Then he was gone.Chapter 17LottieThe next couple of weeks were busy for us both. Logan was teaching every day, preparing lesson plans and grading papers. Despite the projects I was working on being simpler than usual, I was still busy with investors, meetings, and making sure everyone was happy. My team was smaller, so we all had to work extra hard. Most nights, it was past eight when I left the building. Logan was rarely at the platform, although a few times, he met me there. But I gave him a key to my place, so often when I walked in, he was sitting at the table, working away. He always stopped to kiss me hello, make sure I ate, and at some point, sang to me. The nights he was absent, my place felt empty. My bed seemed too big, and I didn’t sleep as well.
I wrapped up the deal with Ravaged Records and Roadside quickly. The investors I had in mind were enthusiastic and generous. The final papers were being drafted for signatures and a press conference being planned. I was both pleased and sad. It had been a fun project, unlike most of them. I liked the people I was working with and was passionate about their ideas.
It took everything in me not to question Carmen about his meetings with Logan. They were both tight-lipped on what they were discussing, and I had to keep a professional distance. I knew when Logan was ready, he would tell me. He was juggling a lot right now, and I didn’t want to waste the time we did have together trying to pull something out of him he wasn’t ready to share.
I finally gave in and called my mother. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable. I was going to have to apologize in order for us to move forward. My father was distant and chillier than usual. When I closed the Ravaged deal, there were no pats on the back or words of appreciation for a job well done. Another project appeared on my desk, and that was all. It was his way of letting me know I had performed satisfactorily and he would trust me with another venture. Part of me hoped for something personal from him. That he would walk into my office and say something positive—anything—to open the door between us, but it didn’t happen. I wasn’t sure why I still wanted and hoped, but my silly heart did. I wondered if I made up with my mother if he would soften, so I reached out.
She was cool on the phone but agreed to meet me for lunch. I studied her as I sat across from her at her favorite place. I only ever went there with her, neither the food nor the stuffy décor my style.
She sipped her mineral water in silence. She had accepted my kiss on the cheek but hadn’t offered anything aside from a stiff greeting. I withheld my impatience and smiled at her.
“You look lovely today, Mom.”
She patted her hair. “I have a new stylist.”
“Very flattering.” Sadly, I recalled the days when she would jokingly complain about barely getting a shower in. When her idea of being fancy was blow-drying her hair and having a fresh blouse on when my father came home. My father calling out for his “Jo-Jo” when he walked through the doorway. The days when the evenings were spent laughing around the dinner table, making plans for the weekends as a family, and my world consisted of the love of the people at the table with me. Those times were long gone. My mom, Jo-Jo, slowly disappeared, and the distant woman, Josephine Prescott, firmly took hold.
“You look well,” she stated. “Is the office better?”
“I’ve been very productive.”
She raised her eyebrows slightly. I was sure my father described my job status somewhat differently.
We made small talk, the words stilted and uncomfortable.
“I heard from Brianna’s mother that she is seeing someone. A business owner, I believe?”
My lips quirked. I doubted my mother would be so interested if she knew Trevor owned a gym and he was friends with Logan. So I made a humming sound of agreement.
I set down my glass and straightened my shoulders. “Mom, I’m sorry I upset you. Can we please make up and move past it?” I offered her a shaky smile, finding this harder than I expected. “I miss you.”
Sadness filled her expression for a moment, then she frowned. “You were ungrateful and disrespectful to your father. More than once.”
I swallowed down my retort. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but he overstepped.”
“Are you still seeing that boy? Your father says he is a delinquent.”
I bit back my anger. She made it sound as if I were dating a kid from the hood. “Logan is not a boy, nor is he a delinquent. He is an adult with a full-time job and very respectful. Dad didn’t even give him a chance to introduce himself. He wrote him off because he had longer hair. Dad judged him on his own personal bias, not his character.”