Chapter 4
Ava
“How do you see yourself actualizing that, Amy?” I push my client to dig a bit deeper about her goals to become a published writer.
“I keep getting sidetracked,” she sighs in exasperation, running her fingers through her blonde bangs.
“Well, let’s break it down into small steps,” I motion to the notebook she brings to every session.
Together, over the course of the next forty minutes, we create a plan for Amy to write her first novel in the next six months. The look of accomplishment on her face is all I need to make my day better, and it’s been a rough one.
As she packs her things, I close my notes, tucking them into my desk drawer before walking Amy to the lobby, assuring her we will pick up back right where we’ve left off at her next session.
A deep sigh of relief causes me to lean against my office door once I return. My day has been anything but smooth, and I’m looking forward to a night out with Petra to relax and blow off steam.
I’ve gone over the story a million times in my head, and there’s no way I could have left my purse anywhere at that mansion party, although I’d love a reason to bump into that handsome man again. Our interaction has replayed in my mind more times than I can count, especially as I was laying in bed last night, but I’ve continued to shut it down, hoping not to overcomplicate things.
My phone dings, disturbing my thoughts, and I return to my desk to check the message.
Are you done? We need to be at the party in forty-five minutes.
Shit, I’m already running late and I haven’t even packed up the office. Petra always leaves earlier than me, and tonight is no exception. Now, I’ve got to rush to our place and change clothes to make it to the party with her, and unlike most nights, I’m looking forward to it.
I’m leaving now.
It’s only a small lie, I reason as I lock my desk to secure my files before grabbing my work bag and glancing around my office one last time before leaving. With my hand on the door knob, I exit with my head still facing my desk.
Turning to the lobby, I feel the breath and blood drain from my body as I come face to face with him.
The man from the party is leaning against the wall, his arms hidden behind his back as he squints his beautiful eyes while watching me.
“Ahh!” I shriek, completely taken aback by his presence. Stumbling back, I break into giggles, and he chuckles while making his way to me, helping me regain my balance.
“My clutch!” I exclaim, realizing he is holding the purse I lost the night I met him.
“You left it at my party, and I wanted to return it,” he shrugs.
“I did? I thought for sure I couldn’t have done that…” I trail off, not wanting him to know how much I’d wished there could be a reason for me to see him again.
“Yeah, well, here it is,” he says, handing me the purse.
Taking the clutch, I thank him and he nods as we look into each other’s eyes for a lot longer than necessary. What should be an awkward moment is almost too comfortable. I don’t want it to end, but I fear it becoming unbearable, so I turn away, instantly regretting the decision.
“So… I wanted you to have that back. And, um,” he begins, rubbing his neck as his words fade away.
I see a new emotion on his face. One I have yet to witness, and from the look in his eyes, I don’t think he’s too familiar with it either.
“Yes?” What’s wrong, I wonder, watching his face contort.
“Oh, no. Nothing’s wrong. I just…” he pauses, but this time he continues before I can interrupt again. “I want to take you to dinner. Are you free tonight?”
“Oh!” I blanche, a bit taken back. I hadn’t expected him to be interested in me. It kind of messes up my fantasy, but that doesn’t stop my knees from weakening as I watch him waiting my response.
“So… are you free?” He repeats his question as he stands taller, looking directly into my eyes.
“I’m not… but I would like that. How about I call you and we set something up?” I suggest, and for a second he looks confused, but then he smiles and nods, accepting my offer.
“Let me walk you out,” he motions to the door, and I follow his lead.
Forcing myself to take a deep breath, I lock the front door to the office before turning back to face him. He’s so handsome, my wit withers whenever he’s looking at me. It’s like I melt a little inside, until I’m nothing but a creamy mess, just trying not to spill over as he watches my every move.
Walking out of the building, I feel him watching me, and I’m so in tune to him I can’t help but glance over every few steps. There’s a soft laugh shared between us every time we catch each other staring, but neither of us dares to address it.
“This is me,” I say staring up at his tall frame once we make it to my red Mini Cooper.
“Oh, really?” He looks at my car with a grin. “I guess I’ll have to pick you up for dinner,” he raises his eyebrows swiftly before turning to leave.
“Wait. I don’t know your name,” I call after him.
He stops in his tracks before slowly turning to me, his eyebrows scrunched together as his head tilts. “Are you serious?”
“Did you already tell me? I sometimes forget, sorry,” I cringe, a bit embarrassed. I thought for sure we hadn’t exchanged names, but he’s had my driver’s license, so he has a head start.
“No. No, I didn’t tell you my name. My name is Logan,” he flashes his million-dollar smile, walking to me with his hand extended.
Taking his hand, I laugh at the formality as he leans in and brushes my cheek with his soft lips. My pelvic muscles tense deliciously as I return the gesture before watching him walk away.
The drive home is quicker than normal, since my head is all twisted with ideas about my mystery man who finally has a name. I wonder how he found out where I work, but knowing he’s rich and probably connected, I imagine it couldn’t have been too hard.
Petra is eager to leave for the party once I walk in the door, so I rush through picking an outfit, opting for a black jumper dress, with black open-toe stilettos.
With a grin, I grab my newly returned clutch, knowing it was in Logan’s possession all this time. Who knows how much he found out about me, but him doing his research is sexy.
“Okay, I’m ready,” I announce, strolling into the living room, where Petra sits watching a crime drama.
“Really?” She turns to look at me, shock written across her face.
“Yep. I’m ready to party.”
“Okay, Batcher, don’t get crazy,” she jokingly warns, grabbing her purse and keys from the coffee table before following me out the front door.
The party is crazy, but in a good way. Girls hang from ropes attached to the ceiling, dancing in lingerie, and men are clustered in groups at tables, eyeing the dance floor like predators. Petra and I are seated at a VIP table with a perfect view of the club, relaxing over a few drinks.
“Do you want anything?” A guy yells across the table at me and I shake my head with a smile, politely declining his offer.
He’s what I would normally describe as handsome, but not anymore. Now, there is an entirely new grading scale, thanks to Logan. His blue eyes are permanently ingrained in my memory, and everything seems to remind me of him as I wonder when I’ll see him next.
Then it hits me. I won’t even know how to call him to schedule our dinner, because I don’t have a way of getting in contact with him. I barely got his name, as words seemed to escape me more and more while I drowned in his charisma.
“I’ll be back,” I whisper to Petra, but she’s so lost in her conversation with another of her old cronies she barely notices me.
I need some time to myself, and this club probably isn’t the best place to achieve that, but it will have to do.
How could I fumble that bad? I jumped out there, committing to set up our first date, and I don’t even know enough about the man to perform a simple Google search. On the other hand, he knows so much about me, he perfectly timed his impromptu visit to show up just after my last session of the day.
Maybe he will reach out when he doesn’t hear from me. It’s the best I can hope for after realizing just how much I blew it. He’s so sexy and completely captivating, and now I might not see him again because I wasn’t smart enough to get his phone number or email.
Feeling like a complete idiot, I head to the bar to sulk, settling on a stool while motioning to the blond bartender who almost immediately walks in my direction.
“What can I get you?” He smiles a little too hard, his biceps threatening to rip the sleeves of his T-shirt as he crosses his arms.
“I’ll take a cosmo.” I shout above the music, and he nods before turning to gather ingredients.
I realize I didn’t re-pack my newly returned purse as I unzip it in preparation to cover my bill.
My eyes widen as I grab the cash he’s inserted into the clutch — ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills, with a pristine white business card with the words Logan Draper imprinted in gold ink. Beneath his name, there is his number and an email address.
Replaying our earlier interaction in my mind, I try to recall his demeanor, wondering just what he could possibly see happening between us, especially with this type of move. What type of girl would be happy to have a thousand dollars slipped in her purse by a stranger?
A gold digger, that’s who, and I bet he’s used to that type, but that’s not me. There’s no way I’m accepting this money, or this type of behavior from him, and I’ll be sure to make that clear over dinner.
“Here you are,” the bartender hands me a pink drink and I smile, handing him a twenty-dollar bill that actually belongs to me.
“It’s on the house,” he yells before turning to help someone else.
What’s up with everyone showering me with gifts today? Although, a free drink at a bar is understandable, a stack of cash in a returned purse is not. What type of response did he expect to receive?
No wonder he didn’t bother exchanging information.