“Okay,” Brittney said, sounding unconvinced. “Then what?”
“So after the appointment, I found her in the hall.” Cornered her was more like it. “I asked her to the gala. She said yes. We talked throughout the week, and the rest is history.”
Brittney huffed. “I don’t buy it.”
Logan blinked. “What?”
She shook her head, then arched a brow. A smile played on the corner of her lips. “You want me to believe that you convinced the Queen of Single—”
Logan openly snickered at the nickname, to which Britt flashed him her death stare.
“—to enter a relationship with you out of sheer attraction. Just like that? Because you asked? Because she thought you looked hot in your white jacket with a stethoscope draped around your neck?”
“Yes.” Logan nodded. “The stethoscope works wonders. It’s literally a chick magnet.”
“Nope. Not a chance.” Brittney set her mug down.
Yeesh. Since when was his sister such a ball-buster? “Are you saying I’m not good enough for her?”
“No, I didn’t say that, but . . . I don’t buy it. And if I don’t buy it, no one else will. Because I want the story to be true. Because I love you, and I want what’s best for you, which means for you to be happy, which means for you to find someone special and start a family because I know it’s what you want.”
“It’s not—”
“Don’t try to deny it. It’s what you’ve wanted for a long time. It’s why you clung to that skank Allison for so long when you should’ve checked that baggage at the door about five years before you did.”
Ignoring her latter comments, he asked, “So you’re saying you don’t believe me?” He waved toward the paper. “It says so right in that article. The New York Times called us the new power couple of the Big Apple. It even claims Marti, herself, confided to a source that we’re together.” Though they should seriously consider finding a new entertainment reporter because there was no way Marti told anyone they were an item. He was sure she’d rather smother herself with one of her Prada bags.
“Done yet?” Britt took a dainty bite of her bagel.
Logan shrugged.
“Good. Now, tell me the truth, and I’ll give you my advice.”
Logan stared at her a moment, debating. He had expected to sell her a story and for her to believe it, no questions asked. Apparently, his sister was far more intuitive than he gave her credit. So he filled her in. On everything. Their first encounter, to the chance meeting at his workplace, to his blackmailing her into going to the gala.
“Let me get this straight. You coerced Marti McBride into going to your charity event as your date in order to create buzz and, hopefully, some publicity for your foundation?”
“Yes.”
“Dang. That’s savage.”
Logan rubbed the scruff over his jaw. “It’s not like she cares.”
“Just because she’s strong and independent doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings.”
Could have fooled me. “Okay, settle down before that vein in your forehead pops,” he said, eyeing her forehead. “Why are you all bent out of shape about it, anyway?”
Brittney slinked back into her seat, her expression sheepish. “Nothing. It’s just . . . well, Marti McBride is like the woman to aspire to be in New York. She’s a role model to a lot of us—er—to some people, anyway. You don’t mess with that.”
“Are you suggesting I back off just because a bunch of feminists love that she is a man-hater?”
Brittney narrowed her eyes. “Just because she’s happy single, doesn’t make her a man-hater.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. She told me all about it. Pretty much seems like she has a chip on her shoulder, but before you have a conniption,” he said, noting the angry set of her mouth, “I’d like to inform you my phone has been ringing off the hook since this article hit the papers. Hidden Heartbeat has doubled its donations since last year. In the span of one weekend, Britt. Think about that for a minute. I’ve already got meetings lined up with two potentially huge endorsements. This means our shot of going national just became a real possibility, rather than a long shot.”
Brittney’s eyes softened. He knew how she felt about his charity. Whether she’d ever admit to it or not, she felt guilty about the role she played in their mother’s death. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. No one blamed her. Ever. But knowing there was no reason to feel guilty, and accepting grace, were two very different things.
“Really?” she asked, and he knew he had her.