The Revenge Games Duet

“The business?” I’m confused by her question, and maybe the whole situation. “He mentioned nothing of the sort. I mean, he seemed distracted.”

I said too much. I sensed it when Logan’s brows raised. Emerson looks disappointed. I’m not the type of person to pry, but I had managed to foolishly spend the night with a stranger. A man who held secrets that Emerson looked like she knew.

This business arrangement of theirs makes no sense. She doesn’t want to work with him, and he seems uninterested.

Logan taps his knuckles on the table, his fist curling into a tight ball driven by frustration and anger. “I don’t understand why you don’t just let go. We’ve got money.”

“Because I built this from nothing. I can’t just give up…”

His stare is anything but sympathetic. It’s cold and unforgiving. “It’s like you don’t want to let go.”

“Logan,” she warns. “Not again. Please.”

It’s like a car crash. You want to turn around because watching is painful, but at the same time you need to know if the victim pulls through. Logan drops the subject, and Emerson is quick to talk about something else.

For the next thirty minutes, we go through the contracts, highlighting questions for Jeff. We talk until the baby wakes, and Emerson leaves the table to retrieve her. With Logan busy on his cell, I decide to check mine.

There are a dozen messages from Phoebe in a state of panic that only Phoebe can find herself in.

Phoebe: Talk me out of getting bangs

Phoebe: Like right now…

Phoebe: I think it will make my face look skinnier.

Phoebe: Like Reese Witherspoon.

Phoebe: I got bangs.

Phoebe: Why didn’t you talk me out of this!

Phoebe: I look like a ten-year-old boy.

The messages went on and on, pictures of her new do attached. I laugh quietly, not arguing that the hairdresser did a poor number on her hair. I respond quickly, fielding through her regrets. In the middle of my best-friend duty where I begin to tell her it’ll grow back, a message appears from an unknown number.

Unknown: Sorry I left. Not sure why I did.

I stare at the few words. I’m unsure how he got my number or even how to respond. I look up at Logan. He’s busy typing something on his phone. It gives me a few moments to think about what to say. My gut tells me I should just cut ties now. Wesley has issues I should probably stay away from.

Then my secret gut—the one underneath that gut—types faster than I can think.

Me: I don’t even know how to respond.

I hit send, instantly cringing at my ho

nesty and letting out a frustrated sigh.

“Is everything okay?” Logan asks, lifting his eyes away from his screen, though he’s still typing.

“Uh, yeah. Just did something I probably shouldn’t have. You know, stupid text.”

He nods his head. “Boyfriend?”

“Um… no. Boyfriend is back home.”

Liam. How the concept seems so foreign.

I need to stop now. This isn’t right. My head’s been all over the place, and Wesley fills this emptiness that has consumed me. None of this is right, and as long as I distance myself from Wesley as much as possible, last night will just be added to the list of regretful nights starring Milana Milenov and a bottle of wine.