She: Part 2 (9 page)

So, really it’s a good thing that I had sex in your home, otherwise you’d be injured, instead of me. Don’t worry, I’m fine…I’m sure it’ll straighten up in time.

I’ll replace the swing imminently. So, it’s mirrors vs sex swing… how did I do? Pretty great, right?

I laugh too as I read his explanation. “That’s a really good drawing,” I note. “It, uh, looks like we’re having fun.”

Logan smiles over his shoulder at me. “I’ve no doubt we would do, if it were working.” He laughs again, and then sighs, “Oh, I’m going to kill him.”

Why
? “Because he had sex in your home?” I ask.

“No, because he’s installed a fucking sex swing the week my parents are coming to visit,” Logan exclaims.

I laugh again. Ah, yes, that
could
lead to some awkward questions. “Just pretend it’s for pull ups,” I suggest.

“Hmm,” he considers, handing me Buddy’s note, and walking to stand beneath the pole. Turning to face me, he jumps and holds onto it, then slowly he pulls himself up and then lets himself down.

I watch on, impressed, as he repeats the process. Logan laughs at the lustful look on my face.

“
This
I’m allowed to do?” he questions me. “But I’m not allowed to lift
you
up, even though you’re probably fifty pounds lighter?”

Where
’
s your consistency
, I scold myself. “Stop,” I tell him, my stern voice back. He smiles upon hearing it again, and lets go of the pole, dropping to the ground. “Sorry,” I say. “From now on, no heavy lifting of
any
sort, no matter how much it turns me on.”

“Turns you on?” his smile grows. “Really?” He walks towards me, tucking his shirt back into his suit pants.

“Really,” I confirm. “Here, let me help you with that,” I offer, as he comes to a stop before me. I squeeze my hand between his shirt and his belted trousers; it’s a tight fit. When I’m done I rest my hands on his tummy, feeling his muscles.
Dammit
, why did I have to touch him? To feel his firm abs? Now I want him!

It’s tempting to forgo my first hour at work in favour of spending it with Logan. While yesterday was incredible, and while I love going through this normal morning routine with him, I haven’t touched him intimately since Saturday night.
That
’
s no time at all
, my mind tells me, and yet for us, it feels like a long time.

Internally, I roll my eyes at myself.
You
’
ve got to go to work
,
Gem
, I sigh.

Logan smiles at me, no doubt having the same argument in his own mind. “Let’s go,” he says, taking my hand.

“Yes. None of this dillydallying nonsense,” I agree.

He looks at me in amusement, but nods. “Otherwise we’ll be here all day,” he muses, littering my mind with pleasurable images of the pair of us in his man’s den.

I shake my head, refocussing myself. I’ve got a full day of work ahead of me, and it won’t do at all to have such images permanently plaguing me. “We must behave properly,” I blurt out as we step into the lift. The doors close and in an instant Logan has me pressed against the elevator wall.

“I’d prefer to misbehave,” he says.

* * *

Aside from our brief and brilliant experience in the elevator, I do manage to conduct my morning in a very professional manner. I sign on two new clients, as well as completing three existing projects. I am on a roll, I celebrate, though, come lunchtime, I’m exhausted and flop back in my desk chair, downing my stale coffee, which I almost spit out when I spot Amélie and another woman walking in from reception. They’re talking quietly amongst themselves, so my ogling fortunately goes unnoticed.
That
’
s Madeleine Lily
, my mind screams — she’s my landscape design idol! Clearly she’s a new client here, and I immediately lament that she’s not one of mine. Though I doubt I’d get much work done for her, as I’d be constantly picking her brain about all things landscaping.

I watch them walk away, towards Amélie’s office, and consider creating an obscure reason to visit Amélie right now, before deciding that that would be taking my girl-crush to an awkward place.
No
,
Gem
,
don
’
t be weird
.

Instead I decide to get some fresh air and pick up something to eat from the cafe down the street. My purse in hand, I’m almost at the doors to reception when my work station phone starts ringing.
To answer or not to answer
?

Making a snap decision, I hurry back and pick it up just in time. “Gemima Samuels, how may I help you?”

“Hey, Gemima, it’s Buddy.”

“Hi, Buddy,” I smile. “Have you spoken to Logan yet?” I wonder.

“No,” he laughs. “I’m guessing y’all found my present?”

“We did,” I admit. “It was…” I think of the right word.

“Awesome?” Buddy helps me. “Spectacular? Better than mirrors?”

“Disappointing,” I settle for.

“What?” he exclaims, and I laugh. “Why?” he asks.

“Because there was nothing there, only the promise of something…”

“Well, just you wait! Save your feedback for afterwards.”

“OK,” I agree. Then, unable to help myself, I ask him, “Are you healing well?”

It’s his turn to laugh. “Not gonna lie, I’m a little sore, but my man-doctor tells me I’ll be fine.”

“I’m happy for you,” I tell him.

“Thanks. Hey, uh, I’ve been trying to call Loges but I can’t get through. I guess he’s busy dealing with the fallout from the fight,” he says, as if I know what he’s talking about.

I blanch. “Fallout from
what
fight?” I ask, concerned.

“Uh…the fight with your ex,” he says. “News of their run-in on Thursday night has spread like wildfire over the weekend.”

I face-palm myself.
Shit
! “What exactly
is
the news?” I ask tentatively. Before he can tell me, I tell him, “There isn’t much to report.”

“Logan Leary losing his cool is a
lot
to report in our industry, Gemima. Everyone thinks he’s such a levelheaded guy…”

“He is!” I wail.
Fuck
, I think. This is all Jerry’s fault!

“He’s not in any trouble,” Buddy tells me. “I think people are just surprised, and curious. So, uh, what actually happened? If I know your side of events, then I can start spreading those…”

I roll my eyes. Do I really want to contribute to the gossip rags? Yes, yes, I do! “Jerry called me a whore, among other things, so Logan punched him. Once. But Jerry was fine,” I lie. “If he’s saying otherwise—” I begin, heat rising within me. That fucking prick!

“He’s not,” Buddy assures me. “Word got out that they were in a scrap, and to be perfectly honest I think most of the guys in our industry are a little jealous not to be the one to throw the punch. Your ex isn’t very well liked.”

“I know,” I mutter. “So, you’re sure Logan’s not going to lose any jobs over this?”

“Nah,” he sounds relaxed. “He can handle the damage control. He’s very charming when he wants to be.”

I can’t help but smile at his words. “Yes, I know,” I say again. I relax, calming the sudden, indignant flames within me.

“I’m actually kinda hoping that this will reboot his old nickname,” Buddy chuckles.

“Which is?” I ask curiously.

“The Wolf,” he says.

I snort into the phone. “You’re joking,” I assume.

“No, Ma’am. When he was a young American man in Paris the elders in our industry nicknamed him. He was a fierce competitor to them.”

I’m not entirely sure whether he’s messing with me or not, I’ll have to run that name past Logan to know for sure. “Uh, OK,” I say ambiguously, before changing the subject. “So, anyway, what can I do for you this afternoon?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, actually, it’s not a work related call. I’m just having lunch and cruising Tinder, as you do—”

“What’s Tinder?” I ask.

“It’s a dating app,” he tells me. “Wait, you don’t know Tinder?” He seems genuinely surprised.

“No,” I tell him.

“Then, why are you on here?” he asks.

Huh
? “What do you mean?”

“So, I’m scrolling through pictures of girls, hitting the yes or no button, and suddenly your mug pops up…”

Oh
? “Where’d they get my picture from?” I wonder.

“From you,” he says, as if I’m being obtuse. “Because you must have an account with them. That’s why I’m calling. I thought maybe you’d forgotten to delete it since you and Loges started together,” he explains.

“I don’t have an account with them,” I say. Clearly. “I’ve never heard of it before.
But
, if it’s some sort of dating site, then it
is
possible that Amber created something behind my back.” Hmm, surely she would have reveled in putting me on a dating site, I think. But, then,
who
?

“Amber? The mirrors girl?” he asks.

“Yup.”

“I think I’d like to meet her.”

“She’s happily married,” I tell him for the second time.

“That hasn’t stopped me before,” he admits.

“So I’ve heard.” The words are out of my mouth before I can hold them in.
Fuck
!

There’s a small silence before he starts laughing, “Yeah, I figured Logan would tell you sooner or later.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” I promise him. “And I’ll call Amber now and get her to delete the profile or whatever it is,” I add.

“Cool,” he says.

Then, my big mouth getting the better of me again, I ask, “Do you always trawl for women during your lunch breaks, Buddy?”

“What else is a guy to do with a free hour?” he quips.

“What about your
friend
that you tested the swing with on Friday night?”

“I can’t see her again,” he says immediately, “not after the pain she caused my johnson.”

I laugh out loud. “Fair enough.”

“We were celebrating after I won a big job,” he tells me, and I remember Logan showing me Buddy’s picture in the newspaper. “Logan’s been so distracted with wooing you lately, that I poached it out from under him.”

My laughter dies. Oh, no! “
Really
?” I ask.

Buddy laughs, and again I can’t tell if he’s joking or not. “Don’t worry,” he tells me, “he’s got a few pennies stashed away.” He then clears his throat loudly. “No. No. No,” he says, no doubt flicking through his Tinder options.

“You better get back to it, then.”

“Sure thing. Say hi to Amélie for me, won’t you?” He presses his luck.

“Absolutely not,” I grin.

“Understandable,” he says, and I can practically hear that he’s grinning too. “I’m gonna try and call Logan again now. Want me to pass any messages along?”

“Yes, please,” I smile. “Tell him that I’ve never enjoyed an elevator ride more.”

“Urgh!” Buddy scoffs, making me laugh again. “Alright, I guess I’ll see you at the party on Saturday?”

“Yes, I’ll see you then. And thanks for alerting me to this Tinder thing,” I say earnestly.

“No problem. I just had to make sure you weren’t two-timing my best friend,” he reveals. “It’s my duty as his wingman.”

I smile into my phone — that’s not the explanation he gave earlier. “Of course, I understand. See you soon, Bud.”

“Bye,” he says, and we hang up.

“Pardon, Gemima?” Layla calls immediately from the reception doorway.

My head darts up. “Oui?”

“Quelqu’un est ici pour vous voir,” she informs me.
Someone is here to see you
.

“Can you send them through?”

“Excusez-moi, mais non. Ce n’est pas une cliente,” she explains.
Excuse me, but no. They
’
re not a client
.

“Oh, uh, OK,” I say, grabbing my purse and hurrying over to her. Beyond the double doors I find Amber impatiently tapping her foot against the floor, waiting for me.

“Gem!” she lights up when she sees me. “Can you do lunch?” she immediately asks.

I beam at her and nod vehemently. Then I stand between Layla and Amber smiling from one to the other and wondering if they’ve figured out who the another one is. It becomes quickly obvious that they’ve no idea that their partners are brothers.

“This is Layla,” I say pointedly to Amber.

“Hey,” Amber says lazily, clearly not registering the name.

“
Layla
,” I mouth at her again.

Amber looks at me like I’m losing my mind. “
So
?” she mouths back.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Layla says politely. The kind of polite that she reserves for clients or visitors.

I avoid the temptation to roll my eyes at them. Finally, I look at Layla and blurt out, “Amber is Patrick’s sister-in-law.” Then to Amber I say, “Layla is Patrick’s girlfriend.”

They both go “
Oh
!” and instantly become warmer towards one another. After a couple of minutes of chatting back and forth, during which they swap numbers (for potential double dates) Amber and I leave, arm in arm.

“I know where we can go,” I say, thinking of Cafe Genévrier, and setting a fast pace for it. There’s something there that I’m eager to see.

Buddy’s call fresh in my mind, I then quiz Amber about the Tinder profile, and as I expected, she claims her innocence.

“It was probably your mom,” she suggests.

“My mom? Do you think?” I wonder.

“Mine created one for me when I was single and miserable,” she explains.

“I wasn’t miserable, exactly. Though I wasn’t as happy as I am now,” I concede.

Smiling, Amber asks, “How is Logan Leary?”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I smile back at her, though I’m reminded once more of my conversation with Buddy and what he revealed about Logan dealing with the fallout of his run-in with Jerry. Upon telling Amber this, we both irrevocably decide that it’s all Jerry’s fault, and we spend the rest of our journey trash-talking him.

Walking into the open square, I’m overcome with excitement when Cafe Genévrier comes into view. Despite the brilliant time I had in the south of France, I can’t help but feel glad to be home. This weekend is one of only a dozen times that I’ve left Paris since moving here and though a change of scene is nice, healthy even, I missed this city. The sounds, the sights, the smells. The endless flow of people, no matter where you are or what time it is. It’s good to be home, I think.