She: Part 2 (13 page)

Margaret agrees, “You’d make a fortune.” Then she continues on her way, “See you tomorrow, Gemima.”

“Bye,” I say, as behind me I can hear Logan heatedly yelling at his father, “Because I
love
her!” and my worry feels lighter still. He’s not going to get into trouble, I decide, not for one punch, sixteen years after his last indiscretion. It’s not like he’s spent the in between years in prison; he’s been building one of the most successful companies in Paris. No, he’s
not
going to get into trouble. Logan today is miles apart from his former-self.

Suddenly I realise that Rupert’s old emotions and fears about his beloved son have come flooding back and have overwhelmed him. Yes, that’ll be it, I decide; that’d be the best outcome of this situation.

His next words seem, in my mind, to support my theory, as he refers back in time. “You need to remember how much fucking trouble you’re in, Logan, you can’t forget it!”

“Of course I can’t forget it, I have you reminding me all the fucking time,” Logan seethes.

“Don’t be a little shit,” his father snaps, and for some reason I can’t help but grin. Hearing Logan being called a
little shit
is so bizarre that it’s humorous. His father continues, “
Everything
I do, everything I’ve done, is because I love you. You need to fix this, Logan. Fucking fix it!”

Logan’s voice is softer when he says, “I
have
, dad. I promise you. It’s not a big deal, I had a long chat with the guy earlier today. Would I have done that if I’m still a juvenile?”

Rupert huffs, conceding, “No, I suppose not. Well, that’s good,” he says sternly. “Well done,” he adds, changing his tune.

There’s a long, tense silence.

“You’re very sweary today,” Logan tells his father.

It’s with a hint of amusement that Rupert says, “That’s not a word, son.”

Logan looks up and sees me watching him. Busted
again
. I quickly avert my eyes.

A second later, I hear him saying, “I’ve got to go. I was in the middle of something when you called.”

My heart skips a beat and my head darts up to look at him again; he’s smiling at me, eager to get me home. I grin back at him, and nod vehemently.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Logan says.

“Alright. Bye, Logan,” his father says heavily.

“Bye,” Logan replies curtly, swiftly hitting the End Call button and then striding across the room to join me. He stares down at his phone as he walks, and I can hear him growling in frustration.

I say nothing, remaining impassive, letting him speak first.

“That was fucking ridiculous,” he sighs.

“Yes,” I agree. Then, in an attempt to lighten his mood, I say, “Sweary is totally a word.” My job done, he smiles at me, and I hasten to add, “Baby, he’s probably just worried about you.”

“I know he is, but he doesn’t have to be. It’s so stupid,
and
it’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to hear me being spoken to like I’m an eighteen-year-old delinquent. I want you to think I’m cool,” he tells me, with a huff that’s comically similar to his father’s.

I grin at him again. “I think you’re
so
cool,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and rising up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips.

He responds by taking my face in his hands and kissing me with ardour. I am momentarily lost in our kiss, forgetting completely that I’m at work.

“Eh,
pardon
?” a shrill French voice interrupts us.

Logan and I break apart to find a surprised-looking Amélie Clémence observing us. I feel my face flush crimson. As if her overhearing me talk about Logan this afternoon wasn’t bad enough, now she’s caught us completely entwined in the middle of the walkway.

However, to my great astonishment, Amélie is in a rather playful mood, quipping to Logan, “I knew a day would come when you and I would be even.”

I can’t believe it — she’s openly talking about the awkward moment that Logan walked in on her and Buddy having sex; she’s talking about it
in front of me
, as though it’s a common and casual topic of conversation, when she just told
me
never to talk about it again! It’s Logan, I know it is, he brings out her fun side.

“We are
not
even, Amélie,” Logan laughs.

Oh, there are
so
many things that I’d
love
to say, but I (unlike my boyfriend) feel wholly intimidated and uncomfortable making jokes about my boss’s sex life.

“Mr. Leary, do you ever actually go to work?” Amélie asks him.

“We had a meeting about the project you assigned me,” I pipe up. “It’s in my diary and everything,” I add.

She looks at me like I’m a little peculiar, and Logan stifles his adorable smile.

“It was just a preliminary meeting,” he tells her, “in preparation for our on-site meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

Uh… Our what?
Just smile and nod
,
Gem
. “Yes,” I agree, having that awful feeling that Amélie manages to evoke in me of being totally see-through; she
so
knows something else is at play here, I just wish
I
knew what it was.

“I see,” she says, forcing her best smile on for one of her best clients. This account from Logan’s company is huge, she’s not going to jeopardise it by asking too many personal questions.

“Four-thirty tomorrow, right, baby?” Logan asks me.

“Yes,” I smile. “It’s…in my diary,” I bluff.

“Very well. So what I saw just now, what was that?” she refers to seeing us making out.

“That was an exchanging of ideas,” I say, trying to keep a straight face, while Logan nods next to me.

“I see,” she says again. “And do you converse with all of my clients in such a way?” she asks me.

“
Absolutely
not,” Logan cuts in. “You know I’m a special client, Amélie,” he teases her right back.
Jeez
, he’s so much braver with her than I am.

“Of course, Logan. I understand your birthday is fast approaching. Your fortieth, is it?”

What
? “No!” I shriek, appalled that she could think my gorgeous, fit boyfriend is a day older than he is.

Amélie looks at me in surprise. Again. “Is there something wrong with being forty, Gemima?”

The words
digging
and
hole
come to mind. “
No
,” I cry again. “It’s just…he’s not that old,” I say, my voice getting quieter with every word I utter.
Kill me
,
kill me now
, I think dramatically.

Logan is silently laughing. I give him a
help me
look, and he does.

“I’ll be thirty-five on Thursday. My family is flying in from the States,” he tells her.

“Your parents are coming?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” he nods.

“You’re meeting his parents?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I say.

Humour becomes her. She breaks into laughter at the thought of me, a sufferer of chronic verbal diarrhoea, meeting my boyfriend’s parents. “Oh, I’d pay to see that,” she laughs.

I roll my eyes. I’m not going to be that bad.
I hope
.

Logan has every confidence in me, saying, “Gemima is brilliant at expressing herself openly and articulately.” He adds, “As for her proclivity to speak her mind prior to considering the consequences—” That’s a nicer way of saying verbal diarrhoea, if ever I heard one.

“Yes,” Amélie interjects, “that is what I am so gleeful about!”

Logan takes my hand and kisses the back of it. I feel my face blush again.

“It’s all part of her natural appeal,” he smiles at me.

I grin back at him and when I turn to face Amélie once more I feel very smug indeed. Did you hear that, Amélie?
Natural appeal
.

“I cannot deny that there is something…
unique
…about your presentation,” Amélie sort-of compliments me. “Our clients certainly seem to find you charming.”

Ah-ha! Any niggling insecurities abate completely, and my surety comes back in droves. I am so going to win over Logan’s family. Oh, unless they blame me for the punch-up last week. I shake my head at the horrible thought.
Stay positive
,
Gem
.

To Amélie I say, “Maybe being French isn’t as much of an asset as you previously thought?”

“Don’t be absurd, Miss. Samuels,” she snaps, and I grin again. “There is nothing better in the world than being French.”

“You obviously fell under the American charm at one point,” I say. Oh. My. God… Did I really just say that out loud?

Logan chuckles at my unintentional audacity.

“A mistake I’ll not repeat,” Amélie assures us. “Perhaps you’re aware that it’s been brought to my attention that you went back on your word to never divulge the dealings between myself and Mr. Jackson,” she rounds on Logan.

“I’m sorry, Amélie,” he says, not making any excuses for himself.

“One person in eight years is pretty good going,” I come to his defence.

“
Hmm
,” she’s obviously unconvinced. “Lovely as it’s been talking with you both,” she says with an air of sarcasm in her voice, “I must get going, though I do have something for you, Logan.” She reaches into the pocket of her perfectly tailored linen pants and when she brings her hand back out, her middle finger is raised and she holds the symbol up in front of Logan as retaliation for him telling her secret.

Logan bursts into laughter, my mouth hits the floor. Amélie Clémence, usually one of such composure, is
flipping the bird
at my boyfriend!

“Good day to you both,” she smirks, as she walks away.

I stare at Logan in disbelief and he gives me a
fair enough
kind of look. Still in shock, I return to my desk and hurriedly pack away my things, including the photograph of me contained in a cardboard tube and the padlock that I bought last week, both presents for Logan’s upcoming birthday, and which I therefore hide from him as best I can. I’m saved his attention when his phone rings again. He looks at the Caller ID and growls.

Hitting the Answer Call button, he says in a less than enthusiastic voice, “Hi, mom…” He listens for a few moments, before exclaiming, “A
bit
of a mood? He was fucking fuming!” He listens again, and when he deems it safe, he hits the Speaker button. “Can you say that again?”

“I’m just calling to check on that hair appointment,” I hear Mary-Gene say.

“Desperation is not a good look,” Logan tells her, moodily.

“Oh, just ask her, would you?” she snaps at her son.

Logan rolls his eyes. Clearly there’s an air of tension in the George household today.

“It’s all sorted, Mary-Gene,” I tell her quickly. “This Friday evening.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” she says, her voice abruptly softer.
She doesn
’
t sound like she thinks this is all my fault
, I tell myself.

Evidently not in the mood to speak to either of his parents, Logan winds up the call quickly, while I flit around my desk, trying to find the little green house key that I had made for him. It somehow managed to lodge itself down the side of my desk.
What else
, I then think. Oh, yes, our meeting tomorrow, I remember, making a note of it in my diary.

Straightening up, I turn around with the key in my palm. “Logan Leary…will you accept the key to my house?” I say, theatrically.

He beams at me, unable to hide his enthusiasm, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Our meeting tomorrow, is it
real
?” I then ask him, as we make our way out of Pierson House, hand in hand.

“Of course not,” he chuckles alluringly, sparking my curiosity.

“Bye, Layla,” I say automatically, as we walk past reception.

“Bonsoir,” she says, doing a double take when she realises that Logan is here.

I grin a little smugly.
Silly
,
Gemima
!

“I do want to meet on-site, though,” Logan says about tomorrow. “There’s something I want to show you, and it has to be before sunset.”

“Intriguing, Logan.”

He smiles to himself, his dimples becoming pronounced. Desire shoots through my body and I commit to myself to drive home as fast as I possibly can.

“We can discuss work if you want to…but there are other options, too,” he leaves me guessing. Seeing as we’ll be on a building site I’m convinced that he can’t be referring to anything amorous, but then, what
does
he mean?

“Very intriguing,” I say again.

He then promises me, “I’ll leave my phone in the car tomorrow. I don’t want anymore untimely, unwelcome interruptions when I’m with you.”

My desire spirals higher. I check the time on my phone, and inform Logan, “We’ll have about three uninterrupted hours before you have to leave to meet Buddy.” I reach up to kiss him goodbye. “Drive fast,” I tell him as I begin walking to my car. “But safely,” I shout behind me.

He smiles and nods, watching me leave.

* * *

We lie sprawled across my bed, staring at each other in the mirrors on the ceiling. We bask in the afterglow of our love making for a long, gratifying time, before eventually migrating to the kitchen. As I haven’t been home since last Wednesday, any food in the fridge is questionable, and so our dinner tonight is comprised of three readymade meals, one for me, two for Logan.

We sit and eat at the dining table, for only the second time since I bought it, which reminds me giddily of the first time, with Seamus and Amber ten days ago.

“Amber’s pregnant,” I tell Logan excitedly, before stuffing a huge fork-full of food into my mouth. Unfortunately the flavour leaves a lot to be desired.

Logan grins, and confesses, “Yes, I, uh, I already know that.”

I swallow hard. “
What
?” I exclaim. “How?”

“She called me this morning,” he says, before amending, “Well, she called Leary Constructions and got forwarded to at least five different people, who tried to decipher what she wanted, before the call finally came through to me,” he laughs. “She said that she was going to ambush you for lunch and wanted to know if you and I already had plans. I figured she was up to something,” he says, and I like that he has already gotten to know her character so well, “so I asked a few questions. Eventually she spilled the beans,” he smiles. “And then she threatened
lots
of pain if I told you before she did.”