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Logan shifted his free hand, the one not wrapped around her waist, up to clasp the one pressed into the lapel on his chest. For the average onlooker, it was an intimate pose. It felt real, natural even.
It was weird, and she hated it.
When the camera flash stopped and the man lowered his camera, Marti recognized him immediately—the perks of being dialed in. He was a journalist from the New York Times.
He extended a hand to Marti, and she took it. “It’s nice to see you again, Miss McBride. How’s the column?”
“Fabulous, as usual.” Especially after this. “But actually . . .” Marti’s grin faded. She wrinkled her brow, and with a glance behind her, stepped out of Logan’s arms and away from the people watching them like hawks. Frowning, she leaned in closer to Brian and whispered, “If you wouldn’t mind keeping my presence here between us, I’d appreciate it.”
Brian glanced behind her to Logan, his eyes brightening like a hound dog on a coon’s trail at her request.
She winced. “It would look bad, you know? For my column. Seeing as how I’m supposed to be . . . well . . . single.”
Brian’s mouth parted in shock. “Absolutely,” he said, rushing to reassure her, though she knew it was all an act. “Don’t worry. No one will find out.”
Marti smiled and stepped back toward Logan, then placed a hand on her chest, and mouthed, “Thank you.”
Turning to face Logan, she tipped her head up and stared into his eyes like a woman in love, all while secretly wishing he’d choke on the champagne he managed to acquire during her brief exchange. “Come on, Love, dinner’s starting. Let’s go get a seat, shall we?”
Logan shot her an amused expression.
But the joke was on him because Brian didn’t even wait until they left to scurry outside. He was out the door before they were halfway to their table.
With any luck, the story would be on the front page of the entertainment section by Sunday as well as splashed on every pop news site on the web. Careful what you wish for, Love.
MARTI BURST THROUGH her apartment door and flicked on the light.
She kicked off her shoes, stumbling over them in the process when Fuzz made a beeline for her. Unlike most cats, he was surprisingly social. She had saved him from a kill shelter years ago and never looked back. He needed a home, and she needed companionship. He also happened to be the only man in her life with any permanency.
She plucked him up and looked him in his yellow-green eyes. “It’s you and me, buddy. Against the world.” He mewed like he understood, so she placed him in his bed and padded over to freezer where a new quart of rocky road had her name on it.
She retrieved the carton of ice cream and yanked the lid off like an animal, then grabbed a spoon from the dishwasher and dug in.
She couldn’t help the stab to her pride from this evening. She hated that she let Logan get the best of her. Now she was stuck with him. She couldn’t exactly go off and find someone new tomorrow after declaring to the Times that she was actually dating Logan. Only one outing and a few pictures on social media didn’t entirely help her cause. She still needed an actual boyfriend, not just a single article that stirred speculation.
She curled her lip at the thought, annoyed with herself for opening her big fat mouth because it meant she’d have to find a way to make this thing with Logan a little more regular.
There was always a chance no one would care. Then Blue could kiss her crazy theory goodbye.
To test this theory, she headed to the table, ice cream in hand, and opened her laptop. If anyone had the scoop about her and Logan already, it would be Castille. He was among the elite in New York, a huge social media guru, and the gossip king of the Big Apple. Nothing got past him. If Castille didn’t know about it, it wasn’t newsworthy.
One check of Instagram and Marti was staring at a picture of her and Logan together with the caption, “New York’s new power couple?”
Welp, so much for buyer’s remorse. She’d spilled the beans, played it up for the cameras, and the media sucked it up just like she thought they would. For better or worse, she was stuck with the cocky doctor.
Pursing her lips, she debated on writing an article for her column. No doubt, Blue would be thrilled with this latest development and she’d want Marti to exploit it for every drop of entertainment value it was worth. But how could she? She couldn’t very well confirm her relationship status until speaking with Logan again, and there was no way she was going to call him after their evening at the gala. His ego would explode.
Instead, she needed to let this ruminate, allow Logan to hear and see the news for himself, gauge his reaction, and go from there. More than likely she’d have to tell Logan the truth—that she needed to use him for her column. And he’d bite, she had no doubt about that, because if he thought her mere presence as his date at the event was enough to stir support, imagine what being her boyfriend could do. It’d bring him even more PR for his charity. A trade for a trade.
A new email notification popped up on her screen just as Marti went to close her computer. It was her father.
She groaned. Definitely not the person she wanted to hear from tonight.
She opened the email, tempted to hit delete without even reading it. The night was already a crapshoot. Anything he had to say would just make it worse. Still, she clicked it open despite her better judgment and read.
Hey Marti,
Seeing as how you haven’t returned any of my calls, I thought maybe I’d try email. I know you’re at your computer most of the time, so I figured you’d be more inclined to hit reply than you are to pick up your phone.
