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“Crap,” Flynn muttered. “Didn’t think she knew about those. Fine,” he shouted, “but I’m watching you.”
She tossed her hair at him and blew her whistle to start the game again.
“Look,” Flynn said once the game resumed. “You don’t need advice. You’re just looking for reassurance. But I can’t give you that because the only person who can guess what a woman will do is the woman herself. All I can say is that if you’re in this for the long game, then you need a strategy. Don’t make it up as you go. Nobody ever won the league without a strategy. Utilize your best players, work as a team, and take the ball home.” He slapped Logan on the shoulder.
“Are we still talking about Agnes?” Logan was genuinely confused.
“Aye.” Flynn gave him a look that said he thought Logan was dumber than dirt. “Use the resources you have around you to help Agnes make the right decision. Find out what she wants and give it to her. Support her, even when her ideas seem nuts. Get the town working on your side. Play for the cup, not just the match.”
Logan’s mind raced with all the things he could do to remind Agnes he was there and waiting for her call. He’d spend the evening planning, and then put it straight into effect in the morning. It wasn’t like he wanted to shove her into a decision—he’d been serious when he said he’d respect whatever she wanted to do, but it wouldn’t hurt to keep himself at the forefront of her mind.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said, “but that actually helps.”
“Don’t sound so surprised. Just because I don’t want to talk about this crap, doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m talking about when I do. And you can tell Josh that.” He took a deep breath. “Robby, pass the damn ball. That’s the last time I’m telling you.”
Forty-eight hours. Two sleepless nights. That’s how long Agnes’ brain had been stuck on one continuously repeating question: ‘What do you want?’
She pushed back her chair and rested her forehead on her desk, when what she really wanted to do was bang it against the wood—repeatedly. She couldn’t go on like this. All she thought about was Logan. Memories of his kisses kept her awake at night, making her body burn to the point where her skin was so sensitive even the sheets rasped. Why did he have to be such a good kisser? Why couldn’t he have been one of those sloppy, wet kissers? Or one of those guys who thought shoving their tongue down your throat made them irresistible?
And his body? His body should be outlawed. All those firm, lean muscles. His thighs! Sweet heavens above, those thighs. And that backside of his. He had the perfect bubble butt. But it was his eyes that really drove her insane. Those long lashes, the way the color changed from gold to the deepest chocolate…
She groaned and thumped the desk with her fists. “This isn’t fair,” she whined. “Nobody could hold out against this.”
A knock at her door made her head jerk up. One of the waitresses stood in the doorway, a tray in her hand.
“Um, I’m just delivering your breakfast.” Ruby was very young and obviously scared out of her mind at being the one sent to deal with the manager.
Agnes sat up straight. “I didn’t order any breakfast.” In fact, she hadn’t even had time to grab a muffin before the calls started coming in about one problem or another.
“We know.” Ruby hesitantly entered the room to put the white-linen-covered tray on the desk. “Chef found a note this morning.”
Agnes waited a second, but further information was not forthcoming. “What did the note say?”
“Oh, that we’re to make sure to feed you every few hours, or you become hangry.” Ruby looked ready to bolt, but Agnes pinned her with a well-practiced stare.
“I don’t get hangry,” she snapped, watching as Ruby took two steps back.
“Okay,” the girl said slowly, and Agnes got the distinct impression she was being humored.
“Was the note signed?” she demanded.
Ruby shook her head. “But Chef thought better safe than sorry, so enjoy.” With that, she turned and practically ran from the office. “Someone will be over with your lunch,” she called, and then Agnes thought she heard her mutter, “Please not me.”
Everybody was so sensitive these days.
Agnes slid the tray toward herself and removed the napkin. An assortment of Danish pastries sat on a white plate beside a cup and saucer, milk jug and sugar bowl, and a French press filled with glorious black coffee.
“Bloody Logan,” she muttered. It had to have been his idea, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it other than ignore that he was behind it.
In the meantime, the coffee was calling to her. Eyes closing at the first glorious sip, she inhaled deeply. That was better. After two pastries that melted in her mouth, she had to admit she felt more human. Okay, so maybe there was something to this hangry thing after all.
Maybe.
Mid-morning, after doing a walk-through of the hotel to make sure everything was running smoothly, Agnes returned to her office. Only to stop dead as she entered.
She could have sworn she smelled Logan’s new deodorant.
Sniffing, she walked around the room. There was no sign of him or the source of the smell anywhere.
