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“That you didn’t know what came over you.”
I can feel the heat rising beneath my skin, the embarrassment of him witnessing a very intimate moment I’ve only shared with a handful of men. I have two choices—spin through the door like the Tasmanian Devil or take the mickey out of the situation.
“I’m usually not so quick.” The moment it left my mouth I smack my forehead as Logan laughs. “I mean… God, this is embarrassing.”
“I get it,” he blurts out mid-laugh. “You’re usually not an early shooter.”
“I’m not exactly shooting anything, I think. That’s a guy thing.”
“Women can shoot.”
“What exactly are they shooting?” Curious, I cross my arms beneath my breasts, waiting on his response.
With his eyebrow raised, he rubs his chin, delighted at the choice of topic. “You want the medical explanation?”
“You know what?” I shake my head unable to hide my grin. “Never mind. I’m sure if the questions persist I’ll find my answer on Google along with a hundred disturbing sexual facts I didn’t know existed.”
“I’m happy to explain. Perhaps, educate you if needed.” The corner of his mouth curves upward, wickedly teasing and coaxing me to say yes. Yet, I realize from years of experience, that Logan Carrington knows how to manipulate me. Whether it be for the good or bad.
“I’m set.” I laugh. “So, we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
I contemplate hugging it out, but with my bikini on and his bare chest, I decide against it.
Saying goodbye, I leave him standing alone in the pool house with the intention of going home and forgetting our moment in the lake. I’m not sure if it was the shooting talk or our pact to forget what happened, but either way, the guilt’s no longer there.
Our secret will remain our secret.
Chapter Seven
“I don’t ask for much.
Except my freedom.”
~ Emerson Chase
The flight from home was turbulent and long.
After several delays, due to some bad weather, the plane was diverted and landed in Burbank.
I’m glad to get off—my stomach’s queasy from the bumpy flight.
I barely made the flight to begin with being caught up at the repair store that replaced the battery in my cell. Apparently, all it needs is a charge and then it will be good to go. Thank God, because I feel naked without it.
Jimmy, my occasional driver-bodyguard, greets me at the terminal. Jimmy is six-foot-two, built like a soldier and could probably beat the shit out of anyone. Nina schedules him for events or times when she’s worried about my safety.
I only notice a few paparazzi in the terminal all dressed in their usual attire and snapping pictures hoping for some scandal. I’m not sure why she’s worried but nevertheless, I greet him and we walk alongside to the black SUV which is parked curbside.
We drive straight into traffic—a sea of tail lights that seem never-ending. As I lay back into the leather seats, attempting to cure my stiff neck from the awkward position I fell asleep in on the plane, the constant vibration of my cell disrupts my struggle to get comfortable.
I close my eyes, which lasts a minute before my hand moves of its own accord and I’m reading a text from Nina.
Nina: Meeting scheduled with the board tomorrow morning. I’m confident we can fight to have you end your contract. Don’t stress Emerson—I’ve got this.
Finally, something going my way. I have faith in Nina to follow through with what I requested—terminating my contract so I don’t have to work with Wes. I’ve had many hours to think about what I will say to Wes when I see him, yet a few blocks from home I’m left with nothing to say. Instead, my focus has been on Logan and the way we left things, amicable and friendly.
We agreed to remain friends, and with friendship comes the expectation that I can text him. Quickly typing a message, I hit send before changing my mind.
