3. Misunderstandings
THREE
MISUNDERSTANDINGS
Bella
I stumble into my apartment, kick off my heels, and collapse onto my couch. Four straight days of psychological warfare is exhausting, even if I'm winning. Each small victory feels like sweet revenge for Logan’s humiliation.
My schedule sabotage has Logan Fraser looking decidedly less polished than usual. His perfect hair has been a mess since Tuesday's triple-booked morning meetings.
That meeting with the venture capitalists was particularly satisfying—watching him rush in fifteen minutes later, slightly out of breath, his accent thicker with frustration. The great Logan Fraser, finally losing his infamous control.
Even today, he'd looked rattled after the board meeting I'd "accidentally" rescheduled to overlap with his investor lunch. His tie had been slightly crooked, and for once, that infuriating smirk was nowhere to be seen. Good. Let him feel a fraction of the humiliation I felt that morning he told me to leave.
I hear the sharp vibration of my phone from my purse. Audrey is right on schedule after her earlier office visit. She'd stopped by the office today, probably to confront her brother about his latest conquest. Me.
"Hey, you should have seen the look on his face after you left earlier," I say with a smile, settling deeper into my couch. Finally, someone else is calling him out on his behavior.
"Actually..." There's something in her tone that makes me sit up straight. "We need to talk about the morning after my wedding."
And once more, I'm unsettled. Just like I was that morning when I made that frantic call to her. A haze of melancholy settles over me as I recall the events of that Sunday.
* * *
Sunday Morning
The car glides down Lexington, the city lights blurring into long, smudged streaks on the glass. My Uber driver hums softly to himself as the sound of tires over wet asphalt fills the silence. I sit curled in the corner of the backseat, arms wrapped tightly around my middle, still wearing the dress from last night. My fingers tremble as I press my phone to my ear, hoping she picks up.
Audrey answers on the second ring. Her voice crackles through the line as I fill her in, all static and disbelief. “He did what?”
My eyes squeeze shut. “Sorry I’m calling when you’re supposed to be on your honeymoon,” I manage, but the apology sounds pathetic, even to me. I hate how weak I sound, hate the ache that’s settled in my chest like it’s taken up permanent residence. “I am so sorry. I just... I need to shower and forget this happened.”
The cab turns a corner, and I glimpse myself in the rearview mirror—makeup smudged, eyes too wide, mouth pressed into a tight, ashamed line. Audrey doesn’t let me off the hook.
“Oh no, we’re talking about this,” she snaps, the edge in her tone cutting through the speaker like a slap. “I can’t believe he—actually, no, I can believe it. Karen last year, Melissa before that...”
“Audrey—” I start, but she barrels over the protest, her voice rising.
“And now you. Does he have some kind of checklist? ‘Sleep with all of Audrey’s friends’?”
I shift in my seat, curling tighter into myself as if I can disappear into the shadows of the car. My forehead rests against the chilled glass of the window, the city flickering past in shades of gold and steel. I speak quietly, like it might dull the sting of what I’m admitting.
“Please stop. I knew what I was getting into.”
“Did you?” Her tone softens slightly, but not by much. “Because the Bella I know wouldn’t have gone home with my brother unless…”
I don’t answer right away. There’s a hollow feeling opening up inside my chest, something that grows heavier with every second of silence.
“Unless what?” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the quiet rumble of the car.
She sighs, and for the first time since I called, there’s something gentle in it. Something understanding. “Unless you actually liked him.”
That does it. That little phrase. It breaks something loose inside me, something I’ve been trying to keep buried beneath bravado and sarcasm and the sting of his morning-after coldness. My fingers tighten around the phone as I stare out into the blur of downtown traffic, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay.
Liked him?
Liked him doesn’t even cover it.
I close my eyes for a moment, leaning my head back against the seat, and suddenly I’m not in the car anymore.
I’m twenty-one again, barefoot on Audrey’s tiny apartment balcony, clutching a plastic cup of wine as Logan Fraser holds court in the living room. Fresh from Edinburgh, full of swagger, rattling off some story about a venture deal he’d just closed. All her friends were hanging on his every word, especially Melissa, who kept twirling a piece of hair around her finger and laughing too loudly.
I hadn’t been impressed. I’d rolled my eyes and muttered a line from Shakespeare’s Macbeth— “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing .”
He’d caught the reference. And instead of acting insulted, he’d looked at me, really looked at me, then laughed—deep and unguarded. The first time I saw the mask crack. And the way he stole my breath later with a kiss that should have never happened…
* * *
Present
“Bella?” Audrey’s voice cuts through the memory, pulling me back to the present.
I shift the phone to my other hand and press my fingers to my temple, trying to push it all away. “I was in need of an outlet,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “It was a mistake. End of story.”
My mind is still stuck in the flashback, and I don’t know how many minutes pass until Audrey’s voice finally pulls me back. Somehow, I even made it home without remembering taking a single step to my loft.
“Bella?”
“Sorry, just... remembering.” I lean my head back against the couch and close my eyes. The day is already too much, the city traffic still echoing in my ears from the ride home, and Audrey’s voice in my ear is the one familiar anchor that somehow makes this feel even more surreal. “What about Sunday morning?”
There’s a brief pause, like she’s bracing herself. “Logan wasn’t talking to you.”
I sit up straighter, the words not registering at first. “What?”
Audrey coughs delicately. “When he said to let yourself out… he wasn’t speaking to you. He was on a business call, Bella. Firing someone. He had no idea you were even awake.”
My voice trails off. I want to argue, but already my mind is shifting through the memory, turning it over like a stone in my hand. The silence. His back turned. That clipped voice, colder than usual. No eye contact. Just… instructions.
“He had earbuds in,” Audrey continues, calm now, as if she’s been waiting for me to put the pieces together myself. “He came out of the bathroom, and you were gone. The clothes he left for you? That was his version of thoughtfulness. He told me he wanted to take you to breakfast and wanted you to have something comfortable to wear.”
The room seems to tilt slightly. I blink hard, but it doesn’t help. The memory rearranges itself in my mind—no longer a cold dismissal, but something completely different. Something almost gentle. My stomach turns.
“Oh God.” I press my palm to my forehead, my fingers trembling. “Oh God.”
“Yeah,” Audrey says softly.
“But then why didn’t he say anything at work? Why didn’t he just… explain?”
She exhales sharply. “Because he’s Logan bloody Fraser, and his pride is bigger than his bank account. You know that. And also, you’ve been terrorizing him all week, so I’m guessing he figured you didn’t exactly want a chat.”
I groan and drop my head against the back of the couch again. The ache in my chest spreads slowly, a creeping guilt that makes my face flush with heat. “Audrey… I’ve been horrible. Yesterday I scheduled his lunch meeting with that startup he’s trying to acquire at the same time as his dentist appointment.
Audrey’s response is a dry chuckle. “To be fair, he deserved it for his history with my friends.”
“Don’t encourage me,” I mumble, though the smallest, most reluctant smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. It fades quickly. “Still. That’s not okay. I should probably start looking for a new job before he fires me for real.”
“Don’t you dare,” Audrey says, suddenly fierce. “You listen to me, Bella. Despite Logan being a royal ass ninety percent of the time, Monarch Ventures is the fastest-growing tech investment firm in the city. A year there will open every door you want to walk through. And you’re brilliant. Even when you’re actively trying to sabotage him, you’re still better than half the staff he’s had.”
I pick at a loose thread in the throw pillow beside me, guilt curling tighter in my chest. “Yeah, but…”
“But nothing,” she snaps. “And Logan…” She hesitates, which is rare enough that I sit up again.
“What about him?” I ask, wary.
“He’s different with you.”
I swallow hard. “Different how?”
Audrey hmms thoughtfully on the other end before speaking once more, and the tone she uses makes me think it’s taken her some effort to say everything she just has. “He asked me not to tell you about the misunderstanding.”
My eyes narrow as I try to process this, and I shake my head. “What? Why?”
“Probably because he’s an idiot.” She sighs. In my head, I picture her scowling as she tries to understand how Logan’s brain works. Honestly, I get it, because there have been times when he’s been incredibly hard to read. “He should fix this mess himself.”
I let that sink in. The way he’s looked at me this week. The way he didn’t snap back when I was at my worst. The emails that managed to be sarcastic and weirdly thoughtful all at once. His reluctant patience, even though I’ve been horrible to him left and right.
He could’ve fired me, and he didn’t.
“Bella?”
“I’m thinking,” I say, though the truth is, I’m spiraling. Every little thing I’ve done to get under his skin this week feels like its own flavor of childish now. Every glance. Every calculated sabotage.
“I’ve been a menace,” I say finally, groaning as I press a cushion over my face.
“I mean, yes,” Audrey says lightly. “But he kind of deserved it. For his history with my friends, if nothing else.”
“Still,” I mutter.
A pause.
“Bella? I’m serious. Promise me you won’t let on that you know,” she says. “He’ll clam up and be an ass about it. ”
I hesitate. It feels wrong to keep something like this between them, but she’s right. If this was a misunderstanding—and it clearly was—then Logan should be the one to explain himself. He owes me that much.
“Fine,” I say. “I promise.”
“Good.” Her voice lifts again, brighter. “Now tell me you’re coming to dinner next weekend. Louis wants to show off his cooking skills.”
I manage a weak laugh. “Audrey, most people in your position would stay on their honeymoon for at least thirty days. I still can’t believe you two cut it short.”
She snorts. “Louis and I have the rest of our lives to savor each other’s company. Besides, we can do whatever the bloody hell we want.”
I smile into the phone and let the conversation drift toward safer ground—recipes, her dress fitting drama, a little gossip about one of her cousins who apparently got too drunk at the reception to remember dancing with the string quartet.
By the time we hang up, my body feels like lead. I curl up under a blanket on the couch, but sleep doesn’t come easily. Not with the new truth sitting in my chest like a stone. Not with the memory of Logan’s voice the night of the wedding still echoing in my head.
And definitely not with the knowledge that I’ve been wrong about everything all week.
There’s only one thing that can help right now, so I get up and take the longest shower of my life, trying to wash away the guilt of my actions this past week. Under the hot water, memories of the office float back.
The way Logan would bring coffee to late meetings, making sure everyone was taken care of before starting. How he knows every employee's name, even the cleaning staff. The time he gave his umbrella to an intern during a storm, then walked to his car in the rain.
Small moments I'd deliberately ignored while plotting my revenge. Because it was easier to see him as the callous one-night stand who'd dismissed me than to admit there might be more to him. More to us.
I drag myself to my desk after taking my shower to check tomorrow’s schedule one last time on my laptop.
I feel a shiver of dread.
Tomorrow morning’s client meeting—the one I deliberately triple-booked—is with the CEO of Silicon Valley’s hottest AI startup, CyberMind. The same startup that three other major investment firms are courting. The same startup that could make or break Monarch Ventures’ reputation as a serious player in tech investment.
I frantically click through calendar invites, but it’s too late to make changes. The other attendees have already confirmed. Logan will have to choose between the AI startup and two other crucial meetings I’ve stacked against it.
My stomach churns as I scroll through the calendar. This isn't just about annoying Logan anymore. Monarch Ventures has been courting this AI startup for months. I've seen the reports. This could be the deal that establishes them as a serious player in the industry. And I might have just sabotaged it because I was too hurt to see what was right in front of me.
The AI startup's CEO is notoriously particular about his time. One scheduling mishap could tank months of careful negotiation. And I've created not just one conflict, but three. God, what was I thinking?
My phone pings with an email from Logan:
Looking forward to tomorrow’s meetings. All of them. -LF
The bastard isn’t even trying to hide his sarcasm.
I close my laptop and crawl into bed, but sleep doesn't come. Instead, I keep thinking about Sunday morning. About the new clothes next to my freshly pressed gown. About how he smiles at me, even when I'm awful to him.
My mind drifts to the CyberMind reports piled on my desk, the ones detailing exactly how crucial this deal could be for Monarch. It's not just about the money for Logan—it's about establishing Monarch Ventures as more than just another investment firm.
About how maybe I'm not the only one who remembers that graduation party, where a cocky Scotsman with something to prove met a Shakespeare-quoting girl who wasn't impressed by his money.
My phone pings again. Another email from Logan:
By the way, CyberMind’s CEO only drinks single-origin Ethiopian coffee. In case that affects your morning sabotage plans. -LF
I grab my pillow and scream into it.
What have I done?