Perfect Persuasion (Love's Second Chance Book 2)

by Scott,Scarlett

  Logan unscrewed his water bottle. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

  Derek seemed to cave in, sinking onto a barstool that flanked the kitchen island. Logan didn’t think he’d ever seen his friend look so tired or so depressed. And he’d seen a hell of a lot over the years with Derek. They’d been foster brothers here and there and had forged a bond that not even time or Derek’s celebrity could break.

  “Trina wants a divorce,” Derek said finally.

  “Christ, I’m sorry,” Logan murmured, striding across the kitchen to take up residence on the stool next to his friend. “I know how much you love her.”

  Derek’s eyes were tortured, matching the haggard purple half-moons beneath them. “She’s screwing another man. I called to ask her to come pick me up at Starling and he answered. She got on the phone and told me that it’s over. Just like that. They just wrapped a movie together. Hell, what do I expect? Half of me hates her, Loge, but the other half can’t blame her. I’m a goddamn wreck. I haven’t had a decent role in the five years we’ve been together, and when I’m not in B-movies, I’m in fucking rehab.”

  “You’re not a wreck,” Logan denied, though in truth, he knew that Derek was in the midst of yet another downward spiral. This certainly wasn’t his first.

  Derek Shaw had once been a Hollywood staple, a brand-name actor with looks that rivaled Brad Pitt’s. But that had been before Derek had become jaded by the LA scene and addicted first to prescription drugs and then to alcohol. Since his downfall, Derek had been in and out of rehab, reduced to small roles in box-office flops. To make matters worse, his wife, Trina Wade, was the latest Hollywood leading lady. Her movies turned to gold, while Derek’s continually sank like lead, sending him into depression and back into the dangerous cycle of addiction.

  “How the hell did I get here?” Derek stared down into the contents of his water bottle as though he might find the answer there. “Do you remember when we were young, Loge? We had dreams. You wanted an ad agency, I wanted to be an actor. It was a one-in-a-million shot of them coming true, but they did. Only I fucked mine up.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself.” Logan paused, thinking that even though his dream had come to fruition, he still didn’t feel like it mattered. Not enough, anyway. “You’re thirty-four. You have all the time in the world to get to wherever you want to be.”

  “Up until last night, I thought I wanted to be with my wife.” Derek laughed again, the sound impossibly bleak. “She’s probably been screwing around the whole time we’ve been married. To tell you the truth, I suspected it before, I just never wanted to believe it. I mean, who wouldn’t cheat on a washed-up drunk who used to be a famous actor?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  “That’s what somebody said to me at rehab,” Derek continued, peeling at the label on his water bottle. “This woman came up to me and said, ‘Hey, aren’t you that guy who used to be in the movies?’ That’s who I am now, ‘that guy’. Nobody even remembers my name. I’ve been in rehab so many times that the gossip sites don’t even report it anymore.”

  “Then stop pitying yourself and start to do something about it,” Logan said bluntly. It was the self-pity that dragged Derek back down every time, and they both knew it.

  “I keep thinking about Trina,” Derek said, sounding even more dejected than before. He tore the label in ragged horizontal strips that fell to the island’s polished marble surface.

  Logan clapped his friend on the back, startling him out of his Evian bottle-induced reverie. “Derek, I’m going to tell you something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. Five years, in fact. I never liked Trina, not from the moment I met her. She was just another pretty face trying to hitch her wagon to a big-name star for her own publicity. And it worked. She treated you like shit, and she never tried to help you battle your addictions. The woman had you at clubs every night. What did she think would happen? I’m not saying it’s her fault you fell off the wagon, but she could’ve been more supportive. She was too damn busy trying to further her own career to give a shit about you.”

  “Funny you say that, Loge.” Derek shot him a half-smile. “That’s what she told me on the phone, the part about not giving a shit about me, I mean. I did love her though. At least I think I did. To be honest, most of the time we were together, I was drunk or high on something. Things tend to blur after a while.”

  “The hell with her,” Logan said, wishing he could follow his own advice and forget about Claire. “Did you eat supper yet?”

  “Nope.” Derek tossed back the remainder of his water. “Order me a pizza?”

  “You got it.” Logan headed for the telephone.

  “Loge?”

  Logan turned back to Derek in midstride, thinking again that his friend looked like total hell.

  “Do you mind if I crash here for a while?”

  Logan shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips. “This place has twenty-one goddamn rooms. You can stay forever, if you want.” God knew he would never be able to fill them all. At least with Derek here, things wouldn’t be quite so quiet.

  And Logan wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

  By lunchtime, Claire had the worst headache she’d ever had in her life. Between leg cramps and thoughts about Logan, she’d gotten a disturbingly small amount of sleep. Their argument had stressed her out enough, but then she’d gone over Logan’s words repeatedly and she had to acknowledge he was partially correct. She was trying to avoid the topic of Logan with Garrett, just as she was trying to avoid Logan and LM.

  With a sigh, she tapped out an email to a member of her Creative Team and hit the send button. Still, at least she knew what she wanted. Mostly. She’d been miserable with Garrett for so long that she felt freer, happier now than she’d been for as long as she could remember. When it came to Logan Monroe, things weren’t nearly so black and white. Physically, she was more attracted to him than she’d ever even believed possible. Emotionally, she knew that distance between them would serve her best. Her shameless response to him last night was ample proof of that.

  Make that lots and lots of distance.

  Claire turned back to her laptop and pulled up a file containing her most recent and probably last account. The product was a sugar substitute and so far, the proposal she had from her Creative Team was “It’s like sugar, only better.” Not very promising.

  Double sigh.

  She had to transform it somehow before she left LM. Claire despised loose ends. She’d been the kind of kid who colored every white spot on the page of her coloring book before moving on to the next picture. It had driven Sophie nuts. But her sister had been a blossoming artist even then, and it hadn’t taken Sophie long to figure out that a totally blank sheet of paper was more her speed. Claire, on the other hand, needed lines to fill in and trace. Guidelines.

  Abruptly, her office door clicked open and Jamie popped her head inside, a cheerful smile brightening her face. “Ready for lunch?” her bubbly voice matched her smile.

  Claire frowned. “I’d love to but I’m really swamped right now.”

  Jamie made a face at Claire, stepping completely into the office and closing the door behind her. “Claire Morton, you know you need to feed that baby. You’re too skinny, if you ask me. What you need is—”

  “To get my work done.” Claire aimed a pointed glance at the cluttered mound that was her desk. “I packed a lunch, Jamie, so you don’t have to worry about me.”

  Jamie didn’t leave her in peace like a nice, biddable personal assistant would do. Instead, she crossed the room with a determined air and stopped before Claire’s desk, clicking her cherry-red nails on the glass surface.

  Claire attempted to ignore her. She mentally counted to ten, then concentrated on the slogan for the sugar substitute, repeating it in her head to drown out the sound of Jamie’s happily clacking nails.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Finally she gave in and looked up at Jamie with what she hoped was a
foreboding glower. “You know I hate that noise.”

  That earned her a smug grin. “I know, and if you don’t come with me to lunch, I’ll stand here doing it for, oh,” she consulted her watch, “the next hour, at least.”

  Claire tried a last resort. “I could fire you, you know.”

  Jamie tilted her head, considering Claire’s words for a brief moment. “You could, but you won’t. You could never fire me, since you like me too much. Besides, you’re leaving in two weeks anyway.”

  Claire gave a resigned sigh and rose from her chair. “You don’t play fair.”

  Jamie flashed her a wink and stopped tapping her nails on the desk. “You never get your way if you play fair.”

  “True,” Claire allowed as she retrieved her purse. “Sad, but true.”

  They headed to The Blue Room, a swanky restaurant that rented out the ground level of the building that housed LM. Claire’s tension began to drain away as she and Jamie entered the lobby outside the restaurant. It was difficult to be anything but relaxed when ensconced in the soothing décor of The Blue Room. The entire place was, as its name suggested, done up in shades of blue, from its sky-blue walls to the indigo table linens. Even the fountain in the center of the restaurant boasted a faded blue Romanesque statue and blue tiles.

  Elise, the hostess, approached them with a smile. She was a Penn college student who always worked the lunch hour and had come to recognize most of the LM staff.

  “Hi, Claire, Jamie.” Elise paused and sent a less-than-subtle wink in Jamie’s direction. “Right this way.”

  Claire’s instincts screamed that something was afoot. And if her recent luck, or lack thereof, held true, it was something Claire wouldn’t like.

  Claire placed a hand on Jamie’s arm, pausing. “Is there something you want to tell me? Am I missing something?”

  “No.” Jamie smiled patiently and gave Claire a gentle tug forward. “Come on. The girls are already waiting for us.”

  That made Claire’s suspicion heighten to new levels. “The girls? I thought it was just you and me.”

  “It’s just Lisa, Denise and Maria,” Jamie said, rolling her blue eyes. “We wanted to have lunch with all five of us before you leave.”

  Lisa, Denise and Maria were all part of the accounting department. Over the last few years, they had somehow made lunch with Jamie and Claire a habit. She would miss their lively lunch conversations, she realized. From sexy men to secret intra-office romances to Netflix binge-watching, they’d discussed it all.

  She examined Jamie as they made their way to the back of the restaurant. Were the girls throwing a surprise party for her before she left LM? This entire lunch scenario seemed like a setup.

  Less than three seconds later, the sight of Lisa, Denise, and Maria smiling from a table laden with pastel packages confirmed her suspicions. Pastel packages? Wait a minute…

  Claire froze in her tracks as she realized the wrapping on one of the packages was dotted with rattles and teddy bears. Oh no. She reached out and snagged Jamie’s arm. “You told them?”

  Jamie looked at her anxiously. “Oh you’re not mad, are you? You’re leaving, and it just didn’t seem right that we didn’t throw a shower for you. I only told the girls, and they aren’t breathing a word to anyone. We wanted to do something special for you.”

  “So much for your lips being sealed,” Claire grumbled. And so much for hoping to keep this pregnancy a secret. She loved Maria dearly, but the woman started rumors like a professional gossip columnist.

  “Please don’t be mad,” Jamie begged, giving Claire puppy-dog eyes.

  She cracked a smile for Jamie’s benefit. Her assistant had, after all, divulged the secret with good intentions. She didn’t have the heart to spoil all her fun now.

  “I’m not mad,” she said, allowing herself to be guided into a seat by Denise.

  The petite brunette was utterly adorable and always happy. She had a husband and three kids she bragged about every chance she got. “I can’t believe the news. Congratulations. If you ever want to compare notes, I kept pregnancy diaries. After the babies were born, things got kind of hectic, but…well, call me if you need anything.”

  Claire thanked Denise, trying not to chuckle at the mention of pregnancy diaries. If she’d been organized enough to write one, the first three months could have been summed up in one word. Vomit.

  Lisa, the loudest of the bunch, picked up the box with the rattle gift wrap. “Open this now. I can’t wait until you see it. It’s just adorable.”

  Feeling bemused by the attention she was suddenly getting, Claire tore open the paper to reveal a newborn outfit with matching bib, booties and hat. It really was a cute set. A genuine smile curved her lips as she tried to picture the baby who would wear it. “Thanks so much, Lisa. I love it.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  Claire turned to Jamie, who looked as though she was about to be struck by lightning. “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s King Monroe,” Jamie whispered. “Coming this way.”

  Claire’s heart sank to her feet, then right through her soles. She physically sensed him approach as he towered over their table. God, there were actually goose bumps on her arms.

  “Claire, if I could borrow you for a moment?”

  She flinched. She couldn’t help it. Though to the impartial observer, Logan’s tone was cool, even polite, she heard the harsh undercurrents. When she looked up, she saw the determination in his eyes.

  “Of course.” She excused herself and accompanied him to the outer lobby in silence. Though she surreptitiously studied him, Logan’s face remained a mask of impassivity. It appeared to have been carved from the same stone as the leering Roman statue that spouted water from its mouth into the fountain.

  When they came to a stop and Logan faced her, her heart hammered against her chest. This was the moment she’d been dreading, the moment she’d been seeking to avoid with all her carefully laid deceptions.

  He gripped her arm at the elbow, pulling her into the angry heat radiating from his body. “Goddamn it.” His voice was rough, low, laced with fury. “Would you like to explain why you lied to me about being pregnant?”

  His cold anger frightened her, not because she feared him physically but because she knew he could be a brutal man when he chose to be. She would not allow him to use the baby as leverage against her. She had no choice but to attempt to keep her lies afloat somehow.

  She yanked her arm from his grip. “Because it’s none of your business.”

  His lips tightened. “Like hell it’s none of my business. Jesus Christ, you looked me in the face and lied about it. How far along are you?”

  “Five months,” she lied, adding an additional month. Even as she heard herself say it, she castigated herself. God, this thing was reaching soap opera proportions in a whole new way. At least she wasn’t faking the pregnancy, a favorite daytime trick.

  “Five months. Are you sure, Claire?”

  “Yes.” Claire looked away, her gaze catching on a nearby potted plant. “I was already pregnant when we… I didn’t know it at the time. Garrett’s the father.”

  Liar, her conscience accused.

  God, but she felt like a worm for lying straight to his face about this, but she told herself it was for the best. Logan Monroe was not, nor would he ever be, father material.

  “Claire.” She felt his fingertips, warm and insistent on her jaw. Forcing her to meet his gaze again. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re not carrying my baby.”

  A terrible sense of dread crashed over her. How had her meticulously constructed plans come to this moment? To this moment, that was never supposed to happen?

  She tried to backtrack, to regain her conversational footing. “Logan, please. I already told you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I was in the middle of lunch.”

  Predictably, he caught her arm when she turned to leave. As she turned back to him, his face appeared stark, as though an artist had rendered him in grim, unrelen
ting lines. Oddly enough, Logan seemed somehow vulnerable in that second’s span, more like a man and less like a cold, hard statue.

  “You told the plant, Claire,” he said, “not me. Damn you, look at me when you say it. Look at me when you say that baby’s not mine.”

  The outside world suddenly seemed to slow and blur, as though nothing and no one existed but the two of them and the decision she would have to make. Finality loomed. Whatever she said now, there would be no going back and changing her mind. Life didn’t come with a rewind button, no matter how useful it would be.

  Claire was hopelessly ensnared in Logan’s gaze, aware of a keen sense of empathy for the proverbial deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car. The gravity of the decision weighed upon her. Beneath his probing gaze, she felt suddenly weak. She wanted to confess all to him, but a part of her couldn’t.

  She had no doubt that he would react to a child the same way he reacted to everything else in his life, as the dominant force. He expected his will to prevail in all things. Logan owned his company and his employees. He commanded and they obeyed without question or hesitation.

  The child wouldn’t be a person to him, but another possession, something else to control. Claire couldn’t allow that to happen. This was the same ruthless man who had made passionate love to her and then thanked her coolly, walking out the door as though they had been engaged in a business transaction. Then again, to Logan Monroe, life was a business transaction.

  Claire simply had no choice. Her hand settled over the gradual rounding of her stomach as though she could protect the baby from Logan, from the world. “This baby isn’t yours.” She cast a nervous glance over her shoulder to see if anyone was within hearing distance of their conversation. “Now can I get back to the table?”

  “No.” He gripped her elbow again, pulling her closer to him. Uncomfortably close. Her breasts nearly brushed his chest and the proximity coupled with the contact of his hand on her arm made Claire feel flushed and aroused.

  As though sensing Claire’s abrupt discomfiture and wanting to heighten it, Logan leaned down, his expression intense. If she rose on her tiptoes, she could brush her lips over that sulky mouth, slide her arms around his neck, press her body against his well-honed, muscled frame.