by Ella Frank
“Okay,” Tate said, narrowing his eyes at him. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”
“It’s fine,” he replied, trying to brush it off, but his ill temper seemed determined to stay.
Tate released his hand and pushed his fingers through his hair. It was obvious he was getting annoyed, and Logan knew he was acting like an ass, but he couldn’t seem to shake himself out of it.
“Look, I’m sorry,” he started, but before he could continue, Tate was walking away.
Fuck…fuck, he thought as Tate shoved through the revolving door with a little more force than necessary.
Irritated at his own churlish behavior, Logan followed him inside and through the elegant lobby area. He didn’t bother taking the time to observe. He wanted the night over with as fast as possible, which in turn meant no time for sight-seeing.
Once he’d spotted both Tate and his mother waiting for him by the elevator banks, Logan made his way over. When he stopped by the two of them, Evelyn ran a hand down the lapel of his black sports jacket.
“Give me a smile, Hot Wheels.”
Logan saw Tate trying to bite back a grin, and he decided to try to loosen the fuck up.
“If you want to live,” he told Tate in a most serious manner, “don’t ever think about repeating that.”
Tate pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a smug look, and Logan knew that his tease would definitely not heed that particular warning.
When the elevator doors opened, Logan turned back to his mother and asked, “Where are we going? Please don’t say your room.”
“No, silly. We have a table up on the Shanghai Terrace.”
As they followed her inside, Logan mumbled, “Of course we do.”
“What was that?” she asked as she walked over to stand by his side.
Logan looked down at her and let his eyes search her face. He was hoping to see something that would indicate she’d changed, but so far, there was nothing.
“I said, ‘Of course we do.’”
“Well, yes. Only the best for the Mitchells.”
Logan leaned back against the wall of the elevator and felt Tate step beside him. He recognized the move for what it was—a silent show of support should he need it. Not that he really deserved it with the way he was acting.
As they were ushered out of the elevator and into the dimly lit waiting area, Logan scanned the dark, wooden furniture, stunning oriental silkscreens and paintings, and the large wall of windows letting in the lights of Chicago’s skyline.
It was stunning. He had to give his mother that. Her taste, as usual, was impeccable.
“Good evening,” the beautiful, young hostess greeted them. “Welcome to the Shanghai Terrace. Do you have a dinner reservation?”
“Good evening, dear. Yes, I booked a table under Evelyn Mitchell for two. However, there’ll be an extra person dining with us. I hope that won’t be a problem.”
“No, certainly not, Mrs. Mitchell.”
They then followed her past several full dining tables to a nice corner one by large double doors that led out onto a terrace.
“Will this work for you this evening?”
Logan decided he should probably locate his manners and pulled his mother’s chair out as she told the woman that it was indeed okay. Then he took the chair opposite Tate. Once they’d ordered their drinks, he looked over to where his mother was shaking her hair back behind her shoulders.
As usual, she was immaculate, wearing an elegant A-line dress in crimson, the same color as her coat. It was amazing the way she never seemed to age—or not so amazing when modern medicine was to thank.
She sat forward as if about to ask state secrets and addressed Tate. “All right. Time to start talking. How long have you known this charmer over here?”
* * *
Tate glanced at Logan, who was looking heavenward probably hoping the night would hurry up and end, but he was out of luck. As far as he could tell, Logan’s mother seemed determined to spend time with her son.
Tate had to admit, she was certainly more accepting of them than his mother had been, so that earned her points in his mind straight off the bat.
“That’s a good question,” he answered. “A few months. Right, Logan?”
“Yeah. About five now,” Logan supplied.
“Wow.” Feels like I’ve known him forever.
“You shocked you put up with me for that long?” Logan joked.
“Hardly. I’m just surprised it’s not more. It feels like more.”
Almost as if he’d forgotten his mother was there, Logan sat forward and took his hand where he had it resting on the table. “It does.”
“Aww, you two are adorable,” Evelyn gushed. “It makes me so happy.”
“Oh, God,” Logan said.
“What?” she asked with a romantic gleam in her eyes. “Am I not allowed to be happy that my son’s in love?”
As the waiter appeared with their drinks, Logan immediately picked his own up and took a sip. “This night keeps getting better and better. Keep those coming please.”
The waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving them to get back to their discussion. Tate smiled over at Logan’s mother, who was looking between the two of them.
When her eyes stopped on him, she boldly asked, “How’d you two meet?”
“Would you stop with the twenty questions already?” Logan asked.
Tate found it extremely interesting that Logan seemed almost embarrassed about this part of the story.
“Oh, stop being such a bore, Logan. Plus, I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Tate. What are you so worried about? Did you hunt the poor guy down or something?”
That was it. Tate couldn’t hold back his laughter anymore, and the shocked expression that crossed Logan’s face at his hilarity didn’t help.
“Don’t tell me…” Evelyn continued, picking her glass of white wine up. “He did, didn’t he?”
Logan pointed a finger at him. “Shut it.”
But he wasn’t about to keep quiet. “Let’s just say he was very persistent.”
“In other words, I was right. He’s always been like that, even as a kid. If he saw something he wanted, he went after it with the tenacity of a bulldog.”
Logan took another gulp of his drink.
“To be fair, he had to be a bit more forceful than usual. I’d never considered dating a man, let alone wanted one before I met him.”
Logan practically choked on the liquor he’d just swallowed, and Tate gave his most charming smile as he raised his glass to his lips.
“Really?” Logan said as if he couldn’t believe he’d just said that.
Tate lowered his drink back to the table and nodded. “Really.”
“Good evening, and welcome to the Shanghai Terrace. My name’s Julie, and I’ll be your waitress tonight. Do you know what you would like to start with?”
* * *
For the most part, the night went along smoothly, which was a minor miracle.
Logan decided to go all out after much coaxing from Evelyn and ordered the most expensive meal on the menu. The food was delicious, and after several drinks, Logan reluctantly admitted that the company wasn’t too bad either.
He’d just excused himself, deciding to take a time-out to get the final round from the bar. All night, he’d been wary, waiting for the proverbial ball to drop, and he was both shocked and pleasantly surprised it didn’t seem it would happen.
Maybe she is turning over a new leaf.
Resting up against the bar, he didn’t see Tate approach until he felt a warm body behind him and heard a low voice whisper in his ear.
“Hey there, Hot Rod. Wanna come home with me later?”
A wide grin split Logan’s lips at the change to his childhood nickname and he turned so he was only inches away from Tate. With one of his forearms on the bar top, he reached out with the other to play with the buttonholes on his jacket.
“Hot Rod?”
Tate’s eyes laz
ily ran down his body, and when they came back up to his, the desire in them was obvious. “Yeah. I’m thinking that fits you better these days than Hot Wheels. Though you do still like fast cars.”
Logan licked his upper lip, and when Tate’s eyes followed his tongue, he cocked his head to the side. “Says the one who rides fast bikes.”
Tate kissed him, and then said, “What can I say? I like sleek, sexy things between my legs. Makes sense since I fucking love having you there.”
Logan placed his hand on Tate’s chest and closed his eyes for a second. “Shit, Tate.”
“You never answered. Want to come home with me?”
When Tate took a step back, Logan opened his eyes. “I’d love to, but I have a staff meeting first thing tomorrow and need several things from home. You could always come back and stay the night with me.”
As the bartender came over with their drinks, Tate shook his head. “Nah, it’s okay. I kind of need to go home and get into my own clothes anyway. Plus, I told Rachel I would meet with her before work with a list of potential areas.”
“Excuse me, sir?”
Logan turned to see their waitress for the evening.
She softly asked, “Are you Mr. Mitchell?”
He nodded at the polite inquiry that also had Tate turning.
With a tight smile, she handed him a small, black bill folder. “Your wife told me she had to leave to catch her plane and that you’d be taking care of the tab for both the dinner and the hotel stay.”
As Logan’s fingers clutched the rectangular folder in his hand, he felt the blood drain from his face and all the sound around him ceased to exist.
No…she couldn’t have…
It wasn’t until he heard Tate’s muffled voice disagreeing with the woman in front of them that he was aware she was waiting for him to respond. Like a robot on autopilot, Logan reached for his wallet, removed a card, and handed it over. All the while, Tate was still talking, saying words he couldn’t quite decipher.
She’d done it again. Not only had she done it to him, but she’d done it in front of Tate.
Logan closed his eyes, willing himself to get a hold on his anger and not let Tate see how much he was fucking hurt. Not like this behavior is unusual for her. This is her “thing.” This is what she does.
She’d accused him tonight of being a hunter, and it was no surprise he’d turned out that way. He’d learned from the best.
“Logan?”
Finally, Tate’s voice broke through as he took his arm and ushered him toward the elevator. He didn’t respond though; he had nothing to say.
What is there to say?
It wasn’t until they were seated in the back of the taxi and Tate had gently touched his thigh that Logan turned his way.
“Hey.”
As Logan stared over at the man seated beside him, he was numb. No matter how many times he told himself not to let her in, she always, always, managed to weasel her way inside to pull this shit again.
When will I fucking learn?
He looked away from Tate, unable to bear the sympathy in those beautiful, brown eyes, and decided to talk. Maybe, that way, the silence wouldn’t suffocate him where he sat.
“When I was a little boy,” he started, staring out at the traffic as they pulled onto the main street. “My mother used to tell me a story about the scorpion and the fox.” He glanced over to Tate and asked, “Have you heard it?”
Tate shook his head and reached for his hand. Logan let him take it, but unlike earlier, there was no sexy flirtation here, no tension buzzing in the cab—just silence as Tate waited for him to continue.
“One day, there was a scorpion, and he was walking along the riverbank, searching for a way to cross. He looked around everywhere, but no matter which way he decided on, he knew it would mean instant death for him. That was until he spotted the fox. Casually, the scorpion walked over to him and struck up a conversation with the animal. He asked him to help him cross the river, but being a cunning and smart animal, the fox told the scorpion, ‘No. Why would I help you? You’ll only end up stinging me and then I’ll drown. Sorry. I just can’t do that.’ The scorpion disagreed profusely, swearing his honest intentions. ‘No, no, you have me all wrong. I’d never do something like that. I need you to help me cross the river. If I sting you and you die, then we both drown. So no, I don’t want to harm you, fox. I merely want us to both get across the river.’”
Logan looked at Tate and saw that he was frowning. He was totally caught up in the story he was telling, but Logan knew he was also wondering why he was reciting an old fable from his youth—but he would soon understand, just as he eventually had.
“The fox thought over the scorpion’s proposal and decided that maybe he had a point. Why would he endanger himself in such a way? So he agreed. ‘Sure. Hop on,’ he said, and the scorpion climbed onto his back. The fox then started across the river, believing that his leap of faith had paid off—until halfway over, when he felt the biting sting of a traitor at his neck and poison started to seep through his veins. Unable to comprehend why the scorpion would have done such a thing, knowing it would ultimately mean death for himself as well, the fox asked, ‘Why? Why have you betrayed me in such a way? Now, you too will drown.’” Logan stopped and caught Tate’s eyes as the tale ended the same way it always did. “‘I couldn’t help it,’ the scorpion said, offering no apologies. ‘It’s my nature.’”
As his words sank in, Logan took his hand from Tate’s and ran it over his face. He then looked out the window and whispered into the night, “The only thing she failed to mention to the child was that he was the fox and she was the scorpion.”
Chapter Ten
When Friday morning rolled around, Tate found himself sitting at Logan’s kitchen island after he’d left for work, much the same way he had for the past several days.
Ever since the cab drive home on Monday, Logan had been different. He wasn’t avoiding him or ignoring him in any way. In actuality, he’d been spending every moment he had free with him. But something had changed.
The usual arrogance that was always lying just below the surface, ready to be unleashed, had vanished. It was as if Evelyn’s visit had snuffed out the spark that usually lit him up so vividly, and he just wasn’t his Logan.
Trying to distract himself, Tate had brought over the paperwork he’d been putting off for the past week—Diana’s divorce papers. When he’d finally finished filling them out, he placed them in one pile and then looked at a second piece of paper he’d received yesterday. One of equal importance.
All morning, he’d been looking at the two, undecided of when the right time to bring them up with Logan was, and it was starting to make him antsy. He’d thought that Logan would eventually bring up what had happened with his mother, maybe want to discuss it and get it off his chest, but instead of doing that, he’d moved right along as if it had never happened. Something that was not working.
Feeling frustrated, Tate picked up his phone and typed: We need to talk.
He stared at the text and waited impatiently for a response. When all he got was—Logan: Okay—he felt like hurling the phone across the room.
This was exactly the kind of thing that was driving him crazy. Logan would never send him some bullshit one-word answer, and if he thought he would let him get away with it for much longer, he had another thing coming.
You told me once that one-word answers don’t work for you. They don’t work for me either.
He put his cell back on the table and spun it around until it buzzed again.
Logan: Sorry. Just busy.
Busy, are you? Well, we’ll see about that.
Tate shoved his phone in his back pocket.
If Logan was too busy to talk to him over the phone, then he’d wait in his lobby until he had two free minutes to work him into his busy day.
* * *
Logan lifted his eyes from what he was reading when a knock sounded on the door. He had a killer headache and
wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, but when Sherry poked her head in his office, he mustered up a smile.
“You have a call on line one. Did you want to take it, or…”
Logan looked at the flashing light on his phone and gave a nod. “I’ll take it. Just give me a minute and I’ll pick up.”
She smiled timidly as she left and shut the door behind her. She’d been a real trooper, considering his foul mood over the last few days—which, Logan noted, was still lingering like a dark cloud waiting to burst.
Every night this week, he’d gone home and tried to put on an “I’m okay” mood for Tate, but no matter how much he tried to run his feelings out of his system until he was so exhausted that he could barely move, he couldn’t get his fucking head to cooperate, and it was obvious Tate was onto him.
Leaning back in his chair, he checked his cell to see if Tate had responded after the last text he’d sent, but no, it sat there blank.
What did you expect him to say, asshole? You told him you were busy.
Hating his inability to brush shit off and get over it, he sighed and picked the phone up, hitting the flashing button. “This is Logan.”
“Oh, so you’re not too busy to answer your phone.”
Tate’s voice at the other end of the line made his heart thump. Usually, Logan would have some kind of smartass retort on the tip of his tongue, but instead, the annoyed voice he heard provoked the temper he’d been squashing for the past couple of days.
“I have to answer my work phone.” Then he waited, wondering if Tate was going to call him out for being an ass.
“Invite me up to your office, Logan.”
Yep, seems as if he is.
Logan closed his eyes and rested his head against his leather chair. “Tate—”
“Do you have time or not?”
Logan heard the bossy undertone in the question and replied in much the same way. “I do. There’s nothing on the schedule this afternoon.”
“So you lied to me.”
“No. I’m busy doing paperwork,” he was quick to clarify.