14. Chase #3
“I don’t see why I should care anymore,” I say, my voice coming out sounding measured and stilted in a way that’s so obviously not normal for me.
But I’m attempting to have restraint. “People finding out who I am would be a good thing. I’m an artist. I want to sell paintings and photographs.
I don’t know why you see fame like it’s a vampire that eats people alive. ”
I never want Logan to think I’m mad at him.
But I am frustrated with the machine that surrounds his life. I’m sick of having to consider the rest of the world when all I want is to consider Logan.
As I’m lost in thought, he leans in.
And out of nowhere, he presses a small kiss to the side of my head.
It almost takes my breath.
It’s so unexpected that I let out a quick exhale, feeling every cell in my body respond just to that small amount of touch. His lips are warm, and the proximity is enough to pull me back down to Earth.
“Can I tell you something, and you have to promise not to say anything back?” he asks, just above my ear.
“I promise.”
“Yes, I missed you too. I missed you so goddamn much this year,” he says, and some hungry monster inside me suddenly feels even more fed.
“I convinced myself I didn’t, because I kept myself busy.
But the moment I saw you again, I knew it was a lie.
I don’t know what to think, or do, and I’m not good with emotions in the first place.
I just want to shield you from fucking everything.
Fame is like a vampire. I’ve seen it kill people, Chase. But of course I fucking missed you.”
I stay silent.
Something dark twists inside me as I process what he said.
This isn’t just a normal reaction to your fame.
Maybe it wasn't last year, either.
It’s more.
What happened, to make you so protective? And when you say you’ve seen fame kill people… do you mean it literally?
I bring my hand to his back, gently stroking my palm down his spine and showing him that I’m listening.
It’s like Logan has two modes. The first one is absolutely unreadable, calm, placid expressions. And the second mode is the most raw and vulnerable glimpses of emotion I’ve ever seen in a man.
He runs his thumb over my jaw before he moves away again.
And as I look at the pain in his face, I feel a living magnet take hold inside me. Every urge inside me is begging to bring him close to me again.
He stands up quickly, though. He holds up a finger, then walks off down the hall, disappearing into one of the rooms. He returns soon after with a different envelope in his hand. He walks up and gives it to me.
“Did you write me a love letter?” I ask, peering at the envelope. “Damn, Logan. I’m flattered.”
“Open it later.”
I stand up, shoving it into my pocket. “Logan, I just want you to know something. If I ended up doing a photoshoot for you, for some magazine, I wouldn’t get the fame or scrutiny you’re so afraid of.
If I was just your photographer, I’d get some minor attention from niche fashion pages, and maybe some low-level notoriety among other artists.
But it wouldn’t be the kind of fame you have. It wouldn’t even be close.”
He looks at me like he’s weighing the truth of what I said.
I can tell he knows I’m right.
Fashion photographers don’t have Princess Diana-level fame, which is what Logan seems to be so afraid of.
He may never tell me why he’s so sensitive to it, but he should at least know I’m not afraid of working with him.
“I’ll think about it,” he tells me.
“If I become known as your photographer first, I’ll actually get less scrutiny,” I tell him. “No one questions a celebrity for getting photos taken. Even if people did look me up, they’d find that I’ve been an artist for a long time. It would be on our terms.”
Suddenly I hear the sound of footsteps on the balcony, and Emily returns inside.
“They’re awesome,” she says, smiling at Logan. “The car should be here to pick them up in a few, but that was a good meeting. Now, I hate to say it, Chase, but I need Logan for an hour or two. He has to go over some extremely boring, extremely important contracts with me.”
“Let’s do it,” Logan tells her. “By the way, Chase, there are a bunch of different baguette sandwiches out on the balcony if you’d like one. Feel free.”
“I was just on my way out. Emily, I’ll have that dessert order ready for pickup by six.”
“You’re a god. Thanks,” she tells me.
Logan gives me a nod.
I head down the entryway to leave.
I shut the suite door and walk back out into the hallway with all this fizz of energy still in my body, but now it has nowhere to go, and it’s kind of making me feel like I’m crazy.
I wanted to stay that close to Logan.
No.
What I really wanted was to sink my teeth into his lower lip, get him naked, tackle him to the floor and edge his cock until he can’t help but give me all his cum again, so much goddamn cum it shouldn’t even be physically possible for one man to produce in those amounts, and nghh, fuck, I’m so attracted to him it’s almost painful.
I get into the elevator and rip open the envelope Logan gave me, shaking out the contents.
And multiple crisp, fresh hundred-dollar bills fall into my hand.
I count them, my stomach twisting into a knot.
“Oh, fuck you,” I mutter under my breath.