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Twirling, she imagined the warmth in Logan’s eyes when he saw her in this dress. Would he approve? Was it demure enough?
Forget him. He’s in New Orleans with rich, perfect Alicia.
You don’t know that. Not for sure.
For almost sure. She’s beautiful. She has a fortune. Then there’s a merger in jeopardy. You can’t begin to compete with her. Or his real life.
The bodice clung to Cici’s breasts and made her waist look tiny. The blue skirt floated, swirling around her legs and hips every time she took a step.
He hadn’t gone after Alicia last night.
The dress was sexy, but classy, conservative, too. Not really her at all. Well, at least it was sexy.
“Cinderella,” the saleslady said. “You’re Cinderella in that dress. Minus the glass slippers.”
A sign?
Cinderella had married her prince.
“I’ll take it,” Cici said. “Next I want to try on that red bra and thong.”
“I have a couple of other dresses that you’d be equally stunning in. Would you like to see them, too?”
Later that afternoon at the garçonnière, Cici, who was three demure dresses richer, removed her bright nail polish and pulled her hair neatly back, tying it at the nape with a blue ribbon. She put on her new blue dress and turned around, eyeing herself in her mirror.
Satisfied with her maidenly appearance, if only because she believed it to be more to Logan’s taste, she picked up her briefcase and her computer. Then she walked over to Belle Rose and let herself into the library where she intended to do research for her book.
A dress and a hairdo won’t make any difference, her little voice taunted. You’re still who you are. Swamp Girl.
Ignoring the voice, she went to Pierre’s shelves and began pulling books down that had to do with her subject. Not that she really wanted to read them. Noonoon told Pierre she’d come over, and he came downstairs and took the book she’d gotten for him and began to read on the couch.
While she forced herself to work, he intermittently napped and read. She took a break, and they had tea and crackers together. But all the while, her mind was only half on her work because she was secretly waiting for her phone to ring and for Logan to say he was missing her as much as she missed him.
Crazy. They’d had sex. Meaningless sex.
The first time her cell rang, she jumped for it. But it was only her Uncle Bos calling to say he was having a bad day, which meant he was having a very bad day since he wasn’t a whiner and never called her, and would she stop over later and maybe tend bar if he was still too tired. Of course, she said yes.
Cici stood up and went to the window. Looking out at the gray wet, she told herself that she had to quit thinking about last night, about how wonderful she’d felt in Logan’s arms.
Clearly it was over. Clearly last night hadn’t meant anything to him. Therefore, it couldn’t mean anything to her.
An hour later she was hard at work, taking notes feverishly in an attempt not to think about Logan when the phone rang again. This time it was her agent.
“How would you like to do a feature story on the bombings in Egypt near the pyramids? You always said you wanted to see the pyramids. This would be just the thing…and a feature…a feature…that is, if you’re ready to pick up your camera again.”
Part of her wanted to run away from last night, from what she’d done, from what she was afraid she felt for Logan. A monthlong shoot hiding behind her camera far, far away, focusing on other people’s misery would be just the thing to take her mind off her own recklessly foolish behavior here at home.
“I have a deadline,” she said because, of course, like any self-destructive, infatuated idiot, she was too fixed on the object of her torment to consider leaving him.
“What if I could get you an extension? I think this project would be worth your while.” Her agent named the generous fee the feature would pay. “Can you afford to pass it up?”
Not really. This is your career. Logan’s probably with Alicia right now. So, for once, do the smart thing. Pick up your camera again. Leave him. Run. Don’t risk this getting out of hand.
Cici remembered the night she’d held their little son in that sterile hospital room. His skin had felt so thin and papery, and yet soft, too. He’d seemed so fragile and broken. And she’d felt like the loneliest human being in the universe when she’d finally kissed his cool brow goodbye.
She really should run. Because if she wasn’t careful, she had no doubt Logan would hurt her again, maybe even worse than the first time.
Exhausted, Logan sat hunched behind his desk, which was littered with dozens of documents that would never be signed by Mitchell or himself. Even after hours of negotiation today, the merger was dead.
