I kept my tone light. Casual. Deflecting. “Why are you like this?”
Her brows furrowed. “Like what?”
“Workaholic. Uptight. Afraid to take a breath without scheduling it first.”
She scoffed, but there was less bite to it than usual. “Someone has to keep things together. I can’t afford to lose control.”
I tilted my head. “Why?”
She hesitated. And for the first time, she didn’t have an answer.
The silence stretched, warm and charged.
And then, as if she suddenly realized how close we were, how easily this moment could turn into something else, like it almost had before, she shifted back.
Her voice was crisp again. “Anyway, this was fun, but the charity event is tomorrow, and I still have work to do.”
She gathered her things, preparing to leave, when I stood, crossed the room, and reached behind the couch.
I pulled out the framed painting from the Bywater gallery. The one she had stopped to admire just a little too long.
Her entire body stilled, and her breath hitched.
I held it out. “I bought this for you.”
Elizabeth blinked, looking up at me, still trying to maintain that professional distance. “That wasn’t part of the plan.”
I stepped closer, holding her gaze. “Neither are you.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
“It’s yours,” I said softly, placing it in her hands.
Her fingers curled around the frame, but she didn’t even glance at the painting. Her eyes were still on me.
“Why would you do that?”
I could have deflected. Could have turned it into a joke, shrugged it off, and made it seem like nothing.
But I didn’t. Instead, I leaned against the wall, exhaling slowly. “Because I get it.” My voice was quieter now. “Feeling like you can’t have what you want.”
Her breath caught. For a second, she didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.
I took a step closer. “Elizabeth—”
She shook her head sharply. “No.”
I hesitated. “I think you—”
“Don’t say it.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried more weight than a shout. Her fingers tightened around the frame of the painting like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
I searched her face, looking for a crack in her resolve, some sign that I wasn’t the only one feeling this.
“Elizabeth.” My voice was softer now, careful, deliberate. “You know it too.”
Her lips parted, like she wanted to argue, like she was about to deny it. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned away, her shoulders tense. “Good night, Logan.”
And then she was walking out, leaving me standing there with all the words I wasn’t allowed to say.
Fine. She wasn’t ready to hear it. Then, I wouldn’t say it. Yet.
I listened to her heels clicking against the hardwood, listened until the sound disappeared.
Then I turned back to the piano, pressing my fingers to the keys.
The same melody.
The one that hadn’t been there before she was.