He asked her—one of New York City’s biggest celebrities and journalists. No coincidence there. No agenda on his part.
Marti scoffed. Yeah, right.
Fire burned in her veins. Her hands fisted by her side. She had zero right to feel any bit of the anger rising up inside of her like the morning sun, lighting her ablaze from the inside out. It’s not like she wanted to be on his arm. Everything about him grated on her nerves. She should feel relieved that his interest wasn’t personal. It was business. Still, she felt duped.
The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her. He was using her the same way she needed to use him. Both of them were racing to a finish line. Only it wasn’t a solo event or a sprint. It was a relay, and they needed each other.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MARTI
NO ONE USED MARTI MCBRIDE. No one.
Marti seethed as she waited for him to finish up his tear-inducing speech for the crowd.
Oh, he was good. She’d give him that. He was charming, well-spoken, charismatic, everything a woman wanted on paper—the perfect salesman, too.
His eyes glittered and his skin glowed, draped in soft tinkling light from the chandelier above him. He stood, hands braced on either side of the podium. A general speaking to his squadron. His battle cry a sentimental plea for help in the form of donations. She should have recognized his motive. It was an amateur move not to research him further and discover his involvement in Hidden Heartbeat. While she was busy trying to ignore his presence in her thoughts, he was planning how best to use their chance encounter to his advantage.
Well, she had news for him. If he wanted to work his little angle, then she’d do the same.
You want publicity? I’ll give you publicity. Because two can play this game, Dr. Love.
Marti snagged a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, waiting for Logan as he wrapped up his tear-inducing speech, then weaved his way
through the crowd, shaking hands with donors kissing his butt. He probably loved the attention. Basked in it.
Marti rolled her eyes inwardly even as she smiled at his approach, flashing him and everyone around them a good view of her pearly whites.
When he finally closed the gap between them, she flung her arms around him, putting on a show. She was the picture of the doting girlfriend. Proud. Glowing in her newfound love for him. “Darling,” she said, stifling her gag reflex.
Squeezing him harder than necessary, she prolonged the hug, pulling him tight into her chest. Imagine what it would feel like to give him a knee to the groin? It made her smile wider.
When she released him, she may or may not have pinched a piece of flesh on his back when no one was looking but couldn’t be sure. The jerk was all muscle. He had zero back fat.
“Beautiful speech.” She kissed him quickly on the cheek, much more and she’d vomit on her pretty shoes.
He raised a brow, staring like she was crazy, then leaned down and whispered, “How many glasses of that did you have while I was up there?” His gaze darted to her champagne flute.
“Not enough,” she gritted between clenched teeth.
Then she straightened and said, “I couldn’t be prouder.” She tapped him on the nose in a playful way—as if to say, Isn’t he the cutest—and imagined it was her fist instead.
Logan frowned down at her, his forehead wrinkled in a look of consternation she quite enjoyed. Confusing him was the least she could do.
The bulb of a camera flashed, and Marti flushed with vindication because it was just as she expected. The media always covered huge events like this, and their timely appearance didn’t disappoint.
“Smile,” Marti sing-songed and turned to the camera.
“Marti—” He grabbed at her arm.
“Come on, Logan. It’s all for a good cause. Right?” Her hard gaze met his, her voice tight beneath her words.
He hesitated only a moment before recognition dawned in his eyes. He smoothed his tux and smiled.
Good boy. Marti wanted to pat his head and give him a treat.
The camera clicked, lights flashing, as Marti snuggled closer to Logan, even placing a hand on his lapel in a possessive gesture. She knew just how to pose so that the media would be abuzz with speculation. Gossip columnists would go stark raving mad for photos of her snuggling up to a man.