Heart Strings

by Melanie Moreland

  I pulled him down to my mouth. “I could get up a little earlier in the morning. Give you two hours now.”

  He smiled against my lips. “Now you’re talking.”

  Chapter 12

  Lottie

  Logan walked me home, leaving me at the front door of my building. He kissed me slowly, thoroughly, before he left, striding away, often turning to look behind him. I watched until he disappeared from my sight, a small ache forming in my chest when I could no longer see him.

  I trudged upstairs, my condo feeling empty without his presence. I shook my head, made a cup of tea, and sat at my home computer. Fearfully, I opened my email, then purposely put Logan and everything else out of my mind and concentrated on the work waiting in front of me. I was a little surprised at the small number of emails needing my attention. Most of them were group-based, and the information they required had been provided. The few that were for me only, I responded to, leaving the ones that needed data from the files on my desk until the morning. Before I had sat down, I’d thrown in some laundry, and by eleven, I was in bed. My sheets smelled like Logan. Crisp snow and cedar—a woodsy fragrance that suited him. I tried not to smile when I realized he even smelled perfect. I glanced at my phone and sent him a text message. He had made sure we exchanged numbers before we left his place earlier.

  Lottie: Hi. Going to bed. Thank you for today.

  His response was fast.

  Logan: Got your work done, SQ?

  Lottie: Yes. I paused, then added, My bed smells like you.

  I got back a smiley face and his reply.

  Logan: And mine like you. I would prefer if it were the real thing.

  Lottie: Me too. Have a good day tomorrow.

  There were a few beats of silence until he replied.

  Logan: Sleep well, Lottie. I’ll see you soon. xx

  I plugged in my phone and curled up, hugging the pillow he had slept on. I inhaled his fragrance, letting it wash over me. I yawned, my body tired, but my mind still awake. I wondered what would happen tomorrow at the office. If my father would punish me for my supposed transgressions of taking the day off and talking back to him. The words Logan had said went through my head on repeat—of doing something I loved rather than trying to make up for something I had no control over. I could only imagine the horror on Charles Prescott’s face if I told him I was quitting to go and bake cakes. He would probably have me committed. As the minutes crawled by, I wondered what it would be like not to dread each day. To be eager to get to work because I was doing something I loved. I sat up, punching my pillow, and rearranging my blanket.

  That was a pipe dream. I had spent years of schooling to earn my degree in business and investment. I still had the student loans to prove it. My father had paid for half my schooling, and I’d lived at home to keep expenses down and concentrate on my education. The rest, I paid for. I often had to tamp down the feeling that if it had been Josh, my father would have paid for all of it without question. He confessed once to thinking I would give up partway through and it was his way of making sure I had an incentive. I had to resist calling him on that when I graduated and pointing out I had completed it, so therefore, he could pay the rest of the debt. I knew that would get me nowhere. So I paid my loans monthly, which left me enough to pay my mortgage and live a modest life.

  It certainly didn’t give me the freedom to leave my job and bake cakes for a living.

  I curled back up and shut my eyes. I needed to stop thinking about it. Life was hard enough without adding more what-ifs.

  I simply had to accept it and keep moving forward.

  In the morning, I felt exhausted, the euphoria of the weekend gone and reality staring me in the face. I got into the office early, even beating my father, cleared my desk and emails, and was ready for the nine a.m. meeting. I was already at my place when my father walked in, and I met his frosty glance with a tight smile. He was obviously still angry with me. How angry became evident not long into the meeting.

  “I’ve decided to make some changes,” he announced, after the usual updates had been dealt with and noted. “I’m switching some people around on some projects. Todd, you take over the Jetson dossier from Charlotte. Andrew, I want you on the merger with Alcore. Meet with Charlotte and get all the files.”

  I kept my gaze on the papers in front of me. The two biggest projects I had been working on had now been pulled from me. From the stunned silence in the room, it was obvious my father’s announcement had caught everyone by surprise. I knew he was doing it to punish me, yet all I felt was relief. I should be upset, indignant, but the thought of all the hours needed to complete the files was daunting. It didn’t even matter that the bonus I would have received would be gone. Relief still won out.

  I lifted my gaze, meeting my father’s eyes calmly. “I’ll make sure they have everything as soon as possible.”

  He nodded, not giving away a thing. “I have three new mergers we’ve been asked to investigate. I’ll have the files delivered to your desk.”

  It was another rebuke. Pulling me off the two big ones and no doubt giving me smaller files, which meant more work and less money. But in the long run, less stress since the demands would be less stringent.

  “Of course,” I said, my voice even and steady. I refused to let him, or anyone else, even suspect I was upset or that this was anything other than simply a business decision.

  But I knew.

  I bent my head, scratching out a few notes as my father reassigned some other tasks and files not related to me. The meeting was adjourned, and I headed to my office, shutting the door behind myself and leaning against the wood. I blew out a long breath and let my head fall to my chest, releasing some of the tension. I sat down at my desk, turning my chair to stare out the window. It was overcast today, the light a gray hue filtering through the clouds. It suited my mood—especially now.

  It wasn’t unusual for my father to change teams. To hand over various files to different people and groups. But these were two of the biggest, and I had been working on them for weeks. Both were difficult and intricate, with lots of players involved. I had been against both of them, but he had overridden me at the time. His decision made it appear as if he’d lost confidence in me.

  Which, I assumed, in many ways, he had.

  I knew I could go into his office and argue with him—he probably expected it. But I was surprisingly calm about it. I would hand over the files and all the pertinent information. The fact was that it would free up a lot of my time. I would take my new assignments and figure out how best to proceed with them.

  As I was sorting out all the files, there was a knock at my door, and Lorie, one of my father’s assistants, came in, carrying some folders. She looked uncomfortable as she approached my desk, and I smiled at her, wanting to put her at ease. I wasn’t upset with her.

  “I have these for you.”

  “Great.” I indicated the corner of the desk. “Put them there. I’m almost done with these.”

  “Mr. Prescott, ah, wants me to schedule a transfer meeting as soon as possible.”

  “Sure. An hour?”

  “Okay. In here?”

  “That works. Is he attending?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Set it up, and I’ll have this all done.”

  “Can I—can I get anything for you?” she asked.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Lunch later?”

  I realized she was trying to offer her support in the only way she could. “A tuna salad on rye would be great later, Lorie. Thanks.”

  “With an iced tea?”

  “Perfect.”

  She nodded and left. I returned my attention to the files, making sure everything was up-to-date on the server and all my notes were clear. By the time Todd, Andrew, and my father walked in, I was ready. I was brisk and efficient, going through everything with them, handing over the file boxes and the passwords to the documents on the server. I was responding to a question from Todd
when the receptionist appeared in my doorway, a small arrangement of flowers in her hands. I was flummoxed when she knocked, came in, and slid them on my desk.

  “They wouldn’t leave without a signature,” she explained. “The instructions said only you could sign.”

  I took the clipboard and signed the delivery slip, my gaze on the flowers. Tiny roses, little irises, button carnations, and baby’s breath filled the vase. It was girlie, pretty, and the scent wonderful. There was a small card tucked into the middle of the flowers, but I already knew who sent them.

  Logan was making sure I knew he was thinking of me.

  I pulled open my drawer and slipped a five-dollar bill onto the clipboard. “Thanks, Marie.”

  She nodded. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  “No problem.”

  It was all I could do to return to the meeting. Luckily, we were almost finished. This was the easy part—handing it off. By tonight, I would have a list of questions to respond to, and I wondered how late I would be staying. I wrapped it up, and Todd and Andrew stood, taking the files and departing.

  My father unfurled himself from the chair. I met his gaze, refusing to let him see anything but a composed expression.

  “You have the new documents?”

  “Yes. Lorie brought them by. I will dig into them.”

  He tugged his shirtsleeves into place, although there was no need. “This isn’t punishment, Charlotte.”

  “I never said it was.”

  “I felt you had gone stale on those files. I needed fresh blood.”

  “I disagree, but your decision, of course.”

  “Yes,” he said coldly. “My company, my choice.”

  I didn’t acknowledge his words.

  “Special occasion?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He indicated the flowers with a tilt of his head. “You received flowers.”

  I ran my finger over the soft petals of a pink carnation. “From a friend who wanted to brighten my day.”

  “I wasn’t aware your days needed brightening.”

  “I suppose that isn’t surprising.”

  He glared at me. “I appreciate my employees keeping their personal lives outside of the office, Charlotte. I would expect the same from you.”

  “Of course you would.”

  “I really don’t like your attitude these days.”

  “I’m not doing anything, Charles. I’ve turned over the files, and I will start the new ones right away. I assure you some flowers on my desk are not going to distract me.”

  “Something is,” he snarled.

  I didn’t reply. He turned and left my office, shutting the door behind him.

  With a sigh, I plucked the card from the flowers. It was simple.

  Think of me

  Counting the moments

  Logan xx

  I sighed. I was counting the moments too. Once again, I stroked the velvety flowers. Such an old-fashioned, wonderful gesture. At times, Logan surprised me. The action in the subway. The way he insisted on opening doors, walking closest to the road, holding my hand, these flowers. His father must have instilled those traits in him. I loved the contradiction to the roughness of his appearance. Under the shaggy hair and beard beat the heart of a poet and a true gentleman.

  Until it came to sex. There, he was as rough and demanding as his appearance suggested. Yet even that was tempered with tenderness. His dirty words, his demands, the way he handled me—nothing he did gave me cause for concern. He would never hurt me—or any other woman. Of that fact, I was certain.

  And another fact that I was certain of was I didn’t want him handling any other woman except me.

  With a sigh, I sent him a text thanking him and got back to work. It was going to be a long day.

  Hours later, I stretched my neck, glancing at the clock, shocked to see it was past seven. The hours had flown by as I’d studied the new projects I’d been assigned. All were fairly straightforward. The sort of ventures I would have handled when I first came to the company. But I refused to let that bother me. I would give them all the attention and due diligence other clients received. My father would have zero to complain about, and I would make sure the clients were happy. At least one was interesting. Two small indie recording companies wanting to combine and bring on investors. I had spoken with one of the parties involved, and Carmen had invited me to an event they were hosting on Wednesday evening. I was going to attend and then meet with them on Thursday to talk more. He extended the invite to others in the office, and I promised to pass it along. The other two were a hotel looking to expand and another start-up seeking investment. I had notes on both of them for investors and would follow up more this week.

  My stomach grumbled, and I grimaced as I looked over at the half-eaten tuna sandwich on the corner of my desk. The edges of the bread were dry, the tuna soaked into the bottom piece. My iced tea had long since grown warm. I tossed both in the garbage and decided to head home.

  I glanced at my phone and saw I had missed two texts from Logan. One stated he was pleased my flowers had arrived, and the last one asked when I was leaving work. I frowned when I saw it had come in over two hours ago. I decided to call him when I got home. As I turned off the light and headed out the door, I felt a wave of disappointment. There would be no serenade tonight. Even though I knew he would sing to me any time I asked, there was a small part of me that was sad I would no longer be treated to his voice at the end of every day. It always gave me the strength to head home and made the end of my day better. Maybe I would ask him to sing to me over the phone. With that comforting thought, I headed out into the cold, now anxious to get home and hear his voice.

  But when I stepped off the subway and rounded the corner, he was there. Playing, smiling at people—and waiting. Our gazes met, and his smile grew wider, the dimple appearing like a small divot in his cheek. He lifted his eyebrows and tilted his head, indicating I should sit, so I did. He strummed his guitar and sang my favorite song, the notes and music swirling in my head. I shut my eyes, letting my stress dissolve, the terrible day fading away at the sound of his voice. As the notes softly finished, there was a lull, and I sighed, opening my eyes to find him beside me, watching, assessing as he always did. His guitar was slung over his shoulder, the case on the ground by his feet.

  “Hello, my Snow Queen,” he murmured, leaning forward and wiping under my eyes. “I don’t like seeing you cry.”

  “You’re here. Waiting.”

  He nuzzled my cheek, his breath warm on my skin. “I walked past your place, and the lights were still off. You hadn’t returned my text, so I figured you were still at work. I came to wait.” He winked. “The food bank is getting a good donation today.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nope. No sorry is needed.” He laced our fingers together. “It was a bad day?”

  “Not anymore.”

  He smiled so wide, his beautiful eyes crinkled, and once again, I got a glimpse of his dimple. “Did you eat dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Diner?” he asked hopefully.

  “You can’t eat burgers all the time,” I argued halfheartedly.

  “I was going to have a clubhouse sandwich and a salad.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him in disbelief.

  “Or at least that was what I was going to order for you.” He winked. “I haven’t had a burger since Thursday.”

  “Such restraint.”

  “Please,” he asked simply, and there was no way I could resist him.

  “Yes.”

  “Your father is a piece of work,” Logan snarled after I told him about my day.

  “He is very exacting. He runs a tight ship, and I’m treated the same way as everyone else.”

  I speared a piece of lettuce and chewed it slowly. “He wasn’t always that way.” I could still remember the man who picked me up, tossed me in the air, pushed me on the swing, and kissed my scraped knees. I could still recall his love.

>   “I shouldn’t have asked you to spend the day with me.”

  I was quick to object to his words. “Don’t say that. It was one of my favorite days ever. I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

  “Even losing those accounts?”

  I traced the worn Formica on the tabletop. “He thinks I’ll learn a lesson, but if I’m being honest?” I looked up and met Logan’s eyes. “The lower stress is welcome for a while. None of this work is easy, but these are definitely less complex—not as many players or as much money at stake.”

  “Well, good. Maybe you can relax a little until he decides you’ve been punished enough. Maybe by then, you can go work elsewhere.”

  “Logan,” I warned.

  He held up his hands. “Okay, I’ll shut up. I hate seeing you look so exhausted after one day.”

  I didn’t have a response that would satisfy him, so I shrugged. “It happens.”

  He shook his head, and I changed the subject. “How was school?”

  He entertained me with a few stories about some of the antics the kids got up to, all the while encouraging me to eat. What I didn’t finish, he polished off, insisting on a piece of his favorite cake to share. That, he fed me, mouthful by mouthful, in between yawns.

  We walked to my building, and he followed me upstairs, stopping in my doorway. “Go to bed,” he murmured gently, stroking my cheek. “Promise me you won’t do any more work tonight.”

  “You’re not coming in?”

  “That’s not a good idea, Lottie. I don’t think I can resist you, and you are far too tired.”

  “Do I at least get a kiss?”

  He set down his guitar case, cupping my face. “You never have to ask.”

  He covered my mouth with his, his lips warm and pressing. We kissed easily, our mouths reacquainting themselves, then he slanted his head and deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding inside my mouth and stroking along mine in sensuous passes. Over and again, he explored me, pulling me tighter, holding me close, wrapped tight and safe in his embrace. He tasted like cake. Coffee. Logan. His scent—the winter-like fragrance that clung to him—filled my head, and I held on to him as hard as I could. He filled me up with desire, with light. The day faded far into the background as he claimed me with his mouth, making me want more.