2
| LOGAN |
Any other day, I’d think her question perfectly harmless. But, I know for a fact that yesterday, half my staff blabbed to Nicole about some stuff Hannah’s been having to deal with at school lately.
“Hannah’s fine,” I say curtly. “It’s just a rough patch.”
“I’d really like to make sure she’s getting through it okay.”
Man, that hypnotic voice of hers is something else.
“You grilling him on Hannah?” Derick asks her while munching on some breakfast burritos behind the cashier counter.
“Not grilling. Just talking,” she replies diplomatically.
Derick shakes his head. “Don’t hold back. Bust his balls. You’re the expert on this stuff.”
When she turns her attention back to me, armed with that validation, his eyes promptly drop down to her ass, openly admiring it like usual.
I want to fucking hit him.
Her big green eyes grow soft with concern. “You should let me work with her. Not in an official capacity of course since she isn’t a student at one of my schools. But if she and I could maybe sit down for a bit and—”
“There’s no need for that; she’s fine,” I say sharply, nipping that idea in the bud. “All kids go through crap in school. If you make a big deal out of it, it’ll just upset her more.”
I stop for a sec to shake hands with a longtime vendor who wants to leave new samples for me to check out. The handshake turns into an impromptu investment pitch on his part, per usual, and then ‘a quick question’ from a nearby staff member turns into a ten-minute meeting that really should’ve been scheduled with my personal secretary first.
And just like that, the white checkered flag for my day is dropped and the next hour zips by with one thing after another.
So much for getting in a climb this morning.
When my phone finally stops ringing, I get up to peer out the wide picture window behind my desk, overlooking some of the steepest climbs in my gym—walls I used to be up on at least a couple times a week when the gym first opened.
Jesus, I miss being out there.
To be honest, even I didn’t anticipate these climbing gyms to do this well in the U.S., let alone be launching internationally as well. It’s a good problem to have, I know, considering I hadn’t built this first gym with an entire future franchise in mind.
Energy utility development and ecotech marine research are where I made my billions. Climbing was just my hobby investment that just happened to become colossally successful.
In the beginning, it was a win-win. Getting to climb in gyms of my own design with walls and gear of my precise—admittedly very selective—choosing was my one escape that I used to be able squeeze in during my work weeks, no matter how busy I got. And opening locations in all the main cities I traveled to most often was again, partly to that end.
But now, ironically, they’re all doing so well, I’m too busy to be able to make use of them.
A soft knock at my door pulls me away from the window and back to my responsibilities. When I turn, however, I’m surprised to find Nicole in the doorway.
Puzzled, I motion for her to sit. “Everything okay? You haven’t been waiting for me all this time, have you?”
“Logan, your daughter got bullied at school,” she bursts out, continuing our earlier conversation right where we left off. “So, I am going to make a big deal out of it. Because it is a big deal.”
Holy shit, the woman knows how to push my buttons.
“You think I don’t know that?” I snap. “You think I haven’t been thinking about this nonstop? You think I don’t want to go out and find the little punks and kick all their dads’ asses?”
She pauses and then smiles encouragingly. “That’s good.”
Just when I think she can’t get any more perplexing. “Rage-filled violence is good?”
“Not the violence part, but the rest of it, yes. The last part says a lot about your own positive self-image,” she answers in her token brainy fashion, which, combined with her throaty, lilting counseling voice, is starting to sound a little 1-900 to me.
I really shouldn’t engage in all this psychological mumbo jumbo with her. Not with the way it’s bizarrely starting to turn me on. But, I’m curious about her last assertion. “Explain.”
“Fathers who value taking responsibility for their own children usually have the same high expectation of other fathers. Ergo, you’re a good dad. I know that I for one most certainly think you are based on all the conclusive evidence I’ve seen of your parenting over the years.”
I think that’s the first time she’s given me a compliment of that magnitude. And it’s making me feel ten-feet tall.
“Do you not want her to get counseled at all, or just not by me?” she presses on.
I may as well be honest, since she asked and all. “Your therapy methods are a little...” I tread lightly, not wanting to insult her. Even odd birds deserve a gentle touch. “Unorthodox.”
“This is true,” she agrees. “But they’re also highly effective.”
Okay, I’ll give her that.
“Do you want to walk around and argue?” she asks. “It’ll make for a more focused argument.”
Seriously, she’s so strange.
Stranger still is the fact that I’m getting up and following her.
We fall into step in silence and I try not to notice that I can see down her damn shirt. I’ve seen perfect breasts before. Why are hers screwing with my head this much?
“You’ve witnessed firsthand how many kids I’ve helped through my counseling techniques,” she reasons as we pass through the sitting area with the panoramic view of the north wing of the gym, both of us waving hi to the regulars. “What exactly are your concerns?”
“You work mostly with teens and college kids. Hannah’s only nine.”
“So, you think I’m not qualified to help her?”
That’d be a lie and we both know it. Nicole is nothing if not impressively qualified as a therapist. She’s gotten to be a good climber, too. Ever since she’s started using my gym regularly for some of her therapy sessions, I’ve been getting to see her in action a lot. And from what I can tell, she gets results.
Which is all well and good…for someone else’s kid. Not mine.
“Look, I just don’t want Hannah climbing, okay?” There, I said it. The CEO of one of the fastest-growing indoor climbing franchises in the U.S. doesn’t want his daughter climbing. So, sue me. Even with all the proper harness gear, injuries can still happen, especially for younger, inexperienced climbers.
“I don’t care how many precautions you take, or how safe my walls are, I don’t want her up there. And I for damn sure don’t want her going out on one of your outdoor climbs.”
“I know,” she replies softly.
Way to take the boom out of my bomb. “Then why are you hassling me about all this?”
“Because I also know you’re quite possibly the most loving and doting father I’ve ever encountered. You’d do anything for that little girl. You know full well that climbing is only one of my methods, and yet you don’t want me to work with her at all. So, I repeat, what exactly are your concerns?”
“I thought you had an early client this morning,” I say, changing the subject.
“Nope. I actually don’t have an appointment for another hour and a half. I just wanted to come in before you got too busy so we could chat about Hannah.”
I frown. “You could’ve just called. You’ve got my number.”
“I wanted to be sure you wouldn’t hang up on me when I started pushing too hard.”
Yeah, that does sound like something I would do.
“Is it…” she begins, but then stops, a little blush creeping over her cheeks.
Hell, I really want to know what was supposed to come at the end of that. “Is it…what?”
She straightens her shoulders. “Is it because you overheard my conversation with my students who were commenting on your...err...looks the other day?” she asks looking about as comfortable as a cat in a bath.
When I grin in remembrance of the day in question, she lifts her chin and injects a little more steel in her spine as she says simply, “Because the girls asked me outright if I thought you were handsome. And it would’ve been unethical of me to lie to them. I’m someone they trust, and that trust means I can’t—”
“So, just to recap,” I interrupt, unable to resist teasing her. “You think I’m both hot and handsome?”
Her blush deepens. “We’re getting terribly off track here.” She turns away from me to peer over the railed balcony, down at the climbers gearing up below. “I only brought that up to ask if my comment is perhaps making you feel uncomfortable with me,” she explains.
Uncomfortable? No. Unbelievably tempted? Hell yes.
I come up behind her—close, but not quite touching—amazed to find that even as little as she is, her body still lines up with mine pretty goddamn perfectly.
This is information I really don’t need to know.
Before I can make any further mind-messing discoveries about Nicole’s body, however, a terrified shout from somewhere in the gym has us both shoving away from the railing and racing down to the main floor.