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But, as she was about to begin, his cell phone began ringing, interrupting her.
“Go on,” he said, ignoring it.
But his ringing phone had her distracted. “Hadn’t you better answer that first?” she said.
“It can wait.”
“No. Go ahead. It doesn’t really matter. You know how easily women become emotional. You have important things to do.”
She turned away, and he reluctantly lunged for his phone.
No sooner had Logan said hello, than Mitchell Butler blasted him. “What the hell did you do to my daughter?”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She becomes very upset every time I ask her a question or mention your name.”
“Okay,” he said, feeling guilty as he waited for more.
“No! It’s not okay, and until I find out what you did to her, the merger’s off.”
“I can explain.” But could he?
“Then get your sorry ass back to town and do so.” Mitchell hung up.
“What’s wrong?” Cici asked. “Was that Alicia?”
“Her father. He’s calling off the merger. I need to call Hayes.”
She nodded, her expression cool, as he punched in Hayes’s number.
Hayes answered on the first ring. Logan didn’t bother to identify himself. “Butler just called. He wants a meeting.”
“I know. This afternoon. At one sharp. He says the merger’s off. Mind if I ask what the hell’s going on?”
“I can be in New Orleans in an hour or so. I’ll explain everything then.”
“Must have been some party. Did Miss Bellefleur throw you another one of her curve balls? Did you strike out or hit a home run?”
“Don’t hold your breath until you get the update.” Logan flipped his phone shut and whirled on Cici.
“Sorry about all that,” he muttered, feeling bad about how he’d treated Alicia. Suddenly he was too aware that their lives were on opposite tracks. “I guess I’d better get back to New Orleans and start putting out all the fires I’ve started.”
“Sure,” Cici whispered, but her voice caught. And her face was paper white. “I’ll make you some coffee and toast, so you won’t have to stop for breakfast on your way home.”
“You were telling me what happened to you,” he said as he grabbed his slacks off the floor.
“Not now, when your world’s in pieces because of me and you’re in such a hurry,” she whispered, her voice sounding sad and lost as she turned away.
“But I want to know happened to you,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter. Like I said, it’s obvious you have truly important concerns this morning.”
“Cici…”
Ignoring him, she opened a can of coffee.
“Well, if she wouldn’t tell him, she wouldn’t tell him. He had to respect her reasons and let it go, at least, for now.
He dressed hurriedly. Not that he didn’t look a mess with both his shirt and slacks so wrinkled they looked like he’d slept on them. Hell, he probably had.
“Last night was great,” he said.
“Right,” she said, popping two pieces of bread into her toaster.
“Incredible,” he persisted.
“I’m glad you feel that way…if you do.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means whatever happened last night, this morning…these phone calls are your reality.”
“Hell.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
He couldn’t even look at her, much less lie to her, so he stared out the window for a long minute while that telltale nerve in his jaw jumped painfully. “Look, I do have to get back to New Orleans as fast as possible.”
“Of course. I know.” Her teeth chattering, she wrapped her red robe more tightly around herself and concentrated on her toaster. Frowning, she began to tap her nails on the counter. “Damn it, why are appliances always so slow?”
Hoping to dispel the distinct chill in the morning air, he smiled and said, “It’s because you’re watching it.”
She didn’t look up from her toaster. He could tell she was in an even bigger hurry than he was for him to be gone.
“Hey, would you quit worrying about my toast? I can eat on the road.”
“I’m not…worrying…about your stupid toast. Or you. I’m thinking about my looming deadline. I need to work. You’re not the only one with a life, you know. I need to get some writing done. No more procrastinating. The last thing I need is this distraction.”
“So, that’s all I am now to you, a distraction?”
“I can always hope, can’t I?” she said quietly.
