by Lisa N. Paul
*
Where did this guy come from? Instead of voicing her question, Wren nodded then lay back on the carpet, hoping he would do the same. Her body was warm from the fire in the fireplace and buzzing from the jolts of electricity they’d created together. Logan followed her lead, stretching out beside her. With him to her left and the fire to her right, she was cocooned in heat, beauty, and sexiness. Logan extended his arm, wordlessly inviting her closer, and she went. Cuddled up in the crook of his arm, she felt cozy and at peace with a man for the first time in her life. The familiar woodsy scent that she now associated with him surrounded her, grounded her, and made her smile.
Yes, she had freaked out when he touched her breasts. Logan was a beautiful man, charming and confident. While he looked nothing like the jerk from high school who had led her on and broken her heart, they were similar in that they both beguiled her. After the fiasco in the pool house all those years ago, Wren had left not just Thurston but that type of guy in the dust. Not to say she dated only ugly assholes…but she kind of dated less-than-attractive, spineless men who only flexed their opinions when it came to whether or not they would dress up like Ewoks or Oompa Loompas for Halloween. Since she had issues with large quantities of body hair as well as fake tanning, both costumes freaked her the fuck out, so she usually broke things off with said men and dealt with neither.
When Logan cupped her breast, something her body had been begging for, her brain ricocheted back in time to the last charismatic, beautiful guy whose single goal was boob touching. She thought she had hidden her panic, but obviously not well enough. Either that, or Logan saw pieces of her that no one had taken the time to notice, and that was exciting and scary all at once.
“Will you go out with me Saturday night?”
His lips touched the top of her head, and excitement pinged in her belly until his words set in. How completely pathetic that the thought of not seeing him again until the following weekend made her glum. “Umm, next weekend?”
Another kiss to her head. “Yeah, my schools are open late during the week, and even though each one is independently managed, I like to be available during hours of operation. I visit each site at least once a week, and when I’m not doing that, I do office work in the original school. Most of the instructors have been with me since the beginning, it’s where I feel most grounded. Anyway, when I have you out for a nice dinner, I don’t want to be bothered with work calls and bullshit. I want the night to be all about us.”
“Wait, dinner? You actually want to do dinner? With me? After taking me to coffee today? You do realize that restaurants have menus, which means choices?” Tension coiled in her shoulders like wire slowly, slowly winding its way on a reel.
“Actually, I was hoping you would let me order for you at a restaurant of my choosing.”
“No freaking way.” Wren sprang into a sitting position. All of the ease she had felt was gone, replaced with lead and stone and yuckiness. “Did you just meet me? I mean, yeah, okay, technically we haven’t known each other long, but really? Did you bang your head and forget the first two hours of our day?”
Logan pushed himself up onto his knees. No doubt he chose that position so he could tower over me even while sitting. “Just hear me out.”
He swept the hair that had fallen over her eye behind her ear. She had been too wrapped up in her meltdown to worry about something as silly as vision, but once again, Logan looked after her. Or maybe he just wanted to touch you, the girlie part of her brain squealed.
“People who start dating use lunches and dinners or even coffee as buffers so they have something to do with their hands as they get to know each other. During the two nights of cocktails and the two meals I’ve shared with you today, I’ve learned a lot. And one of the things is it’s the ordering, not the eating, that causes you stress,” he said.
“You don’t understand. I have insane eating habits. I’m not kidding. You think the ball is weird?” She grabbed the Fortune Eight from the table, its weight a comfort in her palms. “That’s nothing compared to weeding through my eating chaos. I can’t even blame a guy for my fucked up food bullshit.”
“The reason for the Eight Ball is a guy?”
Shit, she hadn’t meant to blurt that out. And judging by the way his brow furrowed, she probably should have kept it to herself. “We’re dealing with one of my issues at a time, Sherlock. So can the curiosity and let me explain why you can’t order for me. It would be cataclysmic.”
“Cataclysmic?” He chuckled. “Wren, we’re talking about food, not life support. This is obviously a burden for you. Unload it. Give it to me for one meal. I promise by next Saturday night, I will know exactly what to order for you and I will not let you down.”
Her pulse throbbed, and blood swooshed through her ears. “If you do?”
“What did I tell you about me getting what I want?”
“That’s all nice and dandy, but I want to know what happens if what you order is something I refuse to eat?”
Logan’s fingertip traced the outline of her jaw as silence stretched on for a beat. “I don’t know. You tell me. What will happen if I screw up your dinner order?”
Gah! Why did she have to decide such a thing? It was cruel. “I-I guess we won’t see each other again.” Her stomach lurched at the thought.
“Is that really what you want?” he asked, his voice low, his gaze dark.
“No,” she whispered. Please don’t mess up repeated over and over in her head.
Chapter Twelve
Mr. Meowgi
Logan: I had a great time today.
He sent the text as soon as he buckled into his car, before even leaving her driveway. The sun had set a couple hours earlier, leaving the Pennsylvania streets cloaked in darkness. The cell phone dinged with what he assumed was a response almost immediately, but he didn’t check the text until the car was parked in his garage and he was in his house.
Wren: I did as well. Thank you for everything.
Wren: I asked the FEB if I should let you choose my dinner…
Logan: FEB?
Wren: Fortune Eight Ball
Logan chuckled as he responded.
Logan: That’s right, I forgot. And?
Each minute that went by without her reply felt like an hour, because he knew all too well that if the damn ball had nixed the idea, then it would be a no-go. Fuck it…Instead of tapping in another message, he touched the green button on the keypad and grinned when she picked up before the second ring.
“Hey,” she answered, sounding breathless and hurried. “Sorry about that. I had to run over and help Mrs. Russell get Mr. Meowgi unstuck from behind the sofa.”
“Mr. Meowgi?”
“Yes, the cat. Poor thing is old and fat. Entering the house was like watching a Shakespearean tragedy. Mr. Meowgi was stuck, his kitty girlfriend was planted on the floor next to the sofa—refusing to leave her guy’s side—and the meowing was both heartbreaking and humorous. As soon as I freed Mr. Meowgi, he and Purrcy circled each other like rivals then fell on top of each other, licking and snuggling.” Through her giggles, Wren said, “The best part, aside from the kitty recue of course, was Mrs. Russell felt the need to thank me for my time—as if I would ever say no to her or her fur babies. Like I told you, I got the deal of a lifetime when I moved into this place. So when she told me that she had spent the day baking, then offered me a dish of my favorite cookies, how could I possibly decline?”
“What are your favorite cookies?”
“Chocolate chip, but not just any chocolate chip. No, they need to be thick and chewy without being mushy. The perfect ones are hard to come by, but over the years, Mrs. Russell has mastered them.”
As Logan listened to Wren wax on about the wonders of her neighbor, he didn’t doubt the woman’s generosity, but what he found most interesting was the fact that Wren didn’t seem to place any value on the part she played in her relationship with the older woman. He was grateful that Mrs. Russell seemed
to understand Wren’s loyalty and did nothing to exploit it. Their relationship truly did seem built on mutual respect.
“So you’re back in your place?” he asked.
“Yep. Cookies and all.”
“Terrific. Then tell me.”
“Tell you?” The confusion in her tone would have been sweet had he not been hanging on pins and needles for the past twenty minutes.
“Yes, Wren.” Trying his best not to let the desperation seep into his voice, he said, “You texted me that you asked the Fortune Eight Ball about dinner and then left me hanging. Talk about a raging case of blue balls, pun intended.”
She giggled. “Did you mean black balls?”
“Wren…”
“I’m sorry, but you left yourself open for that one.” A second passed, then another before she answered. “It seems that your kisses made quite an impression, because his answer was, It Is Decidedly So.”
Relief. Delight. Had there been an audience in Logan’s house, they would have assumed he’d just won a Grammy for best song—something he had accomplished more than a few times in his career. For some reason, this opportunity meant even more. His professional life had been his whole life for as long as he could remember—at first because of his drive to succeed, then after leaving the band, he devoted himself to writing songs that would help make them the best. As Shades of Certainty rose to the top, he reorganized his goals, created the music schools, and lived to watch them thrive.
But since meeting the beautiful brunette, he realized maybe he’d ignored his personal life because he hadn’t found anything worth dividing his time for. Now that he had her within arm’s reach, he didn’t want to let her go. But keeping her close meant forging trust between them. Trust that she wouldn’t only let him into her thoughts and heart, but that he could let her into his.
“Hmm, maybe that ball of yours isn’t so bad after all. Dinner Saturday night at a place yet to be determined.”
“I’m nervous.”
He could imagine what her face looked like just from the whispery sound of her voice. “I know. I can’t tell you not to be. I can just ask you to have some faith in me. It’ll be all right.”
After chatting for a few more minutes, they wished each other a good night and hung up. Logan got the impression that Wren thought they weren’t going to see each other until the weekend, and although that wouldn’t be the case, he’d done nothing to put her mind at ease. In his opinion, Wren Jamison had gone way too long without being wooed, and if anyone deserved some chivalry, it was her. Not to mention he had some homework to do if he was going to learn about her so-called eating quirks. After all, how bad could they possibly be?
Chapter Thirteen
Dave The Douche
For some reason, the continual cacophony of the sewing machines sounded more like white noise and less like commotion. Who was she kidding? Wren knew the reason. He was about six foot two, broad, sculpted with hard lean muscle, and he had a voice that made her swoon and kisses that melted her panties. Yeah, with a reason like that, even a mundane job like inspecting cotton crotches didn’t seem so bad.
The recorded whistle sounded, alerting the first lunch shift it was time for their break. Wren locked her desk drawers, switched off her lamp, and headed to the lockers to grab her phone and lunch bag so she could head out to make her call. She had promised Emmy a more detailed report, regarding the previous day with Logan, during her lunch break. Apparently the ten-minute summary she’d given her friend on her drive into work wasn’t nearly enough. Wren grinned as Emmy’s shrieks reverberated in her head. No way, Wrenny. I want details. Paint-by-number details, you got it? Then Emmy kept Wren on the phone until a verbal agreement was reached. Just because she worked for a lawyer, she thought she had the right to make everything so damn official.
“Looking mighty cheery today, Wren. I hope your weekend was nice. I know mine was. Anyhow, hate to do this to you again…”
The usual arrogance that oozed from Dave seemed amplified. What a shame the FEB had rejected her request to tell Dave he was a douche that morning—one day, she thought, one day.
“I’m gonna need you to keep your break down to only ten minutes today.”
Did he just puff out his chest?
“I have a lunch date with a chick I met and I need more than forty-five minutes, if you know what I mean.”
Did that idiot actually wink at me? “Anyway I need you on the floor. People seem to stay in line when you’re around. I’ll be gone for at least an hour, not that it’s any of your business.”
“It may not be her business, Mr. Morris, but it certainly is ours.”
Wren wasn’t sure what stole her breath more: the fact that both Mr. and Mrs. Hayden had heard Dave being a douche, the pale green hue on Dave’s face when he realized he had been busted, or the incredible fact that standing beside her bosses was a very handsome, though extremely irritated-looking, Logan Enders.
“Mr. a-and M-Mrs. Hayden, this isn’t what it looks like.” Dave crossed his arms, straightened them, then re-crossed them. “I was asking Wren to do me a favor and take a shortened break so I could extend time to mine. N-nothing more.”
Did Dave start drinking before his lunch break?
“Wren, dear, I’ll ask you once—is the story Mr. Morris telling the truth?” Mrs. Hayden’s hazel eyes settled on Wren’s with the same look the woman had been giving her since Wren was sixteen years old. Back then, Wren’s parents were struggling to make ends meet and still save enough for her to go to college, leaving them gone more often than not. During those days, Wren sought advice from her boss.
Wren could practically hear Dave pleading through his silent lips. His job could very well be on the line. She glanced at Logan, still confused by his presence there in the first place. Regardless, the things he had said the day before about not backing down from things he wanted tumbled through her mind. Her job may not make her feel whole, but shouldn’t she enjoy the time she was there? Dave ruined every day. She wouldn’t be out of line if she just told the truth.
“Wren?” Mrs. Hayden prodded.
“No. What Dave said is not the truth.” A weight shifted in her gut as she spoke. “I have no intention of discussing the personal history, or lack thereof, between us”—she glared at her one-time friend—“but I can say that things have gotten progressively worse over the past year. Dave has abused his management status with me on multiple occasions. I haven’t had a full lunch break in close to nine months and on most days I only get between ten and fifteen minutes. I’ve kept a log of my breaks just in case it ever became an issue.” Wren bit at her cheek before adding, “As for the other employees, I’m not sure if they are having the same issues.”
Mr. Hayden huffed before his wife laid a hand on his shoulder to silence him.
The muttered curse from Dave, along with the pinched look on her bosses’ faces, led Wren to believe there may have been some other complaints.
“Other than the attitude you witnessed, which is a daily problem for me, I usually average about seventy minutes a week in breaks, and that includes my lunch.”
“You work nine hours a day and only get fifteen minutes for lunch?” Ire dripped from Logan’s tone.
“No.” Wren stared at Dave. “Most days I get ten minutes and a promise that I’ll get a longer lunch soon.”
“That’s illegal,” Logan snarled as he stalked up to Dave. “So you’re the prick she told me about?”
Dave’s lip twitched. “She told you about me?”
Barely breathing, Wren kept her eyes glued to the scene in front of her.
“Yeah”—Logan nodded, his voice menacing—“she told me all about Dave the douche from work. That’s what she calls you, ya know. You wanna know what I told her?”
Standing statue-still, Dave didn’t say a word.
“I’m going to tell you anyway. I explained that her douche of a manager still wanted her, and because he couldn’t have her, he became a dick. But after seeing yo
u in action, I realize I gave you too much credit. Seems you’re a douche, a dick, and a dumbass. So here’s some advice, simplified so even you can understand it. If you are lucky enough to keep this job, stay the fuck away from my girl. If Marvin and Clara are smart, as I know they are, and they fire your ass… stay the fuck away from my girl. Do not make me repeat myself again.”
Wren’s attention volleyed between a no-longer-puffed-up-and-pompous Dave and a pissed-off-and-protective Logan.
“Tell me you understand,” Logan prompted.
“Yeah, got you,” Dave grumbled, drawing back as if to make himself smaller.
“You’re already late for your lunch break, Wren.” Mr. Hayden glared at Dave before returning his gentle expression to her. “Again. I can’t begin to imagine the paid hours we must owe you. I know Logan came to take you to lunch, so why don’t you take the rest of the day off, and we’ll figure out your compensation tomorrow during our meeting.”
“Our meeting?” It was one thing to have a lunch date sprung on her, but another thing entirely to be blindsided by a meeting with her bosses.
“Yes, our meeting. The one where you are going to explain why you’ve allowed yourself to be treated so poorly. And why you never once come to us to lodge a complaint.”
How could Wren explain, without sounding like a horrible person, that she had dealt with the situation because she had no better opportunities? She was lucky to have a full-time job that offered health insurance benefits and paid time off. No way would she complain about an asshole manager and lost lunch time. She sure as hell wouldn’t tell them that her ball had constantly advised her against the confrontation. “I didn’t want to—”
“We’re disappointed,” Mrs. Hayden stated, “but we understand.” The knowing gleam in her eyes communicated that. “Enjoy your day with Logan, and we’ll chat first thing in the morning. Good day, you two.”