The Revenge Games Duet

I hate the way he does that—makes me feel all these things I shouldn’t even be thinking. He just wants to get me into bed, and I’m not that type of girl. I have morals, respect for myself, and a man back home waiting for me.

And then, it all falls apart.

The old me.

Gone, if only for tonight.

I nod, raising my head to meet his lips, watching the depth of his gaze and trying to unravel his intentions. “I’ll stay.”

Chapter Nine

We have spoken for one hour straight about different bodily rashes.

Emerson is adamant that the baby has chickenpox. Her husband, Logan, argues that it’s poison ivy. The poison ivy seems far-fetched, but nevertheless, images were sought after on Google, and my appetite dwindled to nothing after the horrendous pictures I saw.

It’s my first time meeting Logan Carrington. He’s exactly how Emerson described him—stubborn, hot-headed, and gorgeous.

He has an athletic build with well-defined muscles from what I can see. And the longer I sit across from him, the more he looks exactly like Lola. I can’t quite work it out, perhaps it’s the light eyes or the way their faces are contoured.

Emerson and Logan have something unique about their relationship, something I haven’t seen before, like he knows what she’s thinking, or she pre-empts his next move when grabbing the last turkey sandwich. They constantly argue, laugh equally, and despite the occasional heated tension, I enjoy being in their company.

I let out a yawn unexpectedly, covering my mouth and apologizing for my poor manners.

“Late night?” Emerson grins while ripping a piece of lettuce out of her sandwich.

“Just a tad over my bedtime.” I don’t want to appear rude or grouchy, offering a weak smile before pouring myself a much-needed coffee and adding a double dose of sugar, hoping for a rush.

Logan begins to tell us about his trip to Brazil, what it’s like to coach a bunch of teenage boys and the pressure of mentoring them. Somewhere during the conversation, I zone out.

Last night wasn’t what I’d expected.

He didn’t touch me.

Not a single time after the moment he asked me to stay.

We sat in his den, watching a black-and-white movie play on the screen. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t sexual, it wasn’t anything.

We had moments when we watched quietly, engrossed in the storyline. Moments when we spoke about the scene that had just finished or some random topic he would bring up, and somewhere during the night, I fell asleep on the brown leather sofa only to wake in the early morning covered by a blanket.

Wesley was nowhere to be seen.

His housekeeper woke me up, speaking her native Spanish. I couldn’t understand a word. It took me ten minutes to figure out she was offering me breakfast, and that’s only because she dragged me to the kitchen.

Wesley didn’t leave a note, nothing to tell me why he left. I didn’t know what to feel.

His company comforted me in ways I never imagined a stranger could. Then he goes and does something like this—abandonment.

I’m left questioning what last night meant. But I give up when my brain begins to hurt, and conclude that I’m just convenient for him, and in the end, he simply lost interest.

“Drink up, you need a caffeine hit if we’re going to get through these contracts.” Emerson creates a pile for me and opens the first page. “So, Wesley said nothing in the meeting?”

“Not really. Jeff kind of spoke and Wesley just sat.”

“How predictable,” Logan snarks.

Emerson raises one eye at him, quick to ignore his childish comment and move on.

“I thought he would sign it over.”