Beg for Me (Be for Me 2)

Chapter One

#Brothers

“One more,” the photographer called. “I’m loving the angle.”

Logan Hughes didn’t give a monkey’s about the angle, he just wanted the afternoon to be over. This was it, his last bout in the ring as a freaking show pony.

“Look straight into the lens, Logan.”

Logan glared at it.

“Perfect. The words blue and steel spring to mind.” The photographer wasn’t being ironic. “Hold it... Trina, lean in so he’s over you more.”

The slim woman curling in at Logan’s side burrowed closer still.

Logan glared harder. So over it.

“The black suits you,” the photographer gushed.

Logan closed his eyes in relief as he heard his cellphone ring. Saved by the damn clichéd bell. Hallelujah.

“Take five everyone,” the photographer called.

Logan lifted his phone from where it lay face down on the table. His brother’s name lit up the screen. Mid-afternoon, mid-week wasn’t the usual Connor o’clock. That was first thing Sunday morning when they talked through the week before and the one to come, reviewing the businesses and upcoming investment options.

Right now Connor ought to be too busy chairing meetings or whipping some insubordinate liftie’s ass to be bothered with his wayward brother. So Logan answered quickly. “What is it?”

“Hello to you too.”

Logan shifted to the back of the room out of earshot. If Connor was taking time for pleasantries then he wanted something he knew Logan didn’t want to give. “Just say it.”

Connor laughed. “You know me too well.”

“You should be up to your eyeballs in spreadsheets. What’s keeping you from the profit line?” Logan asked, turning to glance back at the catalog team. Just as he turned, the model whipped off the thin merino top she’d worn for the last shot. She was wearing nothing underneath. Her gaze raked him, a slow, calculated invitation, her nipples stiff and pointing straight at him.

He didn’t smile. His body didn’t stir. Impervious to her charms, assets and easiness, his jaded reaction was almost worse than impotence. Logan Hughes, former slayer, had gone off sex. He muffled a groan and looked away.

“What are you doing?” Connor asked.

“Catalog shoot.”

“Modeling?” A low chuckle rumbled along the cell network. “You’ve been manscaped? Wax on, wax off?”

“I sell outdoor wear, remember?” Logan drawled, stoically ignoring his brother’s amusement. “I’m mostly covered up.”

“Damn, that’s not going to sell anything. You’re the stud, you need to be half naked.”

Logan bit back a grimace. ‘Stud’ wasn’t a slogan he’d ever actually wanted. Though he might have earned it. More than once. “Well, what else do you need from me?”

“This weekend. You’ve got to be here.”

Logan’s blood chilled. “Look Con, I—”

“Don’t want to. I know. But it won’t be as bad as you think.”

“That’s because it’ll be worse.”

“He’s mellowed.”

Logan didn’t care. “This isn’t gonna be the return of the damn prodigal son. Don’t try to manufacture it.” His father wouldn’t ever welcome him home with open arms. His father had told him never to return. Because Logan had turned his back on everything his father had dreamed of for him.

And his father never forgave.

“Do it for me,” Connor said. “Everything has to look smooth. This is for the company, Logan.”

Really? It was all for the appearance—Connor had really fallen for that crap, too?

Because that’s how it had always been in their family. To everyone outside, everything looked perfect, while on the inside it corroded.

“It’d be smoother without me.” Logan answered.

Because he was the black sheep of the family. The notorious one. And yup, he’d done pretty much all the things he was accused of and more. No innocent here. But to go to a family fricking celebration? Why would he rock up to celebrate 40 years of the worst marriage ever?

Logan Hughes was the son of a bastard and damned if he wanted to go anywhere near the place he’d once called home or the man who’d made it hell.

“I need you here Logan.” Connor said quietly. “I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Yeah there was the thing. His brother wouldn’t. His brother had always tried to protect him, defend him. Even when he’d done the indefensible.

So his brother was the one person in his life he wasn’t letting down.

Never again.

Logan turned his back on the models and the madness.

“Then I’ll be there.”

Chapter Two

#CareerFail

At 6:37 p.m. the email and its enormous attachment arrived in Min Jones’ inbox. Distracted by her desire for another Ritz cracker—dinner of champions—Min clicked open the file without thinking first. One major coughing fit and many mouthfuls of water later, she wiped her eyes to focus properly on the photo taking up most of her computer screen. Larger than life, squirm-on-your-seat handsome, Logan Hughes was a walking work of art. Former competitive ski champ, now active-wear company owner, he was in this photo to advertise some n

ew kind of shell layer—aka jacket—for overly adventurous mountaineering types.

Min didn’t notice the jacket and doubted any one else would either, certainly no chick lucky enough to see the pic. Min didn’t notice anything other than the man’s eyes, because even in a photo, they were transfixing.

Ice blue, they had that searching quality—the epitome of ‘piercing’. Any and every female on the receiving end of that look would want him to ‘pierce’ her. Pure sexual promise, one look into those blues and you knew he’d be wickedly good.

Of course, the entire online world already knew for a fact that he was ‘good’ thanks to the sex clip that had been circulating these last couple months. More viral than a vomit bug on a cruise ship, it had been viewed millions of times. Logan Hughes with all his glorious moves frolicking with two nubile models who’d filmed him and themselves, then uploaded it to launch their celebrity status into orbit.

The official line was that Logan hadn’t known they were recording the action, though how he hadn’t, she didn’t know. But certainly for the immediate period after it hit cyberspace, the guy went to ground. But he didn’t sue, didn’t try to work some money-making deal out of it. He didn’t even comment. But then he put his campaign together and came out of the woodwork. Head high and deny, deny, deny.

Time to get professional Min.

Because she was part of his campaign. In fact she was central to it. So she’d ignore the way his dark eyebrows emphasized the liquid brightness of his eyes and gave him that almost other worldly look. Like the guy was some kind of mythical, paranormal creature? Ha. He was rooted in earthly pleasures, every inch a worldly man and exactly the kind of man she’d never go near.

She saved the picture to her ‘Logan’ file, then opened up her social media program. Min Jones—social media manager to the stars. Sounded so glam, right?

In truth, she was in her miniscule apartment in Brooklyn, wearing her comfy jeans, retro Scooby Doo tee and big ugly, slippers.

But she could eat what she wanted, when she wanted, work as late as she liked and not have to speak to anyone. She was available 24/7 for planning, presentation, problem solving, all by text and email. Because it wasn’t just ‘accounts’ she was managing, but image and reputation, unquantifiable but vitally valuable.

She was building Logan Hughes’ rep back up brick by brick.

Though in reality that sex clip had done him no damage whatsoever. If anything it’d enhanced his reputation. He’d gotten a zillion followers the moment he’d gone live on Twitter—only three weeks ago. Amazing what notoriety would do for a man.

She’d not looked it up. Sure, she’d been tempted. But she had this irrational fear of cops coming after her if she downloaded porn onto her computer. Maybe it was a hangover from college days and all those ‘internet use’ policy forms she’d had to sign. She was still plagued by the nightmare scenario of having her computer confiscated and of being publicly humiliated. She’d been humiliated before and it wasn’t happening again. Min Jones didn’t want any kind of attention on her whatsoever.

Though yes, she’d imagined what the sex clip might be like. Any image of Logan Hughes had her wondering whether he’d be as hot naked or whether he’d be a disappointment when fully bared. In this picture, a Polaroid from today’s fashion shoot, his jet black hair was slightly long but it didn’t soften his sharp edges. His cheekbones were like sheer skate-ramps for dare-devils only, his jaw steely. He looked better than Hollywood’s finest. But the ‘snap’ had been tweaked, right? No doubt they’d applied some Instagram filter or equivalent. They airbrushed the female models, they’d do the males too. He wouldn’t be that perfect in real life. No one could be.

She’d not met him. She’d quickly learned some celebrities were too busy to meet their minions face to face, which totally suited her because she didn’t want to get nervous and end up stumbling over her sentences. She dealt with their handlers, mainly through email, texts and messages. Thus far it had worked. The fact she loaded Logan’s tweets and Facebook comments—as if he were the one writing—was irrelevant. She didn’t need to meet him to be able to ‘be’ him.

She liaised with Tyler, his PA who forwarded his calendar and sent through any pictures that might be useful. Deciding which pictures to use and when was Min’s department. Communicating with companies who wanted him to endorse products was easy, all by email. Her comms and marketing degree was actually useful—something her mother had insisted it would never be. With her select few clients and some subtle word of mouth spread, her business was beginning to grow.

She mulled some brief-but-cool comment to append to Logan’s picture, sifting through the Twitter mentions of him as she did. She chuckled. If he read the weekly report she sent through, summarizing the cleanest mentions of him, he’d have a head the size of Jupiter.

Her headset buzzed a jingle straight into her ears. Min’s pulse skidded as it always did when someone called unexpectedly. She checked the screen to decide whether to let it go to voicemail or answer direct.

Blake Watson. Her first and favorite client. The cage fighter had helped build her business by recommending her to his colleagues. Min grinned and relaxed, flicking off the music she’d been using to block the noise from the construction site next door.

Initially she’d been nervous of Blake until she discovered he was a total teddy bear under the screeds of granite muscle. The arrangement was for him to leave a message on her voicemail every couple of days. But this wasn’t one of his scheduled update calls.

She took in a deep calming breath. Then answered softly, her response so practiced she could do it perfectly almost every time. “Min Jones.”

“She said yes.”

Min clicked a couple of screens to open up his account. “Sabrina?”

Blake’s daytime TV queen girlfriend was as smart as she was beautiful. Perfect for him.

“Yup. She said yes.” Blake answered. “I’m the happiest guy on earth.”

“Congratulations.” Min leaned back in her swivel chair and closing her eyes to concentrate on the conversation. She was pleased for him, really, if marriage was what they wanted, good for them. But it wasn’t ever going to be her thing. She’d been to more than enough weddings in her life. And seen enough divorces. She was all about independence.

“You’ll tweet it, right?” Blake asked.

“N-n-now?” Min double-checked and tried relax her throat.

“Hell yes, now.”

Min could hear laughter in the background. “You’re sure?”

Once it was out there on the internet, there was no taking it back.

“You want to speak to her?” he asked.

Next second Sabrina’s voice burst from Min’s phone.

“I’m so excited! We’re so happy!”

Min smiled. She was happy for them. This was a marriage that might actually work. Sabrina wasn’t like Min’s high-need, ultra-dependent crazy mother and Blake was an all round good guy.

“It was so romantic, Min, you should have seen him.”

“Oh?” Min relaxed and listened to Sabrina’s excited chatter. It wasn’t a conversation she needed to contribute much to—her favorite kind.

Blake’s news was the sort of thing anyone else could tweet for themselves. But Blake was single-minded and didn’t like distractions.

“How much of this do you want to be in the public domain?” Min interrupted the flow to ask softly and slowly. “Do you want to save those fine deets for a magazine deal?”

“Magazine,” Sabrina said smartly.

Min grinned.

“But let’s get the news out there, I want the world to know,” Sabrina added.

“Put it up now Min.” Blake took control of the phone again.

“Okay.” Min straightened and jiggled her mouse so her screen came back to life. “I’m so p-p-pleased for you.” She winced as she stumbled over another word, but hopefully Blake was too ecstatic to notice. She’d mostly conquered her stutter, redu

ced it to repeating the occasional consonant. Sometimes, when she was excited or scared, it worsened, but she hadn’t had a block—those moments of total silent straining—in ages.

“Thanks Min.” He rang off.

Min discarded her headset, leaving it plugged into her phone. Happy news was fun to tweet. She couldn’t wait to see the response. She’d enjoyed building Blake’s followers and it was easy when all she had to do was listen to him and then edit it to the best bits. She typed the tweet exactly as he’d given the news himself.

She said yes! #happiestguyonearth

She clicked the button to post the tweet and swivelled away from the computer. She’d grab something else to eat and get back to watch the congrats flood in. Screw the crackers, for this she needed something sweet.

Logan stalked into his bedroom, sending a brief glare at the phone currently lit up and dancing over the desk like a Vegas showgirl. Damn thing never stopped. He’d only just gotten back from that damn photo shoot and he needed space for a second before yanking his game face back on.

He towelled off and grabbed some jeans. The phone fell silent. Less than two seconds later it started up again. He growled and moved closer to check the screen and see who was so determined to get hold of him. It better not be his PA giving him more grief. But the screen read Rocco.

It wouldn’t be grief Rocco would give. More likely an invitation to sin. And Logan was being saintly this week. He’d been saintly for the last three months, sixteen days and ninety-four minutes. Not that he was counting.

He watched the phone vibrate for a half second. But temptation and Logan had once been tight friends and hadn’t Logan been ignoring temptation for too long already? Maybe if he went with it, he’d want it again?

Grinning ruefully he grabbed the phone.