She: Part 2 (29 page)

*Ha! Really? Men and babies?*

Stealing his line from the other night, I respond:

*It’s just biology, baby.*

Studying the photo of him and his niece again, I notice that his outfit is incomplete.

*There’s one thing missing.*

*Yes. You.*

I smile at his words.

*I was going to say your birthday badge. Get. It. On.*

Over the next half an hour I somehow manage to get the terrace report completed while simultaneously texting back and forth with Logan.

Once back at the office I find Amber’s present waiting for me on my desk. After giving it a quick once over, I hide it in my bag and return to work, putting the photographs that Mercy took, and my report, onto a USB stick and triple check that there’s nothing else on there as well. It’s not like I have a stash of nude photos or dirty movies to hide, but paranoia still gets to me. I check once more for good measure and then set off to find Amélie, stumbling across her sooner than I anticipated as she vacates a meeting room.

“Mrs. Clémence?” I get her attention.

She comes to a stop in front of me. I hold out the USB stick, and while most people would automatically reach out and take what is being offered to them, Amélie Clémence does not.

She looks at it, registers what it is, and then wants to know, “What’s on there?”

“The report on the roof terrace I instated yesterday. Logan’s roof terrace,” I add.
Please don
’
t be mad that I didn
’
t hand it in first thing
, I plead in my mind.

Finally she takes the USB from me. “You had a week to hand this in,” she says, looking impressed. I blanch. A
week
? “Did I forget to tell you that?” she asks innocently.

Yes
!
Yes
,
you fucking did
! I try to keep my annoyance out of my voice. “Oh well,” I say tightly, “it’s done now.”
Dammit
, I could’ve had lunch with Logan after all!

“Very good, Miss. Samuels. I will survey this with great interest, and will let you know my thoughts.”

Of course you will
, I think, my mood now sour.

Annoyance remains my constant companion throughout the whole afternoon, until I’m called to see Amélie an hour before the end of the day. I assume she wants to give me her feedback, and sure enough when I enter her office I’m quick to notice that my USB stick is sticking out of the side of her computer; she’s looked at what I’ve put together for her.

“Sit, Gemima,” she says, not bothering to introduce me to the only other person in the room, a grey haired man in a matching grey suit, who leans against her desk without saying a word.

My irritation towards her trumps any nerves that are stirring. I know that no matter what she says about my design and execution of it, I’m happy with it and more importantly, Logan loves it.

“What can I do for you, Amélie?” I ask cordially.

She slides three project files across the table towards me. “I’ve personally put together these three project briefs,” she tells me as I pick them up and glance inside each of them. They’re
all
for landscape design. “You wrote on your resume that you draw in your free time, is that true?”

“Yes,” I say immediately. “When I have free time,” I add, hoping that she’ll take the hint that I have
no
free time these days, now that I’ve got a delicious boyfriend to keep me occupied.

“Good,” she says, not taking the hint at all. “I would like you to study each of these briefs like you would any real project and present to me two designs for each of them.”

OK, that’s standard, I think, except for the fact that the Pierson Group doesn’t do landscape design. And what does she mean
like any real project
?

“You’ll have two weeks to hand all of them in. And your current workload must not suffer or be neglected in anyway. Understood?”

“Uh… Yes. And no. This company doesn’t do landscape design,” I remind her.

“That’s astute of you to notice,” the stranger in the room pipes up.

I glare at him with attitude.
Excuse me
? “If you’re going to get sassy with me, at least have the decency to introduce yourself first,” I snap at him.

Amélie’s eyes widen in shock; it’s a look that I’ve never seen on her face before. The man stares back at me, looking amused, which only irritates me further. Who
is
he? Amélie’s husband, perhaps? Why’s he in here?

My words silence him, and I turn my gaze onto Amélie once more, waiting for her to answer my question.

She doesn’t.

Instead, I ask, “Why would I do this if they aren’t real projects?”

“Because I’m asking you to,” she says curtly.

“
Why
are you asking me to give up my free time to do this?” I ask as politely as I can.

She surveys me for a moment, and I do not break under her harrowing glare. Somewhere throughout the day I’ve found my backbone, and I find that sitting across from her like this doesn’t intimidate me nearly as much as I previously thought it would. She’s perfectly capable of answering my questions, and I’m perfectly entitled to ask them. I won’t let her make me feel otherwise.

Finally conceding, Amélie tells me, “Doors are opening. Opportunities are coming. And
your
skills are being tested.” She smirks, adding, “That’s if you’re not shy of the challenge?”

Ah, the classic tactic of appealing to the ego.

“I’m not,” I tell her quickly, falling headfirst into her tactical trap.

“That’s what I hoped, Miss. Samuels. Two weeks, two designs per project,” she reiterates.

Piece of cake, I think. “Not a problem,” I assure her, ignoring the irritating feeling of the unknown man staring at me.

Does this mean that the Pierson Group is extending their repertoire into landscape design? Maybe I’ll get the opportunity to switch careers without even having to leave the company?

“You can go now,” Amélie tells me, her brusqueness almost making me laugh.

I spy the USB stick once more. Without moving from my seat, I ask, “What do you think?”

“Ah, yes,” she says, pulling it out and handing it back to me. “What do I think?” she asks herself, exchanging a weighted look with the stranger. “You do not have an accurate understanding of your talent, Gemima.”

Uh
? Is that a compliment, I wonder.

“Once you realise how good you are, we will be in trouble,” she indicates to the man and herself, “which is why we’re acting now.”

I stare at her nonplussed. “I literally did not understand a word of that,” I say quickly, getting to my feet.
Fuck it
, I think, I love drawing and this little test will be more like fun than actual work. I’m sure I’ll discover what’s going on eventually. “Two weeks,” I nod at Amélie, leaving her office without acknowledging the man at all.

I bypass my desk and walk straight to reception, to Layla.

She smiles pleasantly. “Que puis-je faire pour vous, Gemima?” she asks.
What can I do for you
,
Gemima
?

My phone starts ringing in my pants pocket: it’s Logan. “Hi, Layla,” I smile back, hastily answering his call, “Baby, can you hold on just one moment?”

“Sure,” Logan says quickly.

“Uh, there’s a man currently in Amélie’s office, and I wondered if you know who he is?” I whisper to Layla.

“Oui, naturellement,” she nods.
Yes
,
of course
.

“Can you tell me?” I push her.

Her response makes my stomach drop. “That’s Mr. Pierson, the founder and owner of the company. He’s Amélie’s boss,” she tells me.

Oh,
fuck
!

My face no doubt pale, I thank Layla and start walking back to my desk. “I may not have a job by the time you see me later,” I tell Logan dramatically.

“Why?” he asks, sounding concerned.

“I got
slightly
mouthy with Amélie’s boss because I didn’t realise who he was.”

Logan starts chuckling, which tells me straightaway that all hope is not lost. “André Pierson?” he questions me.

“I think so.”

“He’s not a very serious man, Gemima. He likes to have fun more than he likes to work, much to Amélie’s disdain. At least, that’s what Buddy told me a few years back, on one of the only occasions that he spoke about her.”

Phew
, I think. “I’ve never even seen him here before, but the way Amélie was talking…it’s weird…” Something’s changing within the company, I’m suddenly convinced.

“Maybe you’re getting a promotion?” he considers.

“Already?” I wonder out loud. “I doubt it would be a promotion in the interior design sector, anyway, considering she’s got me drawing up more landscape designs, telling me that it’s a test,” I inform him.

“Really? Then there’s definitely movement in the company,” he confirms my suspicions. “I knew it was weird that she had you do a report on the terrace,” he adds.

“
Hmm
, time will tell exactly what,” I muse. I sit at my desk and stick my phone between my shoulder and ear, freeing my hands to work. As I progress through a pile of online order forms, I continue talking to Logan and though it’s not comfortable, it’s better than not hearing his voice. “Tell me about your day,” I request.

“It’s been great,” he says happily. “I
was
wearing my birthday badge…under my suit jacket,” he admits, making me smile. “Though I forgot about it during a meeting with Grace and Michel, and when I took my jacket off they had a good laugh at me, I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear.”

Perfect
, I think. “Very happy to hear that,” I grin into my phone. Hearing Michel’s name reminds me of something, “Have you started your speech for Saturday night yet?”

“Yes, but it’s awful. Speaking of Saturday, though, my mom wants to
hang out
with you during the day,” he tells me. “I think I’m allowed to come as well,” he jokes.

An idea springing to mind, I suggest, “What if I book us all on a Segway tour of the city? That way we’ll all be together
and
they’ll also get to see touristy things.”

He’s silent for a moment. “I’m googling it,” he reveals.

“OK, let me know and
I
’
ll
book it,” I press, making him chuckling. “How was it seeing your whole family again?” I then ask.

“It was…the same as always; Karen and Abigail are wonderful, and Taylor’s still cold and distant.”

Pulling a face, I say, “I got a bit of that vibe this morning.”

“Was he rude to you?” Logan asks curtly.

“No, baby,” I say hastily. “It was just a vibe,” I say again.

Logan sighs. “That vibe is called asshole-mode. Buddy joined us for a coffee towards the end of lunch which prompted Taylor to enter full asshole-mode. It’s kind of like he has a condition, you know? Like some people have a limp or a stoop; Taylor has asshole-mode,” he tells me. “Each time I see him I’m hopeful that he’s gotten over what happened nearly two decades ago, but as soon as I saw him this morning it was clear that he still hasn’t.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Logan. It must be really disappointing.”

“I’m used to it by now,” he says, seemingly unaffected.

“You shouldn’t have to be, though,” I say, getting rattled. “You deserve to be treated kindly.”

“Thank you, baby, but it’s not worth getting upset over, I promise you,” he tells me. “I’m a nice guy;
I
know that, the people who matter to me know that, so fuck what Taylor thinks,” he says cooly.

I smile at his words. “So long as you realise,” I begin, “that if he does say something nasty about you in front of me, I cannot be held responsible for whatever comes out of my mouth, OK?” I tell him theatrically.

Laughing, Logan assures me, “Understood. I actually can’t wait for you to meet his whole family.”

“Tomorrow, maybe?”

“No, he and Karen are taking Abigail to Disneyland, and staying late to watch the nighttime parade.”

Saturday, then, I think. “Are they going with your parents and Buddy to the Moulin Rouge tonight?”

“Apparently they wanted to, but Abigail’s too young to be allowed into the theatre. So Taylor suggested that
I
look after her tonight.”

Seriously
? Babysitting on his birthday? “Um, are we?” I ask. But before he can answer, I blurt out, “Isn’t it a bit of a dick-move to even ask you?”

“I think so,” he agrees. “Especially to ask me in front of Abby, making it much harder to say no, which I did. That’s the first time that he’s really used her to get at me.”

“He can’t know about your run-in with Jerry, then,” I point out, remembering that Logan said Taylor wouldn’t trust him around his daughter after learning about Logan’s punch last week.

“No, I guess not.”

“So, you said no? How did you get out of it?”

“I told him I had plans. He said
doing what
? To which Buddy responded
doing Gemima
,” Logan laughs.

Thanks
,
Bud
, I think sarcastically.

“I don’t know what they’ll end up doing tonight, but the only thing
I
’
m
contemplating is you in those bows and all of the wonderful ways that I can eat cake off of you.”

Oh
,
Logan
!

I’m silent as I replay Tuesday night, when I was Logan’s personal candy store, over in my mind. Ah, his lips caressing every inch of my skin felt so damn good! But something niggles at the back of mind spoiling my erotic flashback; something apparently called asshole-mode.

Why, I ask myself.
Why
does Taylor still make Logan pay for something that happened nineteen years ago? I understand that Taylor must have been scarred, physically and emotionally, but hasn’t he figured out by now that being an asshole doesn’t heal anything? And
why
, I ask myself again, doesn’t Logan say something? Perhaps I just don’t have his same level of zen, because I’d go ballistic if I had someone griping at me all the time.

“Logan, can I, uh, ask you something potentially annoying?” I say tentatively.

“Always,” he says and I can practically hear him grinning.

Feeling spurred on by what he said last night about still being able to recall the look on Taylor’s face when he beat him up, I ask, “Have you ever considered that maybe you let Taylor’s behaviour slide because you feel guilty?”