Between You and Me

by Jennifer Gracen

  “You didn’t,” Logan said. “My mother means well. She just forgets sometimes that I’m a thirty-eight-year-old man who’s capable of making my own decisions.”

  She waved him off dismissively. “Excuse me for not seeing the harm in asking a nice, apparently pretty woman out for a coffee.”

  “Oh, more than pretty,” Terrence interjected. “I thought she was maybe a model or something until I found out who she was. That long, tall, skinny look, you know, with this loooong hair . . . and that face! She’s striking.”

  Annmarie’s brows lifted. She fixed her son with a mocking glare. “You’re a wimp.” She turned to Terrence and said, “It was nice to meet you, but I’m afraid Radiology is waiting for me.”

  “Can you get up there on your own, Mom?” Logan asked. “I left my phone in the truck. I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  He said goodbye to Terrence, watched his mother get on the elevator, then went outside. Head down against the wind, he walked a few steps away from the entrance and took his phone out of his pocket. Shaking his head at himself, he punched in a number before he thought better of it.

  “Hello?” Tess answered.

  “Hey, Tess. It’s Logan.” He paced as he talked. “I just ran into Terrence at the hospital. We were going in, he was going out. He seems fine.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Tess said. “He texted me last night and said he hoped they’d release him today. Glad to hear he got the green light. But why are you at the hospital? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Here with my mom for one of her treatments.”

  “Ah. I see.”

  “Yeah. So listen . . .” His pace picked up. “Terrence seems to be under the impression that you’re going to be home alone tonight. Is that true?” Logan winced, hating the sound of his own voice just then.

  Tess let out a little startled laugh, but said, “Well, yes. Why?”

  “I’m making dinner for my mother,” he said, “but she’s here for radiation, and she’s usually pretty wiped out after. She’ll be asleep early, probably. So I was just thinking . . .” He looked around, seeing nothing. Was he really doing this? “Maybe you just want to be alone tonight, and I totally get that. But uh . . . if you wanted, my friend owns a coffeehouse. Quiet, very low key. We could just get some coffee, hang out . . .” He shook his head in horror at himself. He hadn’t stumbled over asking a woman out like this since college. “No pressure. Just as friends, not like a date, really. If you even want to go out tonight. Some people hate going out on New Year’s Eve.” He grimaced hard. “Jesus, I’m rambling.”

  “You are. It’s kind of cute.”

  He laughed at that. “Great. Well, I know it’s short notice, but—”

  “A low-key, no pressure, non-date sounds nice,” Tess said. “What time should I meet you there?”

  He blinked, stopping in his tracks. “Umm. I, uh . . . I’ll pick you up. That way you can drink if you want. I never do, so I’m a great designated driver.”

  “Well, actually, I’m not drinking these days either,” she said. “So, your call.”

  “I’ll pick you up at nine thirty, if that’s all right by you.”

  “That’s fine. What am I wearing? This place is casual?”

  “Extremely. Wear your yoga pants if you want.”

  “Gets better and better. Thanks for the invite, Logan. See you then.”

  “Great, you got it. See you tonight.” He ended the call, shoved his phone in his pocket, and raked his hands through his hair. Holy shit, he’d really done that. And holy shit, she’d said yes, and holy shit, he’d be spending New Year’s Eve with Tess Harrison of the New York Harrisons. He didn’t know what had possessed him. It wasn’t Terrence’s hinting or his mother’s interference. He never went on impulse like that anymore. Interesting. Huffing out a laugh, it flew out of him in a burst of white steam against the frigid air.

  Chapter Six

  “After you.” Logan held the door open and Tess stepped into the small building. As she followed him farther inside, she looked around. Pale polished wood and vintage-looking chairs and love seats, all covered in rich fabrics and velvets. Dimly lit, the strings of colored lights strewn across the high beams and ceiling gave the room a soft glow, a more intimate feel. Country-rock guitar music played softly. Ford’s Coffee House was a warm, cozy place. Tess liked it immediately.

  “This is great,” she said to Logan. “I already know I’ll be back again.”

  He grinned. “Good, glad to hear it.” He looked over toward the bar and called to one of the baristas. “Hey, Caleb. Ford held a spot for me?”

  The young man behind the counter nodded as he said hi, then gestured toward a carved-back love seat in the far corner that had a “Reserved” card perched on it.

  “Okay,” Logan said to Tess. “That’s ours.”

  “Oh really?” She looked up at him with a mischievous smile.

  “Good to be friends with the owner.” He winked and walked through the small crowd, bringing her along with a hand at the small of her back. The small touch warmed her. He leaned down to be heard over the music as he said, “It’s not usually this packed, but with it being New Year’s Eve and all, I wanted to make sure we’d have a good place to sit.”

  When they reached the love seat, covered in burgundy velvet, they took off their coats and sat, slightly turned so they were facing each other.

  “Been friends with the owner a long time?” Tess asked.

  “Ford? Yeah, since high school. Played football and baseball together.” Logan stretched out his long legs, then leaned back a bit, easing into the plush cushions. He was such a big guy, even his most simple movements seemed powerful. “Ford’s savvy as hell. He moved here after college to start up a business, and after a few different ones, started this place . . . maybe three or four years ago, now? Something like that.”

  “Good for him. He has great taste. This place is lovely.” Tess swept her hair back over her shoulders. “So you guys grew up not far from here?” She stuck with the easy questions. Something told her even though Logan had asked her out—possibly to prove he wasn’t holding his grudge anymore, that was her guess—it didn’t mean he’d spill his guts. He was a private man, slow to open up, and that was fine with her. But it only made her more curious.

  “We grew up in Arsdale,” he said. “Maybe a half hour’s drive west of Aspen. Not far at all.” He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees as he asked, “Where’d you grow up? New York, right?”

  “Yes, on Long Island. On the North Shore. It’s about a forty-minute drive east of the city.”

  “The city being New York City,” he guessed.

  “Yeah.” She grinned and added, “To anyone who lives within a two-hour radius of it, we just call it the city.”

  He nodded. “I’ve never been there. New York City.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  “Nope. Always wanted to, but never been.”

  “Oh, you really should. It’s amazing. You should go.” She crossed her legs and smoothed out her top. “If you ever do, you have to let me know. I’ll show you around.”

  His brows lifted at that. “Would you, now.”

  “Yes, of course I would. And you’d love it.” She smiled back. “That’s an open, standing invitation.”

  His slow grin was so sexy it made her toes curl. He finally nodded and said, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

  She ignored the way her skin heated as he eased back into his section of the love seat. His movements were fluid, utterly masculine. And he was sitting close enough for her to know he smelled good. Not bathed in cologne, but clean and woodsy . . . She made herself talk. “I didn’t grow up in New York City, by the way. Grew up on Long Island, like I said. That’s the suburbs.”

  He scoffed at that. “You don’t strike me as the suburbia-girl type. You’re a city girl through and through.”

  Grinning slightly, she admitted, “Well . . . my suburb wasn’t like most suburbs, th
at’s true. Kingston Point is very affluent. My family goes back generations there, I went to private schools, all of that. I traveled, and I did things that most small-town suburban kids don’t get to experience.” She shifted, recrossing her legs, grateful for the easy comfort of her black leggings and knee-high black Uggs. “But I have a feeling you kind of knew that, didn’t you?”

  “I looked up the Harrisons when you became my clients, I won’t lie.” Logan shrugged. “But I didn’t really know where you grew up, just how you likely grew up.”

  Tess folded her hands on her lap and leaned back. “Different than most.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “But with problems and difficulties like most everyone else, Logan. I’ve had hard times.”

  He sighed. Yes, it must have been very hard to never worry about all that money.

  She caught it and frowned at him. “What?”

  He shook his head, tamping down his thought.

  “Just say it.”

  “I didn’t take you as one to do the ‘poor little rich girl’ thing,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

  Her eyes flew wide. “I wasn’t.”

  “Kind of sounded like it.” He drew another heavy breath. “Tess, you’ve never had to worry about money, or security, in your whole life. Your ‘hard times’ are likely not as hard as most people’s hard times. You get that, right?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Of course I get that. I’m not that out of touch with reality. When I say I’ve had hard times, I’ve had losses. And while I’ve known financial security, I’ve never had much in the way of emotional security. My parents’ ugly divorce, and my mother leaving us, were stellar examples of how wealth can make bad things a million times worse.” She focused on him as the song changed from a slow, twangy groove to a more up-tempo one. She’d always liked Stevie Ray Vaughan, and his “Couldn’t Stand the Weather” made her want to shimmy in her seat, even as her stomach churned. Whether or not he’d meant to slight her, she felt slighted. “Should I leave?”

  “What? No! Tess . . .” Logan met her gaze and leaned her way. “I wasn’t trying to smack you down. It just, at first, sounded—”

  “I get how it may have sounded, but it’s certainly not how I intended it to sound.” She huffed out a sigh, brows drawn as she frowned hard. “Am I naïve to think you’ll ever separate who I am from where I come from and what I have? I was born into a very wealthy family. I had no control over that, and I don’t have to apologize for it.”

  “And I’m not asking you to.”

  “It seems to keep coming up.”

  “Do you think I asked you out tonight because of how rich you are?”

  “No, of course not. If I thought that, I never would have accepted.” She moved a stray curl back from her eyes. “But I think you do make assumptions about me because of it, and you either don’t even realize it or just won’t admit it.”

  His eyes narrowed as he considered that. She found herself holding her breath.

  She didn’t want to argue, but goddammit, why did their conversations seem to circle back to a theme: his assumptions about who she was? It was more than frustrating, it was starting to wear on her.

  He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought, and her eyes traveled over him. His broad shoulders and strong biceps were easily visible, outlined against his snug, pale blue Henley. The jeans he wore weren’t ripped or dirty, but well broken in. Brown hiking boots were obviously his idea of casual footwear. Such simple tastes in how he dressed . . . the plain clothes belied the complicated man. There was so much going on behind his eyes. She could almost feel the gears working in his mind as he gazed at her.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he said, “Look, yeah, I know about your family. I told you, I looked you guys up when you became my clients. I do that for all my clients. So I know how mind-bendingly rich and connected the Harrisons are. But give me enough credit to be able to separate that lifestyle from who you are.” His large shoulders lifted in a lazy roll, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I know you run a big company in Manhattan. That you work, you make your own way. You’re not like one of those . . . what I mean is . . .” He sighed, rubbing at his beard the way he did when he was trying to figure out what to say. She’d seen that gesture more over the past few days than ever before.

  “I know enough to know that while you, of course, are an individual, your world is nothing like mine,” Logan said. “I’ve known enough people like you who come to Aspen—and worked in their homes—to know that firsthand. So yeah, you want to talk about how we grew up? Okay. But no, I can’t really relate. I’m trying. I’m sorry if that came across as being judgmental, yet again. Wasn’t my intention.” He huffed out a breath and his pale green eyes flashed with something like remorse. “I’m not great with communication. Typical guy, I guess. I say the wrong things. I’m either too blunt, or not enough. I’m much better with actions than words.”

  Now she was the one who paused to formulate a proper response. His had been earnest, and illuminating. He made good points. They were from different worlds. Aspen was a playground for the rich and famous, and he worked for them. Of course he had a very different view of her social circles. That made sense. And as for him admitting he wasn’t a great communicator, well, that alone made him a more decent one than he realized.

  She decided to change tactics. “I appreciate your candor. It’s refreshing, actually. Thank you for that.” She smiled. “So. How about taking an action and getting me a hot chocolate?”

  He blinked, then laughed. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

  Her smile widened. “I get the feeling you are too, Mr. Carter.”

  His heavy brows lifted as he chuckled wryly. “I don’t know about that. My life is pretty tame, and these days, so am I.” He rose to his feet. “You want whipped cream on that hot chocolate, Miss Harrison?”

  “Oh, always.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Logan leaned back against the soft cushions as Tess told him more about her career. He’d asked her about it, truly interested to hear about it from her instead of just reading about her online. She’d gone to NYU and majored in art history because she loved it, but minored in business administration so she’d be able to contribute somehow to her family’s company, as she knew she was expected to do. For a few years, she painted and traveled and worked at Harrison Enterprises under her father’s watchful eye. But when her great aunt had decided she didn’t want to run the Harrison Foundation anymore, it was the perfect opening for Tess. She’d taken the reins at the company at only twenty-eight, and had improved its standing tenfold. She was proud of what she’d accomplished and didn’t plan to let up anytime soon.

  Logan admired that she wasn’t bragging about her success—and he knew she was more than entitled to if she wanted. Because he’d read more about her online just last night. When he got home after work, he’d done a little digging, hoping to learn more about this woman who fascinated him. This time, it was all about wanting to know more about her.

  The Harrison family was a big deal in those circles, and Tess Harrison was kind of a social darling. No one had a bad word to say about her. Every piece on her was more flattering than the one before.

  As for her making her own mark beyond the family’s reputation, the Harrison Foundation Holiday Ball was one of the biggest annual social events in Manhattan society, and Tess was the powerhouse behind it. This year’s ball, only two weeks ago, had raised millions more for their affiliated charities than ever before. She’d done that. She’d both made her family’s legacy continue to shine and forged her own in the process. As far as he was concerned, based on that alone, Tess Harrison was a force to be reckoned with. He absolutely respected and admired her.

  Now, sitting across from him in the dimly lit coffeehouse, with Christmas lights from above casting their glow over her and her long mane of dark curls framing her heart-shaped face, she looked both devastatingly alluring and easily approachable. He
could see why everyone was taken with her. Smart, driven, friendly, drop-dead gorgeous . . . How the hell was she single? It confounded him.

  Was she too busy to date in New York? Could be. Or more likely, he suspected, men were intimidated by her. Hell, even if she wasn’t a successful businesswoman and society sweetheart, her towering beauty alone probably made lesser men quake. Curiosity burned in him now. How was Tess not taken? As it was, he had to admit he felt a tiny swell of masculine pride tonight at not just being out with a truly admirable woman, but also being with the most beautiful woman in the place. And Jesus, she really was. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “You’re zoning out,” she said, making him jolt. “I must be boring you now. I’ll stop talking about work.”

  “No, not at all!” Logan said, sitting up straighter. “I asked about your job because I really wanted to hear it from you. But I have a confession to make.”

  One of her thin brows arched, making her seem regal. “Go on.”

  “I looked you up online last night. Wanted to know more about you.”

  Her gaze held. “All right.”

  “That’s not all. The other part is . . . these pictures came up of you at that big holiday ball you hosted a few weeks back.” He let a slow grin slide as he recalled the photos. He’d been knocked flat by them.

  “. . . and?” she coaxed with an answering playful grin, waving her hand for him to continue.

  “And I saw pictures of you in that fancy designer dress. Ruby red, sparkling to your toes, all done up . . .” He gazed at her as he said earnestly, “You were stunning. Absolutely breathtaking. Really.”

  Her smile went soft. “Well, thank you.”

  He tipped his chin in a respectful nod.

  A moment of silence settled over them, but it wasn’t as awkward as he thought it would be. He reached for his mug and stole a sip of cocoa, which was almost cold now. “I wasn’t stalking you, mind. I just . . . You blew me away with what you did with Terrence. It made me want to know more about you. So yes, I looked, and I’m just fessing up.”