Chapter 16 #2
“I don’t have the energy to argue with you, Brynnie, so how about you tell me why you’re here?
” Okay, so that may have been a little bitchier than she deserves, but I’ve been on edge all day.
It turns out, waking up on the verge of an orgasm to realize that it’s being ripped away is not a pleasant experience.
I need one. Maybe two more minutes, and I have absolutely no doubt I’d have come so hard, my eyes would have rolled into the back of my head.
Why am I sure? Because dream Logan was fucking me like it was his last night on earth, and I was the air he needed to breathe.
It was un-fucking-believable.
And when I woke up and saw him . . . well, for a split second, I thought we were going to go with it. For one little moment, I thought we were both going to let go of our mutual dislike and just give in. But that wasn’t in the fucking cards.
My fault—? I guess it is. But really, it’s my stupid husband’s fault, too, because he’s the one insisting I admit I don’t hate him. And I refuse to admit it. Even if there’s a small ounce of truth to it.
“Well.” She scrunches her nose, and my stomach drops.
“What did you do?”
“I may have accidentally let it slip to Lindy that you got married in Vegas.” She hops off the desk and out of kicking range. Like that’s going to stop me.
“You what?” I roll my chair back and hop up. I’m going to kill my sister.
“Sorry.” She skirts around my desk, putting it between us. “We were having wine last night, and I kind of let it slip. But she promised she wouldn’t tell anyone.”
I close my eyes and grit my teeth. This is so bad. “Brynlee—”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“You said that already.” My family is like an episode of Gossip Girl. Tell one person, and the news spreads like fucking wildfire. “The wedding is tomorrow. You couldn’t keep it quiet until after then?”
“It’s just Lindy. She won’t say anything.”
My chest tightens as the anxiety builds. “Bullshit. She’ll tell someone, and they’ll tell someone, and before I know it, the whole family will know my news. News that wasn’t yours to share.”
“I promise you she won’t say anything.” She looks away. “At least not to anyone else.”
“Brynlee—”
“You had to know she was going to tell Easton.”
And so starts the damn wildfire.
“Get out.” I point to the door. “I love you, and I will see you tomorrow night. But if I have to stand here another minute and listen to you say sorry, I’m going to kick your ass all the way back to the damn gym.
Go. Go back to work. March your ass back to Crucible.
Say hi to Dad for me. Then get on the damn phone and make Lindy and Easton swear on their kids’ lives they won’t say a word.
Because I swear to God, Brynnie, if this backfires on me—if the media or anyone else gets hold of this before Logan and I are ready.
If this does any kind of damage to our case.
If this hurts Maggie or Logan in any way . . .”
“Holy shit,” Brynn gasps, and my patience runs thinner than I knew possible.
“Holy shit what, Brynn?” With my arms crossed over my chest, I stare her down. Well, I try. She’s got a few inches on me, even in heels.
“Holy shit, it’s real.” Shock stares back at me where humor was just a few minutes ago. “You’re in love with him.”
“What?” Shit. Wait. I can’t answer that way. “Of course I’m in love with him. I married him.” There. Much better answer.
“Yeah . . . I know. But I guess I wasn’t sure why you married him.”
Same, sister. So much the same.
The phone rings, and I groan when I see Peter’s name. “Brynn, I have to take this.”
She nods, and I sit back down in front of the computer and answer the FaceTime. “Olivia.”
“Hi, Peter.” The firm has physical locations in Vegas, London, Chicago, and New York, but most of us work in satellite offices like the one I keep in Kroydon Hills.
I may not have been face-to-face with the partners in person in weeks, but I typically FaceTime or have a Zoom call with at least one of them every few days.
This is my third call this week, and I’m not sure I’m any closer to the partnership than I was back in Vegas.
He adjusts his glasses and then his screen. “Is now a bad time?”
What the hell could have this man that I’ve never seen fidget before fidgeting now?
“No. Not at all.” I look over the screen at my sister, who’s waving goodbye as she sneaks out of my door. I’ll deal with her later. “I’ve got another twenty minutes before I need to jump on a call with Under Armour.”
“Perfect. I need you to fly up to Chicago tomorrow.”
“Chicago—tomorrow. I . . . I can’t tomorrow, Peter. It’s my cousin’s wedding. Ryker’s wedding. It’s already blocked off on my calendar.”
“I already added it to your calendar. It’s just a quick morning meeting. You can be back by lunch.”
I pull up my calendar, and sure enough, there’s a new meeting for nine a.m. tomorrow at our local offices. Maybe this is it. Fucking finally.
“In and out?” I ask, already mentally rearranging my schedule. “I’m out by noon?”
“One at the latest,” he agrees.
It’s a sunset ceremony, so I can work with that.
“Not a second past one. Shoot me the details, and I’ll make it work.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, alerting me to my husband’s presence before he makes a single sound, and I look up from where I’m sitting on the floor with Maggie.
His hair is damp, his Nobles tee is tight, and his gray sweats hang from his lean hips.
He’s like a cool drink after a long drought, and this is definitely becoming a problem.
His smile grows as his eyes trail over Maggie, then me. But it morphs into something else. Something annoyed when he sees my overnight bag. “Planning on running away again, Olive?”
“You’re not that lucky, hotshot. I have to fly out to Chicago tonight, but I’ll be back by lunchtime tomorrow,” I tell him, then stack another ladybug painted block on top of Maggie’s last one, careful to straighten our stack so it doesn’t tumble to the floor.
“Oh . . and mind telling me why I was added to a group chat with your sister and brothers?
“Maybe because you’re my wife, Olive.” He squats down next to us and runs a hand down Maggie’s back, then gently gathers my face in his hands, and I still. My breath catches in my throat. “And don’t change the subject. I still think you’re running.”
“I’m not,” I whisper back, suddenly unbelievably aware of every beat of my heart. “I don’t have a choice. Peter called.”
His thumb grazes my jaw like it has a right to be there, and I hate how much it feels like it does. “Why do you want this partnership so badly, Liv?”
The better question is why do I like it so much when he calls me Liv?
“It doesn’t seem like they respect you the way you deserve to be respected.”
And that’s the bucket of ice water I needed dumped over my head to pull me out of whatever trance I was falling in. “My reason hasn’t changed, Logan. I want to be partner. I deserve it.”
“But why?” His voice softens, and he drops his hand. “It seems to me like you’re doing all the work and they’re taking all the credit. Couldn’t you leave them and take your clients with you?”
“No. I have a noncompete. I couldn’t touch any of my clients for a year. And then I’d still have to pay the firm a percentage of my commissions.” I don’t tell him how much I’ve thought about it. Or about the research I’ve done into setting up shop on my own as a sports crisis manager, not an agent.
There is no noncompete for that.
His thumb skims my lower lip like it did this morning, and the temperature in the room spikes.
“Just saying I think you’re too good for them, Olive.
” He stands and scoops Maggie up in his arms. “Hell, you’re too good for me too.
So, you obviously don’t know what’s good for you.
Come on.” He holds his hand out for me. “Let’s get you fed before you have to go. ”
I let Logan pull me to my feet, ignoring the shift beneath them.
Distance.
Maybe a little distance will do us good because I’m not sure when it happened, but I think I hate my husband just a little bit less today.