Coming Home (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 2) (10 page)

He felt her gaze like a caress, tracing a slow path down his bare chest and abdomen to the jeans he hadn’t gotten around to buttoning.

“Really?” she murmured. “That’s all it would take?”

He lifted her chin with his finger and captured her lips in a long, thorough kiss.

Eventually, she pulled away. “Much as I’d like to stay, I have to shower and change and go to work.”

He sighed. “Where are you parked?”

“Downstairs, in the garage.”

“Give me a minute, and I’ll walk you down.”

“No need. There’s a twenty-four hour valet.”

“I’ll walk you down,” he repeated.

He left the door to the master bath open, half afraid she would disappear while he was brushing his teeth and pulling on a shirt.

In the elevator, he studied her while she kept her eyes trained on the floor indicator display above the doors.

“You know,” he said casually, “things were much simpler when we lived together.”

She waited until they reached the lobby to answer. “We were a lot younger then.”

“True.” He followed her to the concierge desk where she requested her car, and then outside to the semicircular drive where the valet was supposed to pull up.

Logan waited for her to say something else, but all she did was check her watch. Perversely, it was her very lack of interest that made him want to press the issue.

“So, how about it?” he said.

“How about what?”

“Living together.”

She frowned at him. “It’s too early in the morning for this, Logan, and I haven’t had any caffeine yet.”

It took a few moments for the realization to hit. She thought he was joking.

Damn
. This certainly wasn’t the response he’d anticipated.

In all his years of dating, he’d only made the offer twice. And both times, it was to the same woman.

He hadn’t appreciated how easily things had fallen into place the first time round. A casual question over pizza, a few weeks of scouring the local listings, and it was a done deal. Bye-bye crowded freshman dorms, hello single-family house. The rent was cheaper, the neighborhood quieter, his girlfriend cooked, and he could still bike to campus. Best of all, they could have sex whenever they felt like it, without having to worry about disturbing or being interrupted by any roommates.

No doubt about it, he’d messed up a pretty good thing. He’d acted like an idiot, and they had both paid for it. Especially Grace.

He didn’t blame her if she turned him down. In her place, he’d think long and hard before committing himself to any long-term arrangement too.

But that was okay. As Grace pointed out, he was older now. Hopefully a little wiser. Definitely more patient. And a hell of a lot more determined.

Angie dropped by Logan’s office later that morning.

“You should have told me you were coming,” he said, after he’d ushered out a couple of graduate students. “I’m meeting some moneybags in an hour. If I’d known, I would have scheduled them for after lunch.”

“This is very last minute.” She set her briefcase beside his desk. “I had a deposition nearby that got canceled.”

“You want something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“If you’re talking about the stuff in the lounge, no thanks.” She shrugged out of her suit jacket and hung it over the back of the least uncomfortable looking chair. “When are you going to get some decent furniture in here?”

“When I get tenure.”

“That long?” She sat down. “I’ll call ahead next time. We’ll go to Profeta and get some decent cappuccino.”

“Sounds good.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “So, what’s up?”

“You tell me, Logan.”

“Uh-oh. I sense a lecture coming on.”

“I wish you’d used that Spidey-sense yesterday. What were you thinking, getting into a scuffle with a reporter?”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “He was harassing Grace.”

“Did he touch her?”

“Well, no. But he was getting in her face with the camera, saying all sorts of nasty things. Wouldn’t let us pass.”

“This isn’t like you, Logan. Acting before you think.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt Grace.”

She sighed. “Look, if you’re going to be led around by your little head instead of the big one, at least pick someone who doesn’t have so much baggage. You’re less likely to get in trouble.”

He ground his teeth and reminded himself that Angie meant well. She probably thought she was protecting him. How was she to know that in the span of just a few weeks—make that days—his entire perspective on life had undergone a sea change?

“This isn’t about sex,” he said. “And I didn’t call you last night so you could criticize my choices. I’m not giving up Grace. So if that’s the best advice you have to offer, I can get myself another lawyer.”

“Not so fast, ace. I’ll get you out of this, just give me time.” She studied him with narrowed eyes. “Not about sex, you say?”

Several seconds ticked by before he answered. “No.”

“Okay, then. You want the paparazzi to stop bothering your lady? Let’s have her do an interview. I’ll find someone reasonable, don’t worry. Grace can answer a few questions, dish a little about life and love and whatever else is on her mind.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Dead serious. You want to help her or not?”

He glared at her.

“Then this is your best bet,” she said. “The press wants something, you give it to them, they go away. Problem solved.”

“Fine. Do it.”

“Not so fast. You’re forgetting something.”

“What?”

“You’re not off the hook yet. Still that little issue of whether or not the guy plans to file charges. You have his number? I’ll call, see if we can straighten things out.” She tapped her lip with a slim finger. “Maybe if you agree to cover the cost of the damaged equipment and issue an apology?”

“An apology?
Me?
The guy practically assaulted her!”

“Practically doesn’t count. You, on the other hand, pushed him back and broke his camera.”

“He deserved it.”

She waved his protest aside. “Whatever. He’s still within his rights to press assault charges against you, and sue your sorry ass for emotional pain and suffering. Might even drum up some medical injuries to get worker’s comp or disability.”

“I barely touched the guy!”

“I’m sure he’ll tell a different story.”

“Then he’s a liar.”

“Tsk-tsk, Logan. You need to dial down the emotions.”

“Whose side are you on, anyway?”

“Yours, of course. Never doubt it.”

Her response deflated his anger. “I screwed up, didn’t I?”

“Letting emotions get the best of you does it every time, ace.”

“She’s worth it.”

Angie shrugged. “If you say so.”

“What’s made you so cynical, anyway?”

“We’ll leave that discussion to another day, when you have more time and plenty of booze on hand.”

He frowned. He’d never seen his sister drink to excess. A story that required alcohol for either liquid courage or as emotional anesthetic sounded ominous.

But before he could question her further, Angie cleared her throat and got up. “Enough of this sentimental crap. You have a meeting to get to, and I’ve got some planning to do. Text me the reporter’s number and I’ll take it from there. I want to get everything wrapped up by the weekend.”

It took some negotiation, but in the end Angie managed to broker a deal with the aggrieved paparazzo that satisfied both parties. In exchange for agreeing to drop charges and signing a waiver promising not to sue, the man got a brand-new, state of the art, professional digital SLR camera with a top-of-the-line zoom lens, flashgun, and power pack.

“I thought extortion was illegal,” Logan said later, as he signed a check to cover the transaction.

Angie added the check to a pile of documents he’d already signed, and placed everything in a folder inside her briefcase. “Just be thankful that the L.A. City Attorney’s office has better things to do than deal with nuisance complaints.”

Logan frowned. “If they weren’t planning to prosecute anyway, then why are we doing this?”

“Because in California, the cap on pain and suffering only applies to medical malpractice.” She shrugged into her jacket and adjusted the cuffs. “So if the guy decided to sue and managed to find an attorney to take his case, you, my friend, might end up paying a whole lot more.”

“But you said this was a nuisance complaint.”

“From a criminal prosecutor’s standpoint, it is. But civil litigation is a whole different ballgame. Juries are unpredictable at best, vicious at worst. Trust me, you’re better off this way.” She picked up the briefcase. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to risk your tenure case over something as stupid as this.”

Logan shouldered his backpack and followed her out, locking the office behind him. “I’ve got a paper coming out in
Nature
next month. Plus a slew of publications in
Neuroscience
and
Neuropharmacology.
I don’t think my tenure case is at risk.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “Glad this hasn’t affected your ego.”

He held the door for her as they exited the building. “Where did you park?”

“Structure 1, off Gayley.”

“I’ll walk you.” He checked the time. If he was lucky, he might catch Grace before she left her office. They hadn’t made specific plans for tonight, but he was optimistic.

Angie’s voice interrupted that thought. “I hope you realize that no one is immune to departmental politics.”

“Yeah, so?”

“If someone doesn’t like you, or has a personal agenda—say, another candidate they want to promote instead of you—they’ll grab onto any excuse. Conceivably, they could make the argument that a long, drawn-out lawsuit takes time and attention away from your professional responsibilities to the university. Not to mention that it calls into question your suitability as a role model for your students.”

“That’s bullshit.”

She shrugged. “That’s politics.”

“Fine, you’ve made your point.” They cut through the medical plaza building toward the garage. As they approached her sporty two-seater, he slowed down. “Angie, you know I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

She must have caught the hesitation in his voice. “But...?”

“What’s to prevent this sonofabitch from stalking Grace again?”

“I can’t give you a one hundred percent guarantee,” she said. “But I suspect that after tomorrow, there won’t be much of a story left.”

“What do you mean?”

“I arranged for an exclusive interview with
Santa Monica Magazine.
Full four-page spread with lots of glossies of Grace and her grandmother and their lovely home. She’ll answer a bunch of questions and hopefully dispel whatever mystery still remains.”

“Grace agreed to this?”

“Yes.”

“And you think it’ll work.”

“Like I said, no guarantees. But there’s nothing duller to the public than a perfectly ordinary woman living a perfectly ordinary life.”

He couldn’t imagine anyone
less
ordinary than Grace. As for her life...well, he wouldn’t call that run-of-the-mill either. “We
are
still talking about Grace, aren’t we?”

Angie smiled and patted his arm. “Trust me.”

###

“I grew up in this house,” Grace said, leading the woman from
Santa Monica Magazine
on a tour. A cameraman followed, pausing every few steps to photograph whatever caught his attention.

“My grandfather bought the place in the 1950s,” Grace continued. “Back when property values were much lower.”

The reporter chuckled. “The land here has appreciated quite a bit since then.”

Grace nodded and proceeded to answer questions about her childhood and adolescence. By the time they returned to the living room, where Ruth King joined them for tea, the topic shifted to Grace’s life in New York. They covered her early years with Harry, touched on the scandals that had already been well documented in the press, and concluded with the events of the last few weeks.

“Harry was a deeply troubled man,” Grace said, as the interview drew to a close. “It’s tragic that he wasn’t able to get the help he needed. Worst of all, he’s not alone. Mental illness affects one in four adults in the U.S. at any given time. It doesn’t discriminate across age, ethnicity, or socio-economic levels. The key is to recognize and treat it early. Unfortunately, less than fifty percent of those affected actually receive treatment.”

“Why is that?” the reporter prompted.

“There’s still a stigma attached to mental illness. What people need to understand is that no one chooses to be depressed or bipolar or schizophrenic. It’s something that happens as a result of genetic, biological, and environmental factors. It’s a disease, like cancer and hypertension and diabetes. And just like those conditions, it’s treatable. Provided there is adequate funding and access to mental health services.”

The interview wrapped up with a few posed shots of Grace and her grandmother.

“Brilliant,” Logan said later, when Grace described the experience over dinner Saturday night. “And you got a plug in for mental health reform.”

“Sort of,” she said, allowing herself a small smile. “If they include it in the final copy. At least some good will come of publicly airing all that dirty laundry.”