‘Who is he, Mike?’ she asked exasperatedly, wanting to be sure of her facts before she gave a whoop of joy.
‘Well, I thought you’d know that,’ he grumbled. ‘I didn’t bother to write his name down, and I’ve forgotten it now. I’m not used to taking down messages about dates for my secretary.’
Callie blushed. ‘I’m sorry about that, Mike. But please try and remember the name.’ There was always the possibility that she was wrong and that it wasn’t Logan. She wouldn’t start celebrating until she was sure.
Mike looked thoughtful. ‘It began with an M, I think. Malcolm…? Morgan…? No, I remember now,’ he smiled, ‘his name was Logan. Ring any bells?’
‘Oh yes!’ she cried excitedly, standing up to hug him. ‘Thank you, Mike. Oh, thank you!’ Logan had called after all. He had called!
‘He’s special, hmm?’
‘He could be,’ she admitted shyly. ‘If we ever get past the stage of arguing all the time.’
‘Mm, he sounded the forceful type.’
‘He is,’ she nodded.
‘And you aren’t backwards in coming forward yourself,’ Mike said ruefully. ‘Callie, I hate to interrupt your ecstasy, but it’s seven-thirty now, and if I remember correctly, Roberto’s is on the other side of town.’
‘Lord, yes! And I have to go home and change. I’ll never make it,’ she groaned.
‘Of course you will. Now just calm down,’ Mike soothed. ‘You drive home, carefully, and I’ll call Roberto’s and tell this Logan you’re going to be a little late.’
‘Would you really do that?’ she gasped.
‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘After all, it’s my fault you’re late. Now off you go—and be careful.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said cheekily before hurrying out of the office.
The traffic was heavy, and she seemed to have to stop at every set of traffic lights, drumming her fingertips impatiently on the steering wheel until the lights turned to green. Then the lift at the flats was out of order, meaning she had to run up the six flights to the flat, and then the telephone was ringing when she got in. It was Marilyn, and so Callie talked soothingly with her friend for ten minutes while she told her all about her father’s illness, the problem of her own lateness for a date, even with Logan, completely unimportant by comparison.
She finally got off the telephone, found the shower water was cold, and then there was a stain on the dress she intended wearing. She didn’t have that many evening dresses, so she was left with the brown velvet she had been wearing the night she and Logan had met. When she had finished getting ready she still wasn’t satisfied with her appearance, but it was already eight-fifteen and Logan wouldn’t wait for ever. He hadn’t come across as a patient man at all.
Once again everything seemed to be out to delay her—the traffic lights, a little old lady strolling across the road as if she had nothing better to do with her time. By the time Callie arrived at the restaurant she was in a complete state of panic, sure that Logan would have left by now, despite Mike’s promise to call and let him know she would be late. It was almost nine o’clock, Logan certainly wasn’t the type to sit around for an hour waiting for a woman, and certainly not one he had argued with the night before.
The doorman looked very formal and correct, and she hesitated about entering, conscious of the elegance and obvious wealth of the other people patronising this fashionable restaurant.
Logan was sure to have left by now, and—
‘Can I help you?’ The doorman had approached her.
‘Er—I’m a little late, but I—I think Mr Carrington may be expecting me inside—’
‘Mr Carrington?’ His haughty manner instantly changed to one of deference. ‘Mr Logan Carrington?’
It was amazing what the mention of a man with money could do to these people, she thought ruefully. ‘Yes, that’s right. You see—’
‘And you would be Miss Day, Miss Callie Day?’
Her eyes widened. ‘You know me?’
He gave her a look that said ‘hardly’. ‘Mr Carrington told us to expect you. We’re to show you straight in.’
She wondered if he consciously used the royal ‘we’ or if it was done without him realising it!
‘Then Mr Carring
ton hasn’t left?’ she said eagerly.