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Her mother might be a grown woman who could hold her own, but Marti hated the thought of her having to speak with him. Ever since he left years ago, Marti did everything in her power to ensure as little interaction with her parents as possible. It wasn’t hard since he avoided them for the first three years. But the second he started calling and coming around again, Marti had become the border wall between them. She could only imagine how painful having to talk to him must be—knowing he’d moved on, knowing he’d cheated, and chose to leave.
“Oh, really?” Marti asked, her voice tight.
“She already assumed you had agreed to be a bridesmaid.”
“You spoke to Mom about me not being a bridesmaid?” That’s rich, him discussing his impending nuptials with his Ex.
“Your mother and I talk.”
Since when? “She doesn’t need to be involved in your wedding,” Marti said between gritted teeth. “And my decision to take part is no one’s business but mine.”
“I know, but I—”
“I’ve gotta go,” she snapped.
“Marti, please, we need to talk—”
“Whatever you have to say, just . . . email it to me.”
Her father laughed, a bitter sound. “So you can ignore it like all the other ones?”
“I have to go, Dad. I’ll talk to you later.” She hit end, then proceeded to slam the phone down on her desk with more force than necessary, muttering under her breath as adrenaline spiked in her veins. The man had nerve; she’d give him that.
She’d had only one brief conversation with her mother upon her father announcing his engagement, in which Marti expressed her horror at the notion they might ask her to participate. Two weeks later, they did. All her mother had said was, “Don’t let today’s anger cause you to regret your actions later. If you refuse to take part, you might one day wish you had.”
Doubtful. More likely, the reverse was true.
With a huff, Marti flicked the switch on her computer and waited for it to boot, then glanced around to find Caroline and Mel already at their desks.
First, she’d grab a coffee, because. . . well, caffeine, then she’d snag the girls in the freebie closet. She needed advice on the Logan situation. If anyone could help her find a way to navigate that minefield, it was them.
She whirled around and—oof!—hit a brick wall.
; Stumbling back, her arms flailed before a strong grip righted her again. Only once she caught her balance, did she discover the brick wall was not a wall at all. It was a man. Logan.
Crap. She couldn’t face him yet. She hadn’t talked to the girls, nor had she drowned herself in her morning quota of caffeine. After her phone call with her father, she was irritable. His timing was the worst.
She contemplated making a run for it. Her gaze darted toward the break room with longing. Her favorite Columbian blend was waiting. But a quick perusal of his muscular frame told her he’d be fast.
Resigned, she tilted her chin up to face him.
“Morning,” Logan rumbled, his deep baritone sending a shimmy up her spine.
She offered him a tight smile even as she assessed him coolly.
He was dressed in a pale blue button-down, rolled at the sleeves, and a pair of charcoal slacks that she had no doubt hugged his rear to perfection.
Logan cleared his throat, and she realized she’d been caught ogling. Flicking her eyes back to his face, she caught the knowing smile on his lips. “In a hurry?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
She recognized the to-go cup from Culture Espresso, and her mouth watered. It was her favorite, the jerk.
“How’d you get back here?” She glanced around her as though she could somehow materialize a security guard with nothing but brain waves.
The tops of two heads popped up above the wall of her neighboring cubicle. Marti rolled her eyes at Caroline and Mel. Could they be any more obvious?
“That nice lady in the front, my good friend Karen, let me in.”
