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“I can’t do this right now,” Michael said, finally breaking the silence. He shook his head, the lines around his mouth deepening in disappointment. “You’re not the friend I thought you were. I need to go take Emily home.”
“Michael, wait...”
Logan’s feet felt glued to the ground as he watched his best friend retreat back into the ballroom. When he was gone, he kicked at the ground, uttering a string of curses. How had this gone so wrong? He was supposed to be gaining Michael’s approval, not losing his friendship. And Rachel was supposed to be by his side, not running away in tears. How could he have screwed this up so badly?
“Those are dirty words from such a golden boy,” said a voice in the darkness with a harsh laugh. “If only people knew.”
Logan spun around to see Darren sitting on an iron bench, hidden by the darkness. The red glow of a cigarette butt in his hands was the only thing that shed light on his face.
“Not now,” Logan growled. He wasn’t going to take any of Darren’s merciless badgering, especially with the events of tonight.
“Oh, golden boy has a temper, too.” Darren barked a laugh and took a puff on the cigarette. “Did your little girlfriend see right through you? It didn’t take much to make her see, I’ll tell you what. Just needed to shed a little light on the situation to make her see the real you.”
Logan felt the blood drain from his face. “What are you talking about? What did you do?” He’d known Darren was getting drunk fast tonight, but he hadn’t realized he would go to such lengths as to approach Rachel. He gripped his hands in tight fists and took a step closer. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing but the truth.” Darren pushed off the bench, stumbling a little as he stepped into the lamp light. His eyes were blurry and red, his cheeks flushed. “Just that you care about money more than anything else in this world. Isn’t that right, golden boy? Can’t accept the fact that you’re trailer trash. Got to have your billions and eat your pie, too. Well, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.”
Logan would’ve liked nothing more than to punch some sense into his friend’s thick skull at that moment, but something kept his arms clenched at his sides. He’d bonded with Darren not long after joining the San Francisco Ray’s because of their similar pasts. Darren had been a trailer park kid, too, but with a single mom and two little sisters.
Instead of saving and investing the money he’d made through professional ball, he’d squandered it away on parties, fancy homes he couldn’t afford, and friends who didn’t stick around after the money had gone. It was clear he was bitter. Now that baseball and the money were gone, his past had come full swing and entered his future.
But drunk Darren wasn’t the same as his sober friend, Darren. They were two different people, crying out for help in opposite ways. No matter how much he hated drunk Darren at that moment, he knew that in the morning, sober Darren would hate himself even more.
“I’m going to call you a cab,” Logan whispered between his teeth. “And then you’re going to go home, sleep this off, and figure out exactly why you did what you did tonight. I’ve been nothing but a friend to you all these years. I didn’t deserve this.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a lot of things you don’t deserve.” Darren tilted a little too far to his left and had to use the lamppost to keep himself from falling over. He squinted at Logan and flicked the cigarette. “Starting with that girl. She’s too good for you.”
“On that, we can agree.” Logan gave him one last look over. “Get yourself together, Darren. And maybe, someday, you’ll find that piece of your soul that you’re missing.”
He hurried off toward the ballroom, desperate to find a trace of Rachel. It was all starting to make sense now. She’d mentioned more than once how her father had been distant, only caring about his business. If Darren had made it sound like the only thing that mattered to him was money, of course she would’ve freaked out. She didn’t want to relive her childhood or become her mother — married to a man who only wanted her for her money. Those scars were far too fresh.
They needed to talk this out. He needed to make this right. But by the time he searched every room of the Whitmore Mansion, there was no tra
ce left of Rachel. She’d vanished from the party, along with her brother and his fiancée. Logan stood outside the grand entryway, feeling entirely alone.
Would he ever be able to fix this?
Chapter Twelve
Logan rubbed a weary eye and took a sip of his fifth cup of coffee that day. The lunch hour rush was over, but Mary Prescott was still seated at her little table, delicately making her way through the eggplant Parmesan. Her team of cameramen worked around her, getting shots of her eating and smiling. He’d tried to keep his attention focused on her company the entire time, but he couldn’t deny that his heart was elsewhere.
Mostly, it was focused on the phone in his pocket, praying for a reply to the dozen or so texts he’d sent Rachel last night. So far, no news. She’d gone off the radar and completely cut him off, leaving a dull pain in his chest.
Putting on his best smile, he grabbed a carefully sliced piece of lemon creme cake and approached the table. Mary looked up at him as he set the plate in front of her, her red-painted lips tilting into a flirtatious expression.
“Sit awhile, Mr. Logan. I could use some delicious company to accompany this delicious fare.”
His smile deepened and he took the empty seat across from her. He’d been quite unnerved the first moment he met Mary Prescott, but her southern charm and flirtations had grown on him. She was a woman who said what she thought, no holds barred. It was refreshing, once he got used to it.
“I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal,” he said. “And your time in San Jose.”
“Oh, it’s been delightful.” She dabbed delicately at her lips with the linen napkin. “Every time I come to California, I’m reminded of what a great place it is. Not as wonderful as Texas, mind you. But a close second.”
She winked, then slid the lemon cake in front of her, sinking her fork into the spongy surface. Logan watched her take a bite, remembering Rachel’s love for the same dessert. If he knew where she lived, he’d send her a thousand lemon creme cakes with a thousand roses in the hopes that it would get her to talk to him. Heck, he’d give her the jet, the Lamborghini, anything in the hopes of a redo that didn’t involve Darren’s lies and him stuffing his foot in his mouth.
But Rachel wasn’t that kind of girl, and that was something that he loved about her.
“Now, if this isn’t sweeter than stolen honey,” Mary murmured as she swallowed a bit of the cake. “I have to say, darling, you’ve got yourself a wonderful settlement here.”
