With Milan.
With Italy. With all of it.
The past three days have been a dream. The first night here, Logan took me to this beautiful family-owned restaurant that served the most mouth-watering fresh pasta with shaved truffles. I had to talk to him all evening, but every time he asked about me, I steered the conversation back onto Vex. The last thing I need is more of his disapproval over my choice in reading material or lack of extravagant socializing. And I’m sure that’s what I would have gotten if I’d indulged him in answering the questions about me that he kept trying to ask.
I’ve managed to squeeze some sightseeing in around accompanying Logan to meetings. I’ve been to the cathedral, Il Duomo, went to see Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper, wandered around the shops in Galleria Vittorio Emanuele 11, and stood staring at the Teatro alla Scala. It’s considered the greatest opera house in the world, and I’d have loved to have gotten tickets to watch an opera, but they were sold out.
Most of Logan’s meetings stretch through lunches and even some dinners. He wins the support of the investors with an easy charm that I’ve never noticed before. I knew he must be able to function as an intelligent, even likeable human, otherwise he wouldn’t be as successful as he is. But I’ve never seen it with my own eyes before.
It’s… interesting.
I’ve been recording the meetings to help me write my article. But when it’s got to the money part, I’ve turned off my recorder while Logan and whoever he’s meeting with, sometimes one person, other times three or four at once, talk figures. He never seems fazed whether he’s up against one person or four. He maintains this calm, confident air. He has faith in the project. That much is clear. Faith and passion that make his green eyes light up as he talks about the environmental benefits of Vex. But he also answers their questions honestly and listens to their concerns and suggestions.
Businessman Logan Rich is a different man to my brother’s irritating best friend, Logan Rich.
Some meetings are conducted in Italian, so despite me recording, I haven’t been able to write up notes from those. I will have to spend an evening with him so he can translate. The idea is about as appealing as having a verruca dug out with a spoon. Because despite being able to admit he’s impressive in work mode, he’s still Logan.
I reach out for my recorder, preparing to turn it off as today’s meeting wraps up. It’s been with Trent Forde, a Hollywood special effects director who agreed to a meeting while he and his wife, Shona, are here on vacation. Apparently, Shona has an interest in rockets and space, hence his agreement to invest.
I knock the recorder as I pick it up, and it starts playing at full volume.
I mouth, Sorry, to Trent and Logan as the words “Hai un cazzo squisito, princepe del piacere” ring out around the restaurant we’re in, attracting glances from the other diners.
“Spiacente,” I apologize, gesturing to Logan with a shrug and half smile. I don’t want the other customers thinking I’m calling Trent Forde the most annoying man I’ve ever met. That would be embarrassing.
I throw the recorder into my purse and rise from my seat along with Logan and Trent. Trent extends a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Maddy.”
“The pleasure’s all mine.”
Trent’s grin widens as he shakes Logan’s hand and pats him on the upper arm at the same time. “Nice doing business with you, Prince.”
We say goodbye to Trent outside where Logan’s driver is waiting for us patiently with the car. He opens the rear door as we approach.
“Prince?”
“Just a nickname.” Logan shrugs, gesturing for me to get in first.
I pause. “Actually, I think I’ll walk. It’s a nice night.” I look up the street at all the fairy-lit restaurants with tables out on the street. Each filled with a mix of families, couples, and friends out for a meal together.
“Okay.” Logan nods to his driver.
I swallow down the burst of irritation in my gut as he closes the door before rounding the hood and climbing back in behind the wheel, leaving Logan standing beside me.
Logan holds out a hand, indicating for me to lead the way. He falls into an easy pace beside me as we walk up the street.
“Are you getting close to how much you need to fund the project?” I ask to fill the silence and prevent the conversation from turning to personal topics.
“Slowly but surely.” Logan thrusts his hands deep into his pant pockets as we turn up a small alleyway with a set of stone steps at the end.
“What will you do if you don’t get enough?”
“That can’t happen.”
The sudden seriousness his voice has taken on surprises me.
“It must be a possibility, though? I mean, I don’t know a lot about how much these things cost, but I’m guessing it’s a lot.”
The deepening scowl on his face makes me regret asking. I know he takes his work seriously. But I’ve never seen him this worried before.
“One hundred and fifty million.”
“What?” I stop walking and turn to face him.
“That’s how much we need to fund the project, give or take. Finish developing the prototype, run test flights. Pay the team involved.”
“Wow, that’s… a lot of paper rounds.”
Logan’s expression softens and he laughs as we walk again. “Sure is. But it’s something that has people excited. I’ll get the funding.”
I don’t ask again what will happen if he can’t. Because as much as I don’t like him, I don’t want to upset him on purpose, either.
As we reach the top of the stone steps, the area opens into a square. It’s filled with people cheering as a newly married couple walk from a building, the bride holding a giant bouquet of calla lilies up in the air.
“Wow, it’s stunning.” I stop and take in the scene as their guests envelop them in hugs and kisses. The bride is wearing the most incredible lace wedding dress I’ve ever seen. And as the groom accepts the well-wishes, he looks back at his bride every few seconds with a look of complete adoration on his face.
I wrap my arms around myself, pulling my cardigan around my dress.
“Getting soppy on me, Smiles?” Logan bumps shoulders with me.
“I don’t expect a man with the emotional maturity of a rock to understand,” I breathe absentmindedly as I immerse myself in the magic of the moment taking place in front of us.
The wedding party moves up the street together, a ball of happy, buzzing energy, and we trail behind, heading in the same direction. I still can’t take my eyes off the bride and how happy she looks.
“Try me,” Logan says.
I’d rather give my full attention to the wedding group than indulge him in whatever ‘make Maddy look stupid’ game he’s got in mind.
I follow the bride’s movements. She’s laughing, her head tipped back to the evening air as her long hair flows down her back in waves. She’s the epitome of joy right now. Carefree… In the moment… In love.
I blink and wipe under my eyes. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“Probably not. But I’ll try… for you.”
I side-eye him, waiting for the smirk. But it never comes.
“Fine.” I blow out a breath.. “It’s love. It’s beautiful and simple all at once. And it gives hope.”
For once, Logan’s quiet and listening with a thoughtful expression instead of a smug one. He nods at me to continue.
I pull my cardigan tighter across my chest. “It’s why I love reading. It’s about escaping somewhere safe, forgetting real life and whatever drama or conflict might be going on in the world. And just… being in a safe place, I guess.”
“I think I understand that.” He frowns as we walk, his eyes on his feet, hands still in his pockets. And he’d probably look adorable to someone else. The tall billionaire, clothed in his designer suit, all powerful, but with an uncharacteristic vulnerability on his face as he tries to see something in a way he never has before.
But I’m not someone else.
“Reading can make a hard day a little easier. It’s powerful. I know lots of people who read to leave their worries behind, even if only while they’re lost between the pages.”
“Maybe I should try it,” Logan says softly.
I turn and study his furrowed brow as he keeps his eyes cast down. His eyelashes fan out around his eyes, dark and thick. This version of Logan—the one with a heart—is not one I’m accustomed to. It’s unnerving enough to make my words dry up.
We walk a little further and the wedding party soon disappears in another direction, leaving us alone. I can’t stop glancing at Logan. He’s deep in thought, his lips in a firm line and creases worrying the edges of his eyes. His hair is swept back from his face and he’s no longer freshly shaven. The early start we had has left a dusting of a shadow on his strong jaw. It stands out against his stark white collar. He swallows, and the motion contracts the muscles in his thick neck, but he remains silent.
“What do you worry about?” The words spill out before I can stop them. I mentally curse myself for sounding like I care and opening myself up to his ridicule.
I learned years ago not to show weakness around Logan. Like when Drew was sent away. Logan following me home from school made me notice Drew’s absence more. And made me hate Logan for the unfairness of it all. Him telling half the school I had crabs was nothing in comparison. He should have been with Drew. They were both as guilty as each other. Drew wouldn’t have been alone if Logan hadn’t squirmed his way out of it.
Some people might argue that Leonard Rich did that, using his money and power, and not Logan. But I still can’t bring myself not to hate Logan for it. He walked free while Drew didn’t. I was the one who lost my brother. Left with a boy who made sure I felt loneliness in a way I would never wish upon anyone.
I doubt Logan worries about the choices he made. Not speaking up. Living under the protection of his dad and the family money. Unless he has a conscience, after all?
I study him as his eyes meet mine, both of us caught in a rare moment of looking at each other. The hairs on the back of my arms prick up as his eyes sweep over my face. There’s a tension in them that makes his green irises burn a darker shade of emerald.
“I worry about disappointing my dad,” he says finally.
I drop my eyes away, disgust washing through me. For a second, I hoped he would say something else. Logan’s always been a daddy’s boy. I bet there’s a long list of times he’s been bailed out by his family fortune.
I increase my pace, eager to get back to the hotel and into my room. Alone. The magic impregnated in the air that the wedding party created is long gone. Now the streets are as empty as the old memories are making me feel. I tug my cardigan tighter around me.
“Here.” Logan unbuttons his jacket.
“I’m not cold. Just… tired,” I say quickly.
I breathe out in relief as he keeps his jacket on. I can’t deal with him being chivalrous. Not when I’m tired and my guard is down. I’m still processing these new facets of him that keep popping through.
“I doubt your dad will be disappointed. Like you said, you’ll get the funding for this project. He’ll be pleased. You can go home and work on it together. Make new history. Make more money,” I mutter.
Logan walks along beside me, his eyes darting to me every few minutes. The side of my face heats with the attention he’s giving it.
“What?” I snap, unable to take anymore.
He shakes his head, a joyless smile lifting his lips. “Nothing.”
We get to the hotel and he walks me to my room. I’ve given up telling him it’s unnecessary. He does it every time regardless of what I say.
“See you in the morning. We’re leaving at ten, yeah? I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
Logan hovers in the doorway. Surely, he isn’t expecting an invitation in.
“I’ll be here before that to take your suitcase down.”
“I’m a grown-ass woman,” I protest.
“I promised Drew I’d take care of you,” Logan says, the smug smile back on his face. He knows if he throws Drew’s name into things, then I’ll comply.
I begin to close the door, but he sticks his foot into it and raises his brows at me.
“Fine,” I mumble.
His smile grows and he removes his foot. “Sweet dreams, Smiles.”
I hold onto the delight I get from watching the door shut in his face and walk over to my bed, falling back onto it. I pull out my phone and text Chloe.
Me: How many years would I serve for killing Logan as a matter of my own preservation of sanity?
Chloe: I don’t know… twenty-five? I don’t think the defense of ‘he annoyed me so much, it was either him or me’ would stand up in court.
Me: Shame. Tell me something that’ll make me smile.
Chloe: A baboon’s dick is only 5.5 inches long. But a walrus’s is 22 inches.
Me: Why would that make me smile?
Chloe: If you can’t kill him, there’s something else you could take your energy out on 😉
Ugh! Realization dawns that she’s talking about when Logan came in for his meeting with Eve, and I commented about the personality transplant.
Me: You’re sick!
Chloe: Just saying…
Me: Don’t. I’ve already exceeded my usual annual quota of time spent with him. I DO NOT want to see any more of him than necessary to write this piece, thank you.
Chloe: Well, I don’t mind. Feel free to send pics of the sexy walrus.
Me: You and I are no longer friends.
Chloe: Lol. Miss you.
Me: I missed you as well until three minutes ago.
I put my phone down and roll onto my front on the bed, then pull my recorder out and press play. Logan and Trent discuss the project and how revolutionary it is. Trent has a friendly American accent. And he uses mine and Logan’s names a lot. Logan’s voice is deeper, each word deliberate and confident as he talks. And it has a rough timbre when he laughs. He laughs a lot. Trent says something that has him laughing again, and I stop the recording, abandoning writing up any notes tonight. It’s late, and we have the flight to Rome in the morning, followed by a meeting after we arrive.
I open my audiobook instead, taking my phone with me to the bathroom and placing it on the side of the sink as I remove my makeup. Nate Black’s smooth voice plays from the speaker and my shoulders relax. But he doesn’t sound like he usually does. Not as rich, not as deep. It must be because I usually listen with my earbuds in, not through the phone’s speaker.
I pause the audio. I’ll listen on the plane tomorrow with my earbuds so I can enjoy his voice. It’ll mean I won’t have to talk to Logan on the flight either.
Double win.
