I could feel the heat rising beneath my skin, the embarrassment of him witnessing a very intimate moment that I had only shared with a handful of men. I had two choices here: spin through the door like the Tasmanian Devil or take the mickey out of the situation.
“I’m usually not so quick.” The moment it left my mouth, I smack my forehead as Logan laughs. “I mean. God, this is embarrassing.”
“I get it.” He bursts mid-laugh. “You’re usually not an early shooter.”
“I’m not exactly shooting anything, I think. That’s a guy thing.”
“Women can shoot.”
“What exactly are they shooting?” Curious, I cross my arms beneath my breasts, waiting on his response.
With his eyebrow raised, he rubs his chin, delighted at the choice of topic.
“You want the medical explanation?”
“You know what?” I shake my head unable to hide my grin. “Never mind. I’m sure if the questions persist, I will find my answer on Google along with a hundred horrid sexual facts that I did not know existed.”
“I’m happy to explain, perhaps, educate you if needed.”
The corner of his mouth curves upwards, wickedly teasing and coaxing me to say yes. Yet I knew, from years of experience, that Logan Carrington knew how to manipulate me. Whether it be for the good or bad.
“I’m set.” I laugh. “So, we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
I contemplate hugging it out, but with my bikini on and his bare chest, I decide against it. Saying goodbye, I leave him standing alone in the pool house with the intention of going home and forgetting our moment in the lake. I wasn’t sure if it was the shooting talk or our pact to forget what happened. Either way, the guilt was no longer there.
Our secret would remain our secret.
“I don’t ask for much. Except my freedom.”
~ Emerson Chase
The flight from home was turbulent and long.
After several delays—due to some bad weather—the plane was diverted and landed in Burbank. I was glad to get off; my stomach queasy from the bumpy flight. I had barely made the flight to begin with; caught up at the repair store that replaced the battery of my cell. Apparently, it needed a charge and then would be good to go. Thank god—I felt naked without it.
Jimmy, my occasional driver/bodyguard, greets me at the terminal. Jimmy is six-foot-two, built like a soldier and could probably beat the shit out of anyone. Nina scheduled him for events or times when she worried about my safety. I only noticed a few paparazzi in the terminal; dressed in their usual attire and snapping pictures hoping for some scandal. I wasn’t sure why she was worried now but nevertheless, I greeted him hello and walked alongside to the black SUV parked curb side.
We drove straight into traffic; a sea of tail lights that seemed never-ending. As I lay back into the leather seats, attempting to cure my stiff neck from the awkward position I fell asleep in on the plane, the constant vibration of my cell disrupts my struggle to get comfortable.
I close my eyes, which lasts a minute before my hand moves on its own accord and I’m reading a text from Nina.
Meeting scheduled with the board tomorrow morning. I’m pretty certain we can fight to have you end your contract. Don’t stress Emerson—I’ve got this.
Finally, something that would go my way. I had faith in Nina to follow through with what I requested: terminating the contract so I didn’t have to work with Wes. I had many hours to think about what I would say to Wes when I saw him, yet a few blocks from
home, I am left with nothing to say. Instead, my focus had been on Logan and the way we left things off, amicable and friendly.
We agreed to remain friends, and with friendship comes the expectation that I could text him. Quickly typing a message, I hit send before changing my mind.
This guy on the plane smelled like weed. Remember the time I smoked it and you gave me a lecture of how it would stunt my growth? Such a lie. What did you do with the bag you stole off me?
I didn’t expect him to respond, knowing they were on a plane back to England and probably out of cell service. With the apartment only a block away, I throw my cell back into my purse and straighten my posture, staring out the window at the familiar houses that line the street.
Jimmy enters the code into our garage, parking his SUV in the same spot near the stairwell. The apartment block had four units: all overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Ours is located on the top level, beside an entrepreneur that divided her time between LA and Boston.
Jimmy takes my luggage upstairs, and with my feet dragging, I follow until we’re inside the living room. He places the suitcase down and quietly exits the apartment, leaving me alone with Wes, who is sitting on the sofa.