She: Part 2 (16 page)

In the midst of my sounds, Logan comes too, before pulling out of me and rolling onto his back, panting hard. “People will think there’s been a murder,” he laughs airily.

“S’your fault,” I say again, with the biggest smile on my face. It really
is
his fault. “Baby, you do things to me that are out of this world.”

“Ditto,” he breathes. “The way you tighten around me, it makes me lose myself in you. It’s all consuming.
Everything
about you is, you’re all I can fathom…so, no, Gemima, it’s not my fault, it’s most definitely yours,” he tells me.

I grin at him, enjoying his explanation. I’ve never been happier to take the blame.

5. What A Man

“
S
hit
!” Logan shouts.

My eyes dart open; I feel like I’ve only just closed them, but I know that I haven’t because of the amount of light that’s now creeping out from behind my curtains…a little too much light compared to when I usually get up.

I scramble for my phone to look at the time. “
Shit
!” We’re late. We’re very late!

We dart out of bed; I head for the bathroom, Logan for the kitchen. While I hurriedly wash myself and pull on some clothes, Logan gets the coffee brewing. Then we swap, him in the bathroom, and me pouring the coffee, which will be our only breakfast this morning. We drink it, never minding that it’s piping hot, and then we make out for all of two seconds, before both conceding that we
have
to go. Before he reaches the kitchen doorway, Logan comes to an abrupt halt and I crash into the back of him.

“What?” I ask.

He points to the kitchen table where I’ve laid out his birthday presents. His face is youthful, excitable, he’s smiling his boyish smile. “Are those for me?”

Damn!
Not a great hiding spot
,
Gem
. “Yes.”

He picks each of them up, registering their weight and giving them each a customary little shake to try and coax them into revealing their identities to him. “Can I open them now?”

“No,” I grin. “You can have them on Thursday morning. They’re not your main present, anyway,” I hasten to add. “You’ll see that tomorrow night,” I tell him.

“And I can’t wait,” he beams. He puts the presents down and we leave.

Just before we have to part to go to our separately parked cars, I tell him, “There’s somewhere I’d like to take you tonight, after our
meeting.
It’s just something silly, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Looking forward to it, Miss. Samuels.” He steps forward to kiss me goodbye. “Until four-thirty, baby.”

As I head to my car, one thought goes through my mind:
please
,
let this day pass quickly
.

* * *

It doesn’t. In fact, it’s probably one of the worst days I’ve had at Pierson House since I started. My lack of energy and sustenance means that I feel drained the entire morning, despite my constant supply of coffee, which I manage to spill over a pile of important documents, twice. This has me running back and forth to the copy machine, feeling flustered and completely unprofessional.

When lunchtime finally brings some sweet reprieve, I head for the cafe down the street to order an enormous amount of food, and then it’s back to the grind, for an afternoon of back-to-back client meetings.

First up I deal with my most unpleasant client to date, who seems capable of only saying no to my every idea. And I mean
every
idea. I’m at my wits end, and needing a time out, I go to make her a cup of tea; chamomile, perhaps in hopes of sedating her. When I return, I find her thumbing through one my sketchbooks, a book that I’m almost certain was hidden away in one of my desk drawers only minutes ago. Having already had quite enough of her shit, not to mention her wholly inappropriate rifling though my drawers, I’m about to say something that could quite easily get me fired, when she looks up at me with a huge smile on her face. I freeze. It’s like she’s a different person.

“J’ai trouvé quelque chose de magnifique,” she beams.
I
’
ve found something magnificent
.

At last
. My whole body relaxes, releasing my pent up tension. The sketchbook in question is one that I’ve dedicated to my landscape design ideas.

“This…and this…and this,” she points out my own drawings to me, “they’re beautiful!”

“Thank you,” I say, setting her tea down in front of her. “You want a garden
in
your home?” I make sure I’ve understood her correctly.

“Oui, ce serait parfait!”
Yes
,
that would be perfect
!

Uh
,
really
? I smile and nod, the way Amélie would.
Anything for a client
. “OK, that’s what we’ll do,” I assure her.

After that she’s different, warm, friendly, and chatty. By the time we part company thirty minutes later, I actually quite like her. But no time to dwell, for as one client exits, another enters, and this one is another nightmare with no let-up at all until I show him out an hour later. I stand next to Layla’s reception desk and wave him away with a sigh.
Good riddance
,
you miserable bastard
.

As he exits, Layla says, “Just one more before you get to go and play.”

“Excuse me?”

She consults her massive diary, in which everyone’s meetings are listed so that she can keep track of who’s coming and going from the building. “You’re meeting Mr. Leary at four-thirty, non?” she asks, and I nod. “Only one more to go.”

“Right, but, uh, we’re not playing,” I whisper to her. “We’re working, Layla.”

She looks at me the same way that Amélie does, seeing straight through me. I say nothing else, there’s no point.

“Your next client has already arrived, I showed her into meeting room five,” Layla says.

I nod and leave.
Just one more before I get to go and play
.

* * *

An hour later I leave work too consumed with sending a
welcome home
text message to my mom to notice a figure leaning against the outside of Pierson House. I almost walk into him, stopping just short, and doing a double take when I see who it is.

Jerry
is here. Black eye and all.

My eyes narrow. “You’re not here to kidnap me, are you?” I say sarcastically.

He cracks a smile, coming away from the wall, shaking his head. “You didn’t call me,” he says, and I notice that the mere sound of his voice annoys me.

I stare at him, bemused. “Was I supposed to?” I ask.

“I told Logan to tell you about my mom…”

An uncomfortable lurch goes through me upon remembering. “Oh, yes. He did,” I tell him. “I’m sorry about that, Jerry. Please give her my best wishes,” I say, stepping to the side to walk past him.

He rolls his eyes. “She’s not sick, Gem.”

“Then why—?” I begin to say, before I stop in my tracks, realising… “Oh my god, please tell me you didn’t
fake
your mother’s illness to try and get me to talk to you?” I exclaim. Logan’s suspicions were spot on.

Jerry’s silence is as good as a confession.

Urgh
! “Jerry, that’s disgusting!” I yell at him.

“I want you back,” he says, stepping towards me.

“No,” I shirk out of his reach.

“Please,” he says softly.

“
No.
This has to stop. Why can’t you get that into your head? I
don
’
t
want to hear from you or see you again. I don’t want you to show up at my work like this. Or my home,” I add pointedly, staring him down.

“I’ve no idea where you live,” he tells me earnestly.

“
Good
.”

“I’m not a creep like that,” he says. “I’m not a creep like Leary.”

I sigh, and keep walking to my car. I’m not going to listen to him badmouth my boyfriend. He’s a jealous and scorned ex, and I’ve had just about enough of him, but I know that he’s following me, and I know there’s more he wants to say. I reach my car, turn to face him, and tell him as clear as day, “You have to move on.”

“I can’t, Gem. Please,” he starts pleading with me.

“You
have
to,” I impress. “I really don’t want to have to google restraining orders. Filing one would be way too much paperwork,” I say, opening the door and getting into the drivers seat. I look up at him, hoping very much that it’ll be for the last time. Ever. “Move on,” I tell him again, “or the next time I see you, you’ll have a matching black eye and your balls in a vice.”

Way to be badass
,
Gem
. I slam the door shut, start the ignition, and taking a leaf out of Amélie Clémence’s book, I flip him the bird as I drive away.

* * *

The building site is only a few blocks from my mom’s house. I park in an open lot, across the road from the site opening where I’m meeting Logan. Jerry doesn’t occupy a single one of my thoughts — all I can think about is Logan and why he wanted to meet me here. What has he got planned?

Tall wire fencing surrounds the entire site, with intermittent
Leary Constructions
banners hung on the them; a popular sight throughout Paris. I vaguely wonder if Logan could get me one. I amuse myself as I walk across the road, toying with the idea of hanging one up in my bedroom as the ultimate fangirl move.
He
’
d love it
.

Contained within the five acre site are three enormous concrete towers, each at varying heights, the tallest of which stands nearly thirty storeys, though it’s still unfinished. They’re all unfinished. I shouldn’t start work on this project for at least another couple of months, I think. It makes me question Logan’s motives again — why did he want to meet here?

A bulky, silver pickup truck stands in front of the entrance, and Logan leans against it, his arms crossed. He does the whole leaning back, looking sexy thing very, very well. My heart starts thumping when I see him, my eyes unabashedly scanning him from head to booted toe. He’s dressed in a way that I’ve never seen him before. Granted, a vast majority of the time I’ve been with Logan, he’s been naked, but aside from his birthday suit, I’m used to seeing him in tailored work suits, which easily make me weak at the knees. But today, right now, he’s dressed for his other role; not the smart-looking businessman, but the construction worker.

“Oh
my
god,” I say, my eyes doing another vertical scan of him. I feel totally flummoxed by the sight of him.

Don
’
t be so shallow
, I chide myself.
Fuck it
, I think, he is utterly gorgeous!

He’s wearing dark coloured jeans, steel-capped boots, a pale blue shirt with his sleeves rolled up despite the cool day, and a smile that is so delectably smug that, given a minute or two, I could get off on it alone. His orange high-visual vest completes his look and I run my hands all over it when I reach him.

It’s as a proud interior designer that I inform him, “You’re wearing complimentary colours.” Orange and blue, classic combination.

Logan’s smile grows more pronounced, his dimples appearing. “I love it when your beautiful blue eyes look at me like that,” he says, his hands gripping my waist as he leans down to kiss me. He presses his lips against mine for a too-brief moment. “You look like you want to take me home,” he says against my mouth.
Jeez
, will I ever get over how handsome he is? Will he ever not have this effect on me? I certainly doubt it.

“And
you
look like you’re on your way to a
very
sexy costume party,” I grin.

He laughs into my mouth, and then temptation overcoming him, he kisses me again. Longer, deeper, wetter. Grabbing his high-vis vest, I hold him to me, immersing myself in our kiss with a passion equal to his. He is such an incredible kisser; he makes me feel renewed, he is entirely able to rid my mind of the memories of even my worst day at work.

Releasing his vest I instead wrap my arms around his neck, my hands tangling in his hair, as I push my body more firmly against his. His arms tighten around my back, and our kiss continues, deepening in both meaning and satisfaction. When we finally break apart both of us have wide, desire-filled eyes.

“Hello, baby,” Logan finally greets me.

“Hi,” I giggle, before giving him another quick peck. “Good day?” I ask.

He nods. “But it can always get better,” he says, his words containing hidden meaning. “You?”

“Totally shit,” I tell him. “Infinitely better now, however.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Thank you for coming to this business meeting,” he then says formally, straightening up.

My mind starts racing immediately.
Are
we working, after all? I didn’t even bring the project file with me! Logan steps me a few paces backwards so that he can turn around and open his truck door. He pulls out two hardhats.
Shit
!

“I, uh—” I’m about to confess my lack of preparation when he cuts me off.

“Do you see that building?” he asks, pointing to the tallest of the three within the site.

“Do
you
?” I question him back. “There’s not much point in me sizing up a space that doesn’t yet exist,” I say truthfully.

“There’s not,” he agrees, with a smile. “That’s not why you’re here.”

Oh
! I relax and grin back at him.
Now
we’re getting somewhere. “Why, then?” I enquire slowly.

Openly, brazenly, and oh, so sexily, Logan reveals, “I want to do you on the top floor.”

My eyes widen, and his smile broadens. Then, reluctantly, I look away from his stunning face back to the building, eyeing it all the way to the top. There are no exterior walls. No windows. My stomach does a flip, butterflies take flight, and that gloriously familiar longing for him courses through my whole body.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” I ask, though we both already know that regardless of his answer, I’m onboard with the idea. I’m onboard two hundred percent.

Logan takes one of the hardhats and places it on my head. “Just keep this on… You may need it.” His eyes gleam with enthusiasm, he’s brimming with playfulness.

Matching him, I straighten it up, grinning, “Oh, la la!”