She (3 page)

“Nothing?” he reads my mind again.

“Pretty much. I don’t think about it very much, but if I did I think I’d be pretty angry at myself for being so…
asleep
, for so long. My job, my relationship…both seem like such a waste of time now,” I shake my head again. It seems incomparable to me now, sitting across from Logan, that I would’ve settled for something, someone, so mediocre. Logan’s shown me already in the ten minutes — half-an-hour — an hour — how ever long it’s been that we’ve been seated together, that there is something much more to be had. “Anyway, now I’m wide awake. My new job is much more challenging and satisfying. It’s at the Pierson Group.”

His eyes widen. “At Pierson’s? They’re good,” he’s impressed. “I work with them a lot to decorate my buildings.”

“So, I might see you again?” I say, my voice sounding full of hope.

He smiles slightly. “I certainly hope so.”

My heart flutters. Get a grip, Gem, I think.

He lifts his glass unexpectedly. “Here’s to our happy endings.”

I lift my glass up to meet his. “And many more to come,” I say. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I flush crimson.

His eyes widen slightly, and he tries very hard not to smile. “And many more to come,” he says with an air of finality in his voice, as though something has been decided. But, what? I wonder. “That’s quite a big jump.”

I know, from a lunch date to a happy ending! But I can’t help the candid words that come out of my mouth. It’s his fault, he’s just
so
good looking!

Logan pulls me out of my wayward thoughts by explaining what he was
actually
referring to. “I mean, from a deadpan job at a shitty company to Pierson’s,” he sounds slightly awed. Oh, he’s talking about something quite different! I like the way he says
Pierson’s
, with respect. “How did you make the jump?”

“Barbara-Anne’s,” I say.

“The hair salon?” he asks.

I stare at him nonplussed. He smiles at my reaction.

I grin back, “I confess myself surprised that you know it. They don’t serve men,” I say, and then my face falls. Oh shit, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, does he?

“My mom loves that place,” he explains. “She goes there every time she visits.”

Phew
! It’s with the biggest and most smug smile on my face that I announce, “My mom owns it. She is Barbara-Anne.”

“What?” he exclaims playfully.

I laugh, enjoying his reaction immensely. He really is beautiful when he laughs. The small dimples in his cheeks are prominent and the few wrinkles that gather at his eyes are delectable. I find myself longing to reach out and touch his face. Fortunately, this time, I don’t embarrass myself.

“Our mom’s have probably met more times than we have,” he muses.

I laugh as well, “Probably. Anyway, after I left my old job my mom took pity on me and hired me to redecorate her salon, and as it happens the HR people at Pierson’s saw it, and they hired me.”

“That’s very cool. You must be very good at your job. You’ve got me excited, Gemima, I’m looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

My mouth goes dry. It takes exceptional willpower to not misconstrue his words. Does he use such language on purpose? To tease me, to turn me on? Or is it just me, and my sudden, inexplicable attraction towards him, that has me hearing only what I want to hear?

“That’s
if
we work together,” I say when my voice finally comes back to me.

“We will,” he assures me.

I smile back despite myself.

*

Our lunch continues with a mixture of playful jabs at one another, bouts of uncontrollable laughter, and brief, almost painfully-intense moments inside our strange, building bubble. Once our plates and glasses have been empty for twenty minutes we both reluctantly concede that lunch is over. Logan surprises me by insisting on paying for my share as well as his. I know he’s good for it, but still, it’s a treat-of-an-ending to a perfect reacquaintance. He tips the waitress generously as I rise from my seat. Quickly he springs to his feet and swiftly moves to stand beside me. When I look up at him his brows are furrowed and he looks irritated. He looks hot…very,
very
hot.

“I was supposed to pull your chair out,” he explains.

“Oh,” I giggle, and I think it’s the first time I’ve made such a noise since I was a child.

Making up for the chair-pulling-out, Logan takes my jacket and holds it up for me to slide into. His hands linger on my shoulders, his fingers stretching up towards my neck. I turn and face him once more.

“You are very tall,” I notice. He’s at least half a foot taller than I stand at 5-7.

“6-2,” he says. Then he smiles down at me. It’s a boyish, playful grin, yet oh, so alluring at the same time. “Didn’t you notice that when you arrived?”

“No,” I say honestly; and honesty doesn’t escape me as I add, “I was too busy looking at your face to check out the rest of you.”

Now we’re standing in the open square just outside of the alfresco area of the cafe, Logan surveys me briefly and then takes several steps back, away from me, with his arms open wide.

“Well?” he grins. My eyes widen: he’s
letting
me ogling him! He knows by now my propensity for speaking my mind; knows that I’ll speak it whether my words are flattering or not, and yet he stands, confident and open, allowing me to examine him. My heart jolts happily. He’s brave. Brave and gorgeous!

Blushing, I slowly do as I’m bide and look him up and down. He’s tall and slim and excellently proportioned. His suit is tailored to him. It’s draped perfectly over his skin in a way that I’m envious of, in a way that I’d like to emulate. His shoulders are broad and it’s clear from his posture that his chest and upper arms are muscular. He swims, I remember. His hips are slightly narrower than his shoulders; his legs go on forever, and where the two meet, at his pelvis, the material of his suit gives nothing away as to what hangs there. The suit is discreet, as it should be I think, but yet I try — and believe me, I
do
try — to will the material to show me something. It does not. I am left wanting. I’m such a perve!

Without giving anything away in my expression, I tell Logan, “Turn around.”

He smirks; he’s enjoying this as much as I am! He turns around very slowly and deliberately, a full three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Ah! His backside! It’s smack-able. Perky and muscular. I glimpse his broad back as well, which lies both snug and comfortable in his suit.

“Well?” he asks again when he’s facing me once more.

“In a word?…Perfect,” I say. It’s the only truthful thing to say.

He beams at me, and I think I feel one of my knees buckle. It’s his warm, honest, even loving smile.
This man is genuine
, I think again.

“That’s a very kind assessment, Samuels,” he says, bowing at me, indicating the end of the show. “It’s done all sorts of unhealthy things to my ego,” he confesses as we begin to walk together.

I giggle. Again, really? I stop myself. “Anytime, Leary.” Seriously,
anytime
!

We walk in silence for a few minutes, my mind racing. I try to stop thinking a myriad of thoughts and to instead feel. Feel this man beside me. He’s calm, I notice. Not because he’s unaffected by the charge between us, but because he understands it, perhaps he even wants it. He has after all been waiting for me for two years!

Suddenly I’m struck a blow of insecurity. What if I’ve let him down? What if I’m not the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen anymore? What if, what if, what if...I get carried away.

I pull myself back, back to feeling. Yes, I like to feel Logan. In fact, I’d like to feel him all over...

Logan, it surmises, is doing what I’m doing: he’s sensing me. And when I momentarily stumble into my self-doubt, he feels it. “Are you OK?” he asks.

“Fine,” I assure him. “I’ve had a brilliant lunch. Thank you, again.”

“You’re very welcome, Gemima.”

Before I can stop myself, I say, “I never expected it to be like this.”

“Like what?” he smiles.

Uh…
shit
! “Um, you know, that we’d, uh, have so much in common,” I mutter. The truth is I’ve no idea
what
we’ve got in common! The only thing I know we both share is our chemistry.

“I know exactly what you mean,” he puts me at ease.

I know you do, Logan. I know you do.

We’ve stopped walking. I didn’t even notice stopping, but we’re still, facing each other, and well and truly inside our radiant bubble again. It seems less intense now that we’re out of the cafe. Or maybe it’s because we’re standing? Whatever the reason, the intensity has calmed into…clarity. There
is
something here between us. We both feel it, we both want to feel it.

“Are you free tomorrow lunchtime?” he asks unexpectedly.

“I am.”

“Brilliant,” he smiles. “May I take you out again?”

I nod vehemently.

His eyes narrow and we both hear the ring of his mobile phone which is concealed in his breast pocket. “Sorry,” he apologises, taking it out. He stares at the number. “It’s my PA.”

“Take it,” I tell him, not minding.

He swipes his thumb across the touchscreen and holds it to his ear. “Cheryl,” he says tersely. “I thought I said not to…Why?…Oh, has he now?…No, not today…
Not
today
…
He’s bluffing…The merger is watertight.” He listens more intently for a moment. “I understand, and you can tell him I will call him tomorrow and not one moment sooner,” his voice is firm, authoritative. It’s sexy, and equally as appealing as his gentler voice. “Please, don’t worry about it, it’s watertight,” he says again. “And please, no more calls today…I understand…Oh, and Cheryl?” His eyes linger on mine for a moment, and suddenly he looks nervous and shy, though I don’t know why. “The hotel in Tokyo now has a name. It’s called The Forty-Nine…Yes, I’m sure,” he gives me a swift, almost cheeky smile and I long to know the meaning behind it. “Bye…” He hangs up. “I’m sorry about,” he says to me.

“It’s fine. You’re a sought after man,” I say. Yes…sought after by
me
! “It sounded urgent, do you need to be somewhere?”

“Nope,” he grins, looking adorable. “Not until six PM tonight.”

I smile back, getting the feeling that he’s waited two years for this date, and he’s not going to let his PA cut it short. My self-doubts from earlier are eradicated. Logan makes me feel secure, worthy, wanted.

“Do
you
have to be somewhere?” he asks.

“No,” I say before I think it through. Do I?
Do
I? Oh, shit! I do! My face falls and Logan’s eyes widen.

“It seems you
do
need to be somewhere,” he says correctly.

“Uh-huh,” is all I manage as I dive my hand into my bag to retrieve my phone. It’s already two PM! Shit, shit, shit! I’m half an hour late! How did that happen?
Shit
! I’m supposed to meet a photographer at work to get my first ever company head-shot taken. This is a really big deal, an initiation into the company, and my boss is going to be there! Panic rises in me. Am I going to get fired?
Can
I get fired for not showing up? I consider calling the office to tell them I’m on my way, but it’s so close by that I’ll be there by the time the receptionist, a young woman who is even more truant than I, picks up.

I look up at Logan. He’s staring at me impassively, waiting to see what kind of mood I’m in. My panic falters; it’s no match for his calming light-green eyes. I momentarily get lost in them before remembering: I
really
need to get to the office!

It’s with a heavy heart that I say, “I have to go. I have a photo-call at the office for my staff portrait. I was supposed to be there half an hour ago.”

“Shit!” he remarks, and I like that his reaction is the same as mine. “I’m so sorry for keeping you. Pierson’s,” he considers, “that’s near here, right?”

“Yes, two minutes away. I really should start moving…” I’m all set to shake his hand, maybe give him a hug if I’m lucky, but it seems Logan is not ready to part with my company yet.

“I’ll walk you there,” he insists, “it’s the least I can do.”

I set the pace. It’s furiously quick for my legs, but Logan retains his grace and strolls easily by my side.

“Where shall I meet you tomorrow?” I ask while we walk.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” he says.

“OK.” But that gets me thinking, “How did you get my number?”

“The AABD directory.”

“Oh...” I didn’t know there was such a thing.

“I’m really sorry for making you late,” he says again. “If there’s anything I can do—”

I stop walking in my tracks. He continues for a few paces and then turns to look at me quizzically.

“There
is
something you can do!” I realise with delight.

“Name it,” he says sincerely, and he makes me believe that he would, in fact, do anything I say.

“You said you’ve worked with the Pierson’s Group before? Then you must know my boss…”

“Amelie Clemence?” he asks.

I smile at him. “The very same.” I stride forward and confidently take his arm, linking it to mine at our elbows. We begin walking again. He is not startled, and he has not stiffened, so I assume he’s as pleased with my move as I am. “Maybe,” I say, rather slyly, “if you were to pop your head into the office for just
one
little moment, Amelie would be distracted and her focus will shift from me?” It’s an audacious request. I’m using his business prowess to get myself out of trouble; it’s shameful.

But Logan doesn’t judge me as harshly as I do myself. His full, beautiful lips curve up into a smile. He likes my audacious idea. He
likes
that I want to use him! Or perhaps he likes that he has the power to help me get out of trouble. He looks down at me, his smile still in place. “Sure,” he says. “I would love to watch you have your photos taken…”

Ah…I hadn’t factored that in!

*

We arrive at Pierson House: a narrow, five-storey, crisp white building, with abundant flower baskets hanging from every window. It’s a professional looking establishment, giving a good first impression considering we specialise in style, decor, and design. We rush through the reception, where Layla (the under-qualified receptionist) gives me an oh-you’re-in-trouble-now kind of look, before her eyes rest on Logan and she involuntarily blanches. I smirk at her reaction. This plan is so going to work! Logan is the perfect distraction! Out the back of the building is a large square courtyard, which, of course, is impeccably arranged and adorned. I spot the photographer’s gear set up at the back of the square space; the only area that still catches a glimmer of sunshine. The photographer is not with his gear. I hear Amelie before I see her.