Bad Boy Rich
“I thought he would sign it over.”
“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’d said too much. I sensed it when Logan’s brows raised. Emerson looked 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 made no sense. She didn’t want to work with him and he seemed uninterested.
Logan taps his knuckles on the table, fist curled 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 was like a car crash. You want to turn around because watching is painful but at the same 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 up and Emerson leaves the table to retrieve her. With Logan busy on his own cell, I decide to check mine.
There were a dozen messages from Phoebe; a state of panic that only Phoebe would find herself in.
Talk me out of getting bangs
Like right now…
I think it will make my face look skinnier.
Like Reese Witherspoon.
I got bangs.
Why didn’t you talk me out of this!
I look like a ten-year-old boy.
The messages went on and on, pictures attached of her new do. I laughed 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.
Sorry I left. Not sure why I did.
I stare at the few words. I wasn’t sure 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 had issues I should probably just stay away from.
Then my secret gut—the one underneath that gut—types faster than I can think.
I don’t even know how to respond to this.
I hit send, instantly cringing at my honesty and letting out a frustrated sigh.
“Is everything okay?” Logan asks, lifting his eyes away from his screen though he is 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 seemed so foreign. I needed to stop now. This wasn’t right. My head has been all over the place and Wesley filled this emptiness that had consumed me.
“Alaska, right? Emmy was telling me. You must think it’s crazy out here. I know I do.”
Logan tells me about Emerson and him growing up back east. How simple their lives were and how family meant everything to them. Emerson’s brother—Ashley—was Logan’s best friend. He was also a soccer player and the three of them being in the limelight was a far cry from their simple upbringing.