Chapter Twenty-Two
Logan
“Hey, man,” Darren says, rolling straight into my office.
I barely look up in time to see Arnon rushing after him before my door swings shut in his face.
“What the hell?” I snap.
“Oh, it’s fine,” Darren says, waving a hand behind him like he didn’t just bulldoze my operations manager.
“Shouldn’t you be at home taking care of your wife and newborn?” I ask.
He leans back like he owns the place. “It’s handled. Jess is at my house.”
That gets my full attention. “She is?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I tricked her into coming over. Figured if she was moving out, she might need her best friend. Risked my life playing friendship cupid.”
I blink. “Thanx but you did all that for nothing. Jess and I made up.”
His brows shoot up. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s interesting,” he says slowly. “Considering last time we talked you said you couldn’t forgive her and she was moving out.”
“Well,” I mutter, pretending to focus on my laptop. “Things changed.”
“Just like that?” he deadpans.
“You were the one pushing me to reconcile,” I shoot back. “So I did.”
“Logan,” he warns.
“What?” I say, annoyed. “I came home, there was a suitcase by the door. I couldn’t find her. I thought she’d left. I panicked. I realized I don’t want her gone.”
“So you forgave her.”
“I’m getting there,” I admit.
Darren stares at me like I just admitted to tax fraud.
“What the hell, man?” he says. “So she thinks everything’s good?”
“We are good,” I insist.
“Are you?” he fires back. “Or are you just scared of being alone?”
I clench my jaw. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” he says evenly. “I’m finishing what we already talked about. You told me you couldn’t stop picturing it. You told me you didn’t even like her some days. That doesn’t just vanish because you saw a suitcase.”
I look away and rub my face. “What do you want me to say? That I still sometimes think about it?”
“And she knows that?”
Silence.
Darren exhales sharply. “Logan, you can’t let her think you’re fine if you’re not. That’s cruel.”
“We are fine,” I repeat, but it sounds thinner this time.
“You’re not fine,” he says flatly.
I don’t answer.
He leans forward. “If you’re going to stay or let her stay, don’t blow up in six months because you swallowed it today.”
I glare at him. “What do you want me to do?”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Last year you bitched and moaned about her refusing to go to therapy. Now you’re doing the exact same thing.”
“Oh, come on,” I scoff. “Therapy is just sitting on a stranger’s couch and throwing money at them. I’d rather go to a strip club.”
He blinks at me. “Like you’ve ever been to a strip club.”
“You threw my bachelor party,” I remind him.
A slow grin spreads across his face. “Oh yeah. That was a good day.”
I level him with a look. “You have a daughter now.”
The grin drops immediately. He grimaces. “Why would you say that?”
I shrug.
He points at me. “You’re deflecting.”
“I’m not deflecting.”
“You are. You’re making jokes because you don’t want to admit you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Right,” he says dryly. “You just decided therapy is a scam the second it required you to look at yourself.”
I don’t answer, because he’s starting to make sense.
Darren exhales and rubs a hand over his face. “Man, I haven’t slept in like thirty hours, so I’m going home. But if you don’t want to be back in this office in six months or tomorrow, crying about your feelings again, then just… do it.”
I just grunt in answer.
“Who could it hurt?” he adds.
I make a face at him as he rolls toward the door.
Just when I think this crap is settled, someone opens their mouth and forces me to listen.
“FML,” I mutter to myself, staring at the closed door.
Jess
I’m just stepping into my office when my phone dings.
I glance down.
I’ll go to therapy.
I stop walking.
For a second I just stare at the screen, rereading it to make sure I didn’t imagine it.
Logan. Voluntarily.
My first instinct is to type, Who convinced you?
My thumb hovers over the sent button but I delete it.
I already know it was Darren. And honestly, I don’t care. I just care that he said it.
Before I can send a dancing emoji back, Mackie slips in behind me.
“I know, I know,” I say quickly. “I’m late. I was busy repairing a lifelong friendship. I’ll get back to the reports now.”
“Actually,” she says, setting a thick stack of folders on my desk, “I already read them. Fixed the errors. Most of which can only be blamed on the education system.”
I blink at the pile. “You did?”
Her confidence flickers. “If that’s okay?”
I sink into my chair. “That’s more than okay.”
Relief flashes across her face. She turns to leave, but I stop her.
“Mackie.”
She pivots back. “Yes?”
“I want you to hire an assistant for me,” I say. “And then I want you to take the empty corner office.”
Her mouth parts. “Really?”
I nod. “It’s time we utilize you as a manager.”
Her smile grows, genuine and bright. “I promise I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.”
I gesture for her to shut the door. She complies with a knowing face.
“Did you have any success with the other task?” I ask, raising a brow.
She leans in slightly. “I spoke to a few of the old Baywatch staff. And let me tell you…” She lowers her voice. “He’s not well-liked. Especially by the female employees.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I mutter.
“His attitude isn’t new,” she continues. “He’s always had an issue with women unless he’s trying to hit on them.”
“No one ever complained?” I ask.
She hesitates. “You know how it goes. They ignored him. And I’m guessing it was no coincidence he worked under two males.”
“Until I came along,” I say quietly.
She nods.
“I can’t believe no one said anything.”
Mackie gives me a careful look. “You haven’t either.”
My mouth opens.
Then closes.
She’s right.
“I… haven’t,” I admit. “If Logan knew…” I shake my head. “He would’ve fired him months ago. He definitely wouldn’t be thinking about promoting him.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s promoting Arnon?”
“Operations manager.”
“You can’t let that happen,” she blurts, then immediately winces. “I mean-”
“I know what you mean,” I cut in gently. “It’s fine. I’ll deal with it.”
Her shoulders ease. “Thank you.”
When she leaves, I look back down at my phone.
Logan’s and my personal issues have started bleeding into our professional lives, and that’s not something I can afford to ignore.
When things were good between us, I would’ve brought Arnon up the first time I noticed the attitude. I wouldn’t have hesitated. We used to talk about everything.
From work to which brand of toilet paper to buy. Nothing was off-limits.
But it’s hard to talk business when you’re trying to hold together a marriage that feels like it’ll break if you sneeze too hard.
Therapy will be good.
The sooner the better.
Logan comes to my office around eight. By that time most of the day staff are on their third or fourth cup of coffee, counting down the minutes until their shift ends.
The surveillance team runs on eight-hour rotations.
Three shifts a day. According to labor laws, no employee can work more than two consecutive shifts, and lately we’ve been paying double for that second one because we’re short-staffed.
People think watching cameras is simple. They ask why we don’t just assign one person to monitor everything. Or better yet, why not replace them with AI.
Because first, we value human judgment. And second, AI can’t always tell the difference between a grocery bag blowing across a parking lot and a man crawling under a delivery truck.
It doesn’t always know the difference between a break-in and two cats aggressively mating in front of a warehouse camera.
We use AI, of course. But it’s managed by people.
Most of our clients are small stores and warehouses. They can’t or don’t want to, pay for on-site guards. So they pay us. And we pay someone to watch their cameras from here. It’s not glamorous, but it funds our lives and a lot of other people’s too.
“Hey,” Logan says, closing my office door behind him.
He walks straight to the floor-to-ceiling windows and whistles low. “Damn. You’ve got the better view.”
I smile faintly. “You could always move in.”
He glances back at me, something almost playful in his eyes. “Careful. I might. Arnon can take my office.”
My smile fades.
“About that,” I say slowly. “Are you sure about promoting him?”
Logan turns fully now. “Why?” His tone shifts. “It’s basically done.”
I swallow. I was hoping he hadn’t told Arnon yet.
“It’s just…” I close my laptop, buying time. “He has this attitude. I thought it was just with me. But apparently it’s not.”
Logan stays very still. “Did he do something?”
“Not exactly,” I say carefully. “It’s more… aggressive behavior. Especially with female employees.”
His expression hardens. “Did someone complain?”
“Not formally. Not to me.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because I’ve felt it,” I say.
Logan opens his mouth, but I keep going before he can interrupt.
“At first I thought it was jealousy. You know Jeremy mentioned Arnon handled surveillance when his partner was gone. I figured maybe he resented me stepping in.” I shake my head. “So I had Mackie ask around. And it’s not just me.”
Logan’s shoulders go rigid. “What did he do?”
Sensing the direction of his anger, I stand and walk around the desk. I take his hand before he can spiral.
“He didn’t do anything specific,” I say gently. “It’s his behavior. The way he talks to women. The way he dismisses them. Promoting him would send the wrong message. I know operations falls under your purview, but I-”
“Jess,” he cuts in firmly.
I stop rambling.
“I’m not promoting him,” he says. “Hell, I’m firing him. You know I don’t tolerate that kind of crap.”
Relief floods through me. “Thank you.”
His eyes soften, but there’s something else there too. “Why didn’t you tell me he made you uncomfortable?”
I glance away. “We weren’t in a good place. And I know that’s not an excuse. I should have said something. I’m sorry.”
He exhales and steps closer. “No. That’s on me. I never should’ve started that stupid separation.”
“Really?” I ask, searching his face.
“Yes.” His hands slide around my waist, pulling me gently against him. “Not talking to you sucked.”
I smile, biting back my glee at hearing that. “It sucked for me too.”
He rests his forehead against mine, the tension slowly draining from his body.
“We’re not doing that again,” he mutters.
Logan’s arms around me feel… solid. Safe. Yesterday I’d been too shocked, too overwhelmed to fully appreciate the weight of them.
Now I do.
Logan’s always been built like that. If I had to compare him to anyone, it would be Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones, not the hair or the beard, but the sheer physicality of him. That quiet, imposing strength, the kind that either makes you stand straighter or bend over.
And right now, all of it is wrapped around me.
He pulls me closer, his nose brushing lightly against my hair as he inhales. It should feel ridiculous. Awkward, even. But it doesn’t.
It feels intimate. Grounding. Sensual in a way that has nothing to do with heat and everything to do with belonging.
I tighten my arms around his back and breathe him in right back, pressing my face against his chest. The steady rise and fall of it. The warmth. The familiarity.
For a few suspended seconds, nothing else exists.
No therapy.
No forgiveness.
No questions about whether we’ll make it.
Just this.
Just us.