Private Confessions

The two were going to form a partnership, in business and in life. But the moment they’d made their mark, she’d dropped the bomb. Children weren’t her future, marriage wasn’t her bag and the only thing she wanted from him was a divorce and half his business.

He’d had to sink into debt to buy her out, giving her the money and status she needed to start a business of her own and then slowly snatch his accounts, one by one. He’d managed to restore his business, but the damage she’d done to his faith in his instinct was irreparable. How he’d been so colossally blind was a question for the ages, but he’d bought it all at a hefty price tag.

And it was a mistake he wouldn’t repeat.

“I’m not interested,” he said.

“Suit yourself, man. But one of these days, you should start listening to your old buddy here. I know what’s good for you.”

“So why are you asking me about tomorrow night?” Logan asked, trying once again to change the subject.

“Adie and I are going to a club to listen to some band she discovered. We were trying to get a few people to go along with us.”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “What few people?”

“Nobody, just a couple friends, that’s all.”

The caged look on Bill’s face told him those couple of friends included Trisha Bain.

“Stop trying to fix me up with Trisha,” Logan insisted.

“I’m not. Trisha’s not even going.”

Confusion set in. If Bill’s plans didn’t involve matchmaking, then something else was up.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “What are you really doing tomorrow?”

Bill opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stuttered a moment before finally confessing through a long exhale, “Okay, so it’s some sort of…poetry reading.”

Logan threw his head back and laughed.

“Oh, come on, man. Adrienne’s mom is making her go. I guess it’s something special and she wants the whole family to be there.”

“I’m not family.”

“There will be music afterward.”

“What, a sitar?” Logan asked through his chuckle.

“Probably.”

“I don’t think so.” Although the thought of watching Bill trying to order a beer in some hippie tea house was tempting.

“Aw, come on. Help me out.”

Logan looked at Bill in amazement. “Are you kidding? My ears are still bleeding from that punk rock festival you dragged me to last year.” He shook his head in disgust. “What was her name?”

“Fawn and it was alternative rock, not punk.”

“It’s all the same to me.”

“You’re just an old fart.”

“And you’ve got bizarre taste in women,” Logan added under his breath. “At least Adrienne’s a move in the right direction.”

“And so is Trisha. I don’t know why you don’t go for her. You two would make a nice conservative couple, elevator music and all.”

Logan ignored the slam and shook his head. “Forget about me and Trisha. I have plans for her and none of them include sleeping with her.”

Bill perked. Insider information was his favorite joy in life. The man relished being in on a secret, and sometimes Logan truly believed that Bill was a thirteen-year-old girl in a past life.

“Spill, big guy. Don’t keep me in the dark.”

Logan smiled and paused, dragging out the tension. He loved toying with Bill, just as Bill loved toying with him. It was a little game they’d been playing since they’d met ten years ago.

Bill held up his hands. “Well?”

“Tyndale’s going to be big. He’s got six resorts along the west coast, with plans to open another in the Caribbean. If we get the account, we’ll need to hire more staff.” He picked up the bag of nuts and studied them for a moment, extending Bill’s agony for as long as possible. “I think Trisha would make a good candidate to head up a new travel segment.”

“So the VP rumor is true.”

Logan slammed the bag on the desk as Bill’s smirk told him he’d just been duped. “Son of a bitch. I can’t trust Sally with a goddamned thing.” He was more annoyed by losing his match with Bill than the knowledge that his Human Resources manager had loose lips.

Bill’s heavy chest rumbled as he laughed. “Sor-a-mundo, buddy boy. I already knew.”

“Well, keep it to yourself, although that’s probably pointless. I haven’t made my decision yet, and if we don’t get Tyndale, we don’t have enough business to form a separate segment. I don’t want Trisha disappointed if it doesn’t happen.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ll get Tyndale and everything will work out as planned. I’m sure of it.”

PIMPLY KID, pimply kid, pimply kid.

Trisha hesitated outside Logan’s door for a beat as she repeated the mantra in her head, trying to lose the nerves that held on like an angry cold. She’d hoped some miracle would have brought Devon back in time to join her in Logan’s office, but her last-minute check found him still sitting in O’Hare.

She was on her own.

She took one giant breath, exhaled the memory of the previous night’s chat and stepped into the office.

One look at Logan behind his desk sucked the image back to her mind. Not only was he wearing the starched white shirt she’d envisioned the night before, but he’d removed his tie and unbuttoned the top two buttons, showing a faint hint of dark hair that told her his rocklike chest had the perfect blend of curls that made him masculine but not too hairy.

He’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbows and his hands were planted firmly on the arms of his chair, his fingers splayed over the ends, just as she’d seen it in her head.

She briefly made eye contact. Just enough to catch him sweep his dark eyes over her body in a manner that stopped short of lustful appreciation. He kept it professional, but sincere. Just a glance that made her wonder if he was interested, but didn’t reveal enough to answer the question.

It still sent a blizzard of tingles through her chest that twirled down to the spot between her thighs.

Her hands went numb, as if she’d just been shot with a local anesthetic. She attempted to wiggle her fingers, but they remained cemented to the files she clutched to her chest.

He lifted his hand and waved to her. “Come on in.”