The Billionaire's Kiss (Scandal, Inc)

by James, Avery

  "Hi, I'm Callie. I'm staying in the guesthouse. You must be Logan." She tried to hold her hand steady, but she was already sweating. So much for bowling him over with her confidence.

  "I am," he said. He looked at her for a moment, scratching his head as he pulled her face from his memory. "You're Amy's sister, right? We met briefly at her wedding.”

  “Yes, I am" she said. After waiting a moment for Logan to respond, she added, "Is that a problem?"

  "As long as you don't have a jealous husband too, we should be fine."

  "Unfortunately, Ethan Cole is already taken, and no one will fight you over me.”

  “I’m sure many men would trip over themselves for the pleasure of fighting for you,” Logan replied. Callie was beginning to see why Ethan had seen Logan as a threat to his marriage. “And who knows, the night is young," he said, “and I can’t seem to walk down the street without getting myself into trouble.”

  "Seems like a rather dumb thing to do."

  "Beautiful women inspire men like me to think all kinds of bad ideas."

  "Is that so? I'd rather inspire a few good ones."

  "And that's another reason why I'll be careful to keep my distance,” Logan said. He took a step back, cultivating a safe distance between himself and Callie. The two of them had been gravitating toward each other, and only now that Logan had stepped back did Callie realize how close she had been to him. Logan crossed his arms and continued. “I have a feeling that I'll get an earful from your sister and my father if I do much more than think."

  "Then why do I get the feeling that that still won't keep you away? I’ve heard you aren’t exactly famous for your thinking.”

  “I see my reputation precedes me. How about I help you bring your luggage down to the guesthouse before I head on my way?" Logan said with a laugh. He opened his arms back up and reached forward. He placed his hand over Callie’s, and she felt a little thrill at his touch. She smiled and fiddled with her hair.

  Callie turned her attention back to the suitcase that stood halfway between her and the guesthouse door. She had already forgotten about it, and she wondered if Logan could sense her nervous excitement. Quick, say something playful! “Already inviting yourself in?" she asked.

  "Nothing like that, at least not yet. I have to be back at my restaurant."

  "What kind of restaurant?"

  "It's a microbrewery on the harbor. You should stop by if you're hungry. It's right at the end of Thames Street on the wharf. Like I said, I'd love to give you the full tour, but I have to be back into town soon. At least let me show you to the guesthouse."

  "I'm sure I can find my way there."

  "I'm sure you can, too, but it's on the way, and you'd pick the wrong room anyway. Let me show you. You'll thank me later."

  "Are you always this dismissive of your guests?”

  "Only when I have an escape route if anything goes wrong." Logan pointed to the boat tied up at the dock beyond the guesthouse.

  Logan's boat was one of those low-slung, old-fashioned wooden motorboats. The sun shone off of its lacquer finish, making the wood glow a deep red. To Callie, it looked like an instrument, like a fine violin or cello. It suited Logan. After all, his main talents seemed to be an effortless style and a certain recklessness. Callie was sure that to him the hum of its engine was like a symphony. "That's how you get around here?"

  "If I'm going home or to work, yes. I have two cars and a bike in the garage for fun. I was just coming back from a drive when you got here. My current residence doesn't have much off-street parking."

  "Because it's a yacht?"

  "Yes," Logan said with a laugh, "because it's a yacht.”

  Logan grabbed Callie's suitcase and led her to the side door. She wasn't sure why she had expected the guesthouse to be anything other than charming. While the scale of the main house was overwhelming, the guesthouse looked more like a cozy cottage. Once Logan ushered her inside, though, Callie saw that cozy was a relative term. The side door led into a large and airy kitchen, with white cabinets and butcher-block countertops. Callie took note of the large fridge and stove, and wondered if she'd even bother to cook for herself while in Newport. Her aunt and her sister had a running joke that Callie could burn water if it were possible.

  Turning away from the kitchen, Callie saw the breakfast nook and the small living room. The far wall, the one that faced the ocean was almost entirely windowed. Each window was made up of several panes of glass, adding to the character of the space. "Right this way," Logan said, cutting across the living room and pushing open a door. "You'll want to sleep in this bedroom."

  Callie looked at the staircase that headed up to the top floor. "What's upstairs?" she asked.

  "The master bedroom and another large living space, but trust me, you want this one."

  Something in his tone set her off, but she couldn’t place it. He wasn’t exactly condescending and not exactly arrogant. Cocky. That’s what it was. He was cocky. Well, she wasn’t going to roll over just because he said so. Callie reached over to grab her suitcase from Logan. ”The master sounds nice."

  "Have it your way," he said. He tossed the suitcase onto the couch and smiled at Callie. “Good to see you. There should be food in the fridge. If you're bored, feel free to stop by the brewery. It’s The Independent, right off of Thames. It was great to meet you, Callie, but I have to run."

  "What, do you have a hot date or something?" Callie said, probing for more information.

  Logan grinned as he headed to the door. "Yeah, something like that. Maybe we could meet up after,” he said as he headed out.

  “I don’t think so,” Callie said. Logan shrugged and headed on his way. Her response had been automatic, a defense mechanism. Guys like Logan were trouble, and normally she’d do whatever she could to keep her distance. She was shooting him down out of habit, but she knew she had to go to the bar and that accepting his invitation would be the easiest way to keep an eye on him. She walked over to the door and leaned out. “I’ll see what I can do though,” she called to him. Logan gave her a thumbs up as he kept walking. He didn’t even stop. The nerve. Callie shouted after him, “Must be a pretty boring date if you’re already looking for something else.”

  Logan didn’t acknowledge that last part. He was already climbing into his boat. Callie stood there in the doorway, watching Logan head off across the water. What was she getting herself into? It was her first night in town and she already had to play interference.

  Four

  As soon as Logan was out of sight, Callie picked up her phone and called Rich. "I need everything you have on Logan Harris: his schedule, his contact list, everything. Also, if I text you a name in the next hour, can you get info to me as soon as possible?"

  "Of course," Rich replied. "Amy briefed me on everything, and I'm here when you need me. I assume we have our usual arrangement?"

  “Emilio himself will hand deliver the donuts. Do you have any idea how hard it is to even get a seat at his restaurant for dinner? He has a Michelin star, and you want him to make donuts for you.”

  “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get all this information for you on the fly? As for Emilio, there’s a reason why his Sunday brunch has a three month waiting list. I have it on authority that the President himself sneaks a few of these donuts whenever the first lady isn’t looking.”

  “You’re just lucky that Emilio owes me for bailing him out last summer.”

  “What exactly did you do?”

  “I just told you, I bailed him out. As for why he was in jail, that’s between him and me. The donuts will be waiting for you on monday morning.”

  "Then I will see to it that you get everything you need."

  "You're the best. Any idea what the appropriate dress is for dinner at a microbrewery?"

  "You're asking a man who wears cargo pants year round, Callie. My guess is that he won't be able to keep his eyes off of you either way."

  "Well, I'm hoping to blend in."

&n
bsp; "It's Newport, isn't it? Don't they wear seersucker, drink mint juleps and play baccarat?” Rich asked.

  "It's Rhode Island, not a riverboat in the 1920s."

  "I'm sure you'll figure it out. I have your sister on the other line. Text me when you have that name."

  By the time Callie reached the evening bustle of Thames Street, the sun had already dipped below the buildings, casting long shadows across the street onto the shops and restaurants. Most of them were converted houses, with walls so old they tilted and slanted to one side or the other, giving every building a unique charm. Callie doubted there was a level wall or floorboard anywhere up or down the street.

  A hundred years ago, fishermen and merchants lived in these buildings. Now every doorway led to a gift shop or an art gallery. The small apartments above the shops probably housed artisans and college students now. The sidewalks were filled with people of all ages, families and couples, people walking pets. Save for Logan's appearance at the house, Callie didn't see a single person in a suit on her way to the microbrewery. This was exactly what she needed. Of course, her idea of what to do next involved a large glass of wine and a view of the sunset, but a microbrewery and work would have to do for the night.

  After walking up and down Thames Street twice, Callie found the entrance to Independence Wharf. Logan’s Brewery stood at the end of the wharf, overlooking the harbor. Its shingled exterior was lit from below in soft, halogen light, giving it a warm glow as the sun dipped behind the building. There were other restaurants and shops on the wharf, but they were smaller, with quaint windows and low roofs. The brewery stood tall beyond them, anchoring the whole scene, casting a late-afternoon shadow across one side of the wharf.

  As Callie approached, she noted how every detail of the exterior — each shingle, each window and every light — had been crafted to highlight the character of the two-century-old building. It managed to pull off the difficult trick of looking old and new at the same time. Apparently Logan's taste in design was better than his taste in women.

  After looking around for any sign of Logan, Callie walked through the open front door and approached the hostess. The inside of the brewery was even more impressive than the outside. The two-story dining room sat below the large exposed roof beams, and looked out through enormous plate glass windows over the harbor. The room was filled with the soft glow of sunset, and every last aged brass fixture and rough hewn wood board sang with character. Off on one side, a long bar ran lengthwise down the space toward the ocean. On the other, a row of copper brew kettles gleamed in the soft light. The whole place felt industrial and intimate at the same time. If any of this had been Logan’s doing, there was more to him than just good looks.

  “Hi, are you waiting for someone?” The hostess asked. Her question snapped Callie back to attention. If Logan did have a date, the hostess would be waiting for her. All Callie needed to do was get a quick look at her guest list for the night, and she would at least have a name for Logan's mystery date. "Hi, I'm here to see Logan Harris," she said. "He asked me to stop by."

  "Your name?" the hostess asked.

  "Callie Haven."

  The hostess looked down at a list.

  “Lucky you. He reserved a table for you outside. Follow me and I'll show you to your seat."

  Callie stood still as she tried to figure out a way to get a moment alone with the list. A view of the ocean and the sunset wasn't going to do her any good if it meant she couldn't keep tabs on Logan. She just needed to get a quick look at the list. "Can you just let him know I've arrived? He wanted me to make sure he knew. You know how he is. I don't mind waiting."

  The hostess paused for a moment and pulled a waitress aside to ask for advice. "Just one moment, I'll check the back of house to see if he's here."

  As soon as the hostess was out of sight, Callie stepped behind her station and pulled out her phone, snapping two quick pictures of the list, and sliding her phone back in her pocket before anyone could notice. She scanned the room for any sign of the hostess, then looked back down at the list. She'd be looking for a reservation for one woman. It shouldn't be too hard to find.

  While she waited for the hostess, Callie leaned against the station and scrolled through the pictures she had taken from the list. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a tall blonde walk in through the door. She was wearing heels and a silver dress, which she filled out quite well, most likely due to expensive breast enhancement. This had to be Logan's woman, Callie thought. She took a quick look at the woman's hand, noting her wedding band and engagement ring. The center rock on the engagement ring must have been at least three carats. Great, Callie thought, he's having dinner with a rich, bored housewife. I'm screwed.

  "Monica Jacobs," the woman said. "I'm running late for dinner with Logan Harris. He should be waiting for me."

  In her time working for Amy, Callie had learned how to think on her feet. “Of course," she said. She grabbed two menus off of the station. "Right this way," she said. "Mr. Harris requested that you be seated outside. He'll be with you in a moment. He's just finishing up some business." With Monica out on the deck, Callie hoped that she could buy herself a few minutes to figure out what to do next.

  As part of her job, Callie had helped cover up countless affairs. She had done everything from destroy evidence of a tryst to drafting nondisclosure agreements for mistresses to sign. It wasn't one of her favorite parts of the job, but she put up with it. After enough time, it became mundane. She viewed it with the same detachment that a mechanic must view oil changes. Sure, it helped pay the bills, but it was so boring and predictable.

  However, as she walked Monica out to the deck, Callie was annoyed and maybe even a little angry. Why couldn't Logan behave long enough for her to have one freaking night of relaxation? Why couldn't a guy like him just date normal women? It wasn't like he wasn't capable of landing one. Hell, as cocky as he was, she could see his appeal. So why was he having dinner with a married woman?

  As soon as Monica was seated, Callie walked over to the bar. She texted Rich the name and did a quick web search herself. No results. Callie tried a few more combinations: "Monica Jacobs Newport," "Monica Jacobs wife," "Monica Jacobs Logan Harris," but nothing came up, just page after page of irrelevant information.

  Just as she was starting to worry, Callie's phone buzzed. "Tell me you have good news," she said.

  "I do," Rich said. "It's his friend's wife."

  "Oh no," Callie said. If Logan was having an affair with his friend’s wife, this could get messy and contentious fast. "I thought you said that was good news."

  "It is. She's interviewing him for a local magazine, doing some PR for his restaurant or bar or whatever it is."

  "How do you know this?"

  "I'm reading their email exchange from this morning setting up the interview. It all looks above board."

  "How did you get into his email so quickly?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  “Kind of,” Callie said. “Dazzle me with your acumen.”

  “The laptop actually belongs to his father’s organization. I called the head of IT who personally provisioned it.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I can’t make this stuff up. It keeps going. It’s the same for his email. His voicemail password is 1111.”

  Callie looked up to see if Logan had come out into the dining room. She’d have to act quickly if she wanted to escape from this one without being found out. “No hacking? No brute-force attack?”

  Rich laughed hard, a belly laugh. ”That’s right. I'll await sweet, sugary payment on Monday."

  “Deal. I have to go before I mess this up any more than I already have."

  Callie walked back out to the deck and made her way to Monica. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Jacobs. I'm afraid there was a mix-up. Mr. Harris is waiting for you inside. If you see your way back to the hostess, he will meet you there shortly."

  Callie just needed to sneak out of the restaurant without catching Logan's attent
ion. It seemed easy enough. She could take a seat at the bar and then walk around the other side of the restaurant, staying as far from his field of view as possible. There was only one problem. When she had stalled the hostess, she had specifically asked her to tell Logan she was there. Ok, she thought, just hang out for a few minutes and then leave before anyone can ask any questions.

  Callie sat down at the table and motioned to the waitress. She pulled up the menu and looked for something, anything other than beer. "Wine, please. Any good red will do.”

  The waitress scrunched up her nose. “Well, this is a brewery. We make all of our beer right here in Newport. They’re all really good. Are you sure you don’t want to try one of those? I promise they’re all great.”

  Callie put the menu down. “Really, the wine is fine. Thank you.” As she waited for the waitress to return with the glass, Callie watched Logan walk out from the back office. It was hard to see him through the glare on the window, but he was unmistakable, that jawline, that confident stride. You’re working a job right now, Callie reminded herself. She sat back and tried to look inconspicuous as she watched Logan walk over and hug Monica. After the embrace, they headed off into a back room. Here's hoping it’s just an interview. She knew that as long as no one saw them it didn't make much difference what they were doing. She held out hope anyway.

  When she finally got the wine, Callie downed half the glass in two long gulps. She looked out at the sun setting over the harbor. It really was beautiful. This was exactly where she'd want to be if it weren't for the whole job of babysitting Logan. Five minutes, she thought, I will give myself five minutes to forget about all of this, five minutes to watch the sun set and drink good wine. God I hope he’s only giving her a tour of the facilities and not a tour of something else.