by Maisey Yates
And there were a couple of guests seated in the cluster of chairs in the corner of the lobby, laughing and having drinks, and generally too interested in each other to notice him.
“Okay, Logan, what do I need to do?”
Addison’s gentle agreement to help him get a handle on his panic attacks still rang in his mind. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want to admit how broken he truly was. But he had no choice now.
Tonight was the first step.
His limo was idling out front, parked against the curb, as close to the door as possible so as to minimize the time he would have to spend outdoors.
All of this was designed to minimize his anxiety. It was a shame it wasn’t working.
He’d stood in this position far too many times, and he was well aware of how it would end. In blinding, black, terror. In the floor wrenching to the side, and turning to waves beneath his feet, sending him down to his knees. Making him vomit as if he were back on a ship that was splintering apart beneath the punishing wind of a hurricane.
The only difference was that this time he had a guide. A slender, blond guide, who almost resembled an angel aiding his passage into the beyond.
Of course, she wasn’t an angel. And that was really just as well. For his purposes, he didn’t require an angel. He needed a socialite, and Addison Treffen was exactly that.
Addison cast him a sideways glance, concern evident in her blue gaze. “Are you okay?”
Logan reached up to straighten the lapels of his jacket, then ran his hands down the front of his tie. “Hell no. But I fail to see what being okay has to do with any of this.”
“I suppose if we had your mental well-being in mind, we would just keep you cloistered upstairs.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me. Only I think my mental well-being may be far beyond help, so we might as well try to help Black Properties.”
He did a sharp breath, as if he were preparing for a dive. In many ways he was. Going out into the open, even at night, felt a lot like getting ready to go underwater. And while, during his time on the island, it’d been necessary, he had never enjoyed it.
And when he had done it, it had been in the interest of his survival. Which seemed fitting, since what he did now was in the interest of the survival of Black Properties.
He looked at Addison. “Sometimes, Addison, to survive you have to do things you hate.”
Then he stepped outside, moving to the limo as quickly as possible, jerking the door open and getting inside, closing the door behind him quickly. Dimly, it occurred to him that in his former life, he would never have gotten into the car before the woman he was with. And he most certainly would’ve held the door for her.
But he was reduced to survival tactics now. Seduction, softness and the desire to impress a woman had no place in his life.
Addison rounded the back of the limo and opened the door opposite him, sliding inside and shutting the door behind her. She kept an expanse of seat between them, and he was grateful that she did.
“So, where is it we’re going?” she asked.
“Black Pearl. Cheesy, I know. My father’s name for his flagship hotel here in the city. It’s where this big event is being held. I’ve not been there in…probably not since I’ve been back. When I first arrived my mother and sister held a party for me there. But I was numb enough then that I could handle it.”
“Is that the problem? The shock is wearing off?”
“Possibly. I imagine, though, that we’re dealing with problems plural, rather than problem.”
“So, tonight we’ll get a feel for the layout of things. Survey the perimeter, as it were.”
“Sure,” Logan said, feeling the familiar nausea start to rise as the car began to move down the street.
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”
“Would you feel very enthusiastic about the idea of having your skin peeled away from your bones?” He looked over at her, at the predictably horrified expression on her face, and he had a feeling he’d gone too far. And for the first time in his memory, he regretted it. Regretted the possibility that he might touch her with his darkness. She was so beautiful, so perfectly forbidden to him.
“Is it that bad?” she asked.
“I’m not trying to be poetic about it. Or dramatic.”
Addison laughed, the sound catching him completely off guard. “You know, some people might think you have a flair for it.”
“And what, the hell, is that supposed to mean?”
She smiled, her attempt at keeping it light not going unnoticed. “Oh, I don’t know, prowling around your offices without shoes, lurking in your gym in the dark. Refusing to come in to work until the late hours of the day. Using your limitations to your advantage by forcing everyone who deals with you to come into your lair to do business.”
He turned to her and arched an eyebrow. “My lair?”
“Your domain. Your cave. Some might call it your island, but that would be insensitive.”
“And you are never insensitive.”
“Oh, heavens no. Grace and poise are my middle names.”
“Are they really?”
She surprised him again by smiling. “No, do you want to know my real middle name?”
And because the distraction was welcome, he did. “Sure.”
“Jane. Addison Jane Treffen.”
“Well,” he said, “now I’ll know what to call you if you’re ever in trouble.”
It’d been long enough since he was in a sexual situation that the sudden tension between them caught him completely off guard. Not that this was the first time tension stretched between them. But it was the first time it had been brought about by something he’d said. Something that had almost been teasing, provocative on purpose.
He didn’t provoke women anymore. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t seduce.
He had lost that right.
*
Addison looked out the window and focused on the passing scenery. Bright lights that blurred into continuous lines. Things that almost felt normal with Logan. Well, as normal as things could feel when you were out with a man who hadn’t been outside in three months. A man who was consciously fighting off a panic attack.
So, all things considered, it had felt normal.
Until he’d looked at her, with those deep blue eyes, so deep the color was visible even in the dimness of the car, and spoken to her about using her middle name, when she was in trouble. The words a velvet-covered promise, of pleasure, of pain. And she had no idea how the two things had melded together into that one simple phrase, but they had. She had no idea how the two things had melded together in her.
Because they weren’t the same. They didn’t mesh.
And she was quite possibly crazy. She would go ahead and blame daddy issues. If anyone had that right, surely she did.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the limo eased up against the curb in front of Black Pearl. The streets were relatively clear, but there were still people wandering around, heading to plays, leaving restaurants.
And really, as much as Logan had told her about his anxiety, he’d left out an awful lot. Was the panic triggered by an unfamiliar area? By people? Open space? Or by something else entirely?
If things went well, she would avoid finding out. All things considered, she was okay with that.
She pushed open the limo door and walked to the sidewalk. Logan’s door remained closed. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. Drag him out? She was here to help, but she still wasn’t entirely sure what that entailed. She had a feeling he wasn’t either. Which helped not at all.
She decided, in this case, she would go with inaction. About a minute after her, Logan stepped out of the limo. Every line in his body, from his square jaw to his broad shoulders and his fists clenched at his sides, was tense. He didn’t look hunted, or afraid, but he did look ready to fight.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No,” he said as he charged ahead of he
r, head down, into the hotel.
She clutched her purse to her chest and scurried after him, having to move quickly to keep up. She followed him inside the building, and through the lobby. People were staring, openly, as they passed, not bothering to hide their shock at seeing him. She imagined that the reclusive Mr. Black, who hadn’t been seen outside in three months, was definitely stare-worthy for his employees.
Logan seemed oblivious, and Addison had a feeling that was just as well.
The ballroom was at the end of the hall, through a pair of deep blue, gilt-edged double doors. Logan pushed the doors open, pausing in the entryway, scanning the room as if he was looking for a threat.
“You know,” she said, keeping her voice soft, “you could look slightly less like you’re charging into battle.” Though she had a feeling he was, in his mind, doing precisely that.
He let out a long, slow breath, then straightened and walked into the room.
It was empty, nothing but a broad expanse of marble tile, heavy stone columns and ornate crown molding. None of it said Logan to her, but Logan had mentioned that it was his father’s baby, and not his.
It made her wonder about the Black Book, if it was really his, or if it was simply a part of the company.
And that was not her concern.
She stayed in her position at the back of the room as Logan walked toward the stage, where he would undoubtedly be giving his speech. He walked up the steps, his every movement slow, deliberate.
He turned to face her, well, not her, the back of the room. But even though she knew that he wasn’t looking at her, she could feel his gaze, a spark from a fire, drifting down to land on her exposed skin, leaving her scorched.
He looked up, then scanned the room from left to right. The change in him was almost imperceptible. It would’ve been entirely imperceptible had she not been watching him so closely. Had she not learned, already, to sense the shifts in his mood.
He lifted a hand and raked it over his hair. It was then that she noticed his fingers were trembling.
Without thinking, she started walking toward the stage. Driven by something, she didn’t know what. Driven to do something, she didn’t know what.
He reached up and grabbed hold of the knot on his tie, tugging it fiercely, before jerking on the collar of his shirt, popping two buttons off the pristine white fabric and sending them rolling across the floor.
Addison started to walk up the stage, her hand outstretched. “Logan… Logan, breathe.” She took another step toward him, her heart pounding, her mouth dry.
There were no rules for this. There was no training that could have prepared her. For his desperation. For her. She couldn’t fall back on lessons learned. She simply had to do what felt right.
Logan stumbled back, the look in his eyes that of a wounded animal. Not that she had any experience with wounded animals, but it was how she imagined they might look. Terrified, and ready to attack at the same time.
“Stay back. Don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me,” he said, his words a low growl.
Addison recoiled, her heart pounding. She wasn’t qualified for this. She wasn’t the kind of person who made waves, wasn’t the kind of person who faced down an angry man in a suit.
Well, you are now. Because this is your job. Do it for you. Not for anyone else. For once in your stupid life.
“Logan,” she tried again, keeping her voice smooth and even. “Look at me, and remember to breathe. You have problems when you don’t breathe.”
He made a gasping sound, like a man who’d just come up through the surface of the water. He laughed, shaky. Humorless. “Most people do.”
“Right, and just because you don’t need shoes doesn’t mean you don’t need to breathe, so just go ahead and breathe.”
He inhaled deeply, his muscular chest pitching sharply.
“Better?” she asked.
“That depends on what you mean by better.” He turned and kicked against the podium that was at the center of the stage, knocking it onto its side, the loud sound echoing in the empty room. “There aren’t any damn people in here. And I still feel like I’m going crazy.”
“Why?” she asked, desperate to help now, desperate to help him find the answer.
“Because there will be people.”
“And what then? Why is that bad?”
“They’ll see me.”
Addison was at a loss. She’d heard his words, but she knew there was a deeper meaning to them. One she couldn’t guess at.
“Why is that bad?” she asked again, not knowing what else to say.
“Because then they’ll know what I am.”
Chapter Seven
Five days after the incident at the hotel, and Logan hadn’t mentioned it once. He also didn’t mention the possibility of going out again. Things had gone back to business as usual, which, with Logan, was not usual at all.
He continued to be erratic, showing up in the office when it suited him. Then—once they were in the office together—going hours without speaking to her while pacing around the room wearing no shoes.
And honestly that would’ve been fine. Had she not decided she was going to fix this for him. It was his own fault, really.
He was the one who had said she was only a socialite. And those were the words that had burrowed under her skin, rubbing at her, like a grain of sand buried inside a clam. She really hoped that her efforts produced a pearl, because otherwise all she had was the irritant and no reward.
One thing all these crazy events had confirmed for her was that she wasn’t content to be passive anymore. She’d never felt passive, because putting on the Treffen facade had always felt like such an effort.
But after losing her incentive for behaving that way, she was slowly being forced to face the reality that none of it had been for her. That she wasn’t sure she wanted to be the perfect socialite. That she wasn’t sure whether or not she cared about any of the things she’d pretended to care about for so long.
Which was part of what spurred her on now. And was part of her inspiration for how she might be able to help Logan.
Addison walked into the office, not quite certain what she would find there. Empty space, Logan huddled in a corner, Logan prowling around like a caged tiger… Really, there was such a wide variety of options. All of them slightly disturbing.
She stopped in the doorway, surprised by the sight that greeted her. Logan was sitting at his desk, looking at his computer, appearing to be every inch the successful businessman that he was. No disheveled tie or torn dress shirt here.
If she could say one thing for him, it was that he was predictable in his unpredictability.
“Good morning, Logan,” she said, taking a step farther into the room.
Logan looked up from his computer screen. “Good morning,” he said, inclining his head in her direction. “Why do you look so startled this morning, Addison? I’m sitting at my desk like a normal boss.”
“Yes, that’s what unnerves me.”
He laughed, the sound low and rich, bitter, like dark chocolate. A strange comparison, maybe, but it was the only comparison that helped her excuse why it was just so appealing to her. She’d always been a fan of dark chocolate. Ergo, if Logan’s laugh was like dark chocolate, it made sense for her stomach to turn over in excitement when she heard it.
“You’ve grown accustomed to my eccentricities.”
Addison took a deep breath. “Whether or not I’m used to them is neither here nor there. I’m supposed to help you work through them, at least as far as the public is concerned.”
He tightened his hands into fists. “Still determined to try and fix the unfixable?”
“It just so happens that I don’t think you’re unfixable.” She hadn’t been aware that she felt that way, or that she felt so strongly about it, until just then. Until she’d looked at him, really looked at him, in his cold, blue eyes, and seen just how deeply he believed there was no saving him.
She didn’
t accept that. And she was going to make use of her training. All she’d learned about helping in superficial situations? She could use it now. She could use it with him. And with him…it seemed that it would matter. It seemed like something deeper than the superficial, for the first time.
“That’s where you might be wrong,” he said.
Addison waved her hand, in her best imitation of a dismissive, snobby gesture, one best loved by Lenore Treffen. “Philosophical differences aside, fixable or unfixable, it does not change the fact that you’re expected to give a speech in… When are you expected to give the speech?”
“Four weeks,” he said.
“Well, that’s good. We have some time.”
“And you honestly think time is going to make any difference? I was more able to deal with people when I stepped off that airplane when I first arrived back in New York.”
“Because you were cushioned by shock.”
Logan leaned back in his chair, pushing his hand through his thick brown hair. She was captivated for a moment, by that hand, that large, masculine hand. It was a simple thing, a silly thing maybe, but she found herself wondering what that hand had done. To survive, to thrive.
“You are clinging to that unscientific explanation of it, I take it?”
“Why not? It makes sense to me. Anyway, no matter how you explain it, it doesn’t change what has to be done. So I’m going to ask you a question. Are you going to lie down and be defeated by this, or are you going to fight?”
Logan pushed off from his desk and stood, the motion swift and shocking. “You say that like I haven’t been fighting every damn day since I got back.” He started to pace, restless energy radiating from him in waves. “Like I didn’t fight every day from the time the yacht crashed on that island to when I was rescued. I have done nothing but fight for four years.”
“You’ve survived. I’m not sure if you’ve done anything else.”
“That’s one better than anyone who was on the yacht with me.”
His words hung in the air, stark and angry.
“I won’t pretend that I have any idea how hard it was, Logan. But I specialize in the social. But not just that, in going to social events that I don’t care about.”