The lie comes easily. If I tell him the truth — that his mother has taken up residence in my subconscious and is running a campaign of psychological warfare in my dreams — he'll worry. He'll want to come over and fix it.
And there's nothing to fix. I need to process the rest on my own.
Logan: Good. Miss you. Dinner tonight?
Me: My place. I'll cook.
Logan: Can't wait.
I take a long sip of the coffee I picked up on the way in. Clara stops by my door on her way to her office.
“You look tired,” she says.
“Long weekend.”
“The dinner?”
“The dinner.”
“That bad?”
“His mother reiterated what she said ten years ago. Logan needs someone devoted to his career.”
Clara leans against the doorframe. “Oh my God. How did Logan react?”
“He was awesome. He stood up for me. It was the bravest thing I've ever seen him do.”
“So why do you look like you haven't slept?”
“Because brave doesn't undo ten years of damage in one evening, Clara.”
She nods. “Coffee refill when you're ready. I'm down the hall.”
At nine o’clock, I'm in the conference room on the twenty-fourth floor with my laptop open and my legal pad ready. Wilder Ross is seated on one side of the long table with three executives from the sportswear brand across from him.
Mabel is at the head in her usual chair with her reading glasses on and a pen in her hand. I'm beside her with my professional smile firmly in place and Cat Shaw's voice playing on a loop in the back of my mind.
The sportswear brand wants Logan for a solo endorsement campaign. Print ads, digital content, social media integration. They've put together a presentation with mood boards, campaign concepts, and projected reach. The money is significant — seven figures over two years.
The marketing director is a woman named Diane, mid-forties, polished, confident. She clicks through the presentation with the ease of someone who has pitched a hundred campaigns.
“Logan Shaw is perfect for this,” Diane says. “He's got the look, the build, and the on-ice credibility. Our research shows he tests extremely well with the twenty-five to forty-five male demographic. He's athletic, handsome, and” — she pauses for emphasis — “no girlfriend. Very marketable as a single athlete. Our campaign concept leans into that. The rugged, independent, dedicated-to-his-craft angle.”
No girlfriend. Very marketable as a single athlete.
This is unreal. I’m sitting in a boardroom listening to a marketing executive explain that my boyfriend's romantic availability is a selling point.
“The single athlete angle is strong,” Wilder says. “Logan's personal life has always been private. There's no social media presence, no tabloid history, no public relationships. It reinforces the brand identity.”
“Exactly,” Diane says. “He's the strong, silent type. Women want him, men want to be him. And the fact that there's no girlfriend in the picture means we can position him as aspirational without any complications.”
Complications. That's what I am. A complication.
I take notes and nod. I ask a question about the exclusivity clause in the proposed agreement. I redirect the conversation to contract terms and performance benchmarks. I’m professional and precise, and nobody in this room has any idea that the woman reviewing Logan Shaw's endorsement deal is the same woman who was in his bed this weekend.
The meeting ends at ten-thirty. Handshakes, business cards, promises to review the terms. Wilder walks the sportswear executives to the elevator, and Mabel gathers her files and leaves.
I go to my office and close the door. I sit down at my desk, put my hands flat on the surface, and breathe.
