She pointed to the second shut door on the left. “In the library.”
With a nod and a tight smile, he muttered, “Wish me luck.”
Before he got two steps away, he heard Rachel say his name. When Logan looked over his shoulder, she gave him a soft smile that made him think what a wonderful mother she was soon going to be.
“You won’t need luck. He’s upset because he cares. We both do. You deserve so much better than whatever Chris gave you. And now, you have it with Tate.”
He swallowed and wondered if she was right. Did he deserve better than Chris? Do I deserve Tate?
He certainly hadn’t been an angel, and he was the first to acknowledge that he hadn’t walked away from Chris when he should have. He’d stayed and allowed years of meaningless nights push him to one night he would do anything to forget.
He couldn’t find any words for her in that moment, so he gave her a nod and pushed the door to his brother’s library open.
When he stepped inside, he expected to see Cole as he usually was—behind his desk, working on his computer. Instead, he had a phone to his ear and his back turned toward him. So Logan wandered over to the wall lined with books from floor to ceiling, pretending to take great interest in them, all the while thinking back to Tate’s refusal to move in with him.
He said that he can’t move in with me, but why? Because of this thing with Chris?
Logan pulled his phone out and opened up a new message. He decided to remind Tate that he hadn’t forgotten what they’d been talking about, and it would only be a matter of time before the topic was once again under discussion.
He wanted Tate in his house, his bed, and his life twenty-four-seven. And if it took him hours of conversation and weeks of constant reminders as to why living with him was an amazing fucking idea, then that’s exactly what he would give him.
Tate stood in front of his mirror and tied his black work tie. He needed to be out the door in the next five minutes if he wanted to make it on time. He’d landed double shifts for the next two weekends after both he and Logan had traded with Amelia for his days off. So that basically meant he had no life for the foreseeable future. At least, not one that took place on the weekend.
He tightened the knot at the base of his throat before smoothing a hand down the front of the narrow material and raising it to tuck the thinner strip into his white shirt. Shrugging into his black vest with the words After Hours embroidered on the pocket, he was reminded of his first day on the job at the upscale bar.
The day I met Logan. The day that forever changed his life.
Tate could remember every single detail from that first meeting. From the confused way he’d felt and responded, to exactly what Logan had been wearing. It was unbelievable to think back now and realize that, in that precise moment, he’d met the one person who would turn out to be the most essential in his life.
Who would’ve guessed it? Two people from totally different walks of life colliding and having that one moment.
There was a buzzing on his bathroom sink, and he glanced down to see a text from the man himself.
Logan: I’m here. If I don’t make it out alive, I love you. If I do, you & I have something to discuss.
With a grin, Tate grabbed his cell phone and typed: So it takes the fear of death for a proclamation of love in writing from Logan Mitchell? That’s good to know. I love you too. And let it go, would you? You’re like a dog with a bone.
He shoved it in his back pocket and made his way out of his room, flicking the lights off as he went. Grabbing his helmet and jacket, he walked down the hall to the front door and snagged his keys from the side table before heading out. When he got to the elevator, the phone vibrated again. He reached into his pocket, fished it out, and chuckled at the message.
Logan: No…it doesn’t take the fear of death. But thanks for the reassurance of my safety right now. Did you really just use the word ‘proclamation’ at ten in the morning?
Stepping inside the elevator, Tate pressed the button for the parking garage and then leaned back against the wall typing: It’s 10:13, and yes, I did. I do know some big words, Mr. Fancy Lawyer. I can even spell them.
When the elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors slid open, Tate wandered out into the cool morning air and walked across the lot to where his motorcycle was parked. He got on and settled in the seat before he brought the phone up to check the text, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face.
Logan: Now that’s something we should further explore. Can you also spell while distracted? This fancy lawyer wants to know how good you would be at taking down his dic-tation. You know, in case of emergencies.
That smartass mouth of Logan’s would get him every time. There was something so insanely sexy about his quick wit and smirking face, and Tate could picture him saying those exact words to him.
Chalk that up as another thing he loved about the guy. Anything Logan wrote down or insinuated, he sure as hell wouldn’t have trouble saying to your face. And that made Tate want to kiss those arrogant lips until Logan was groaning.
Since that option wasn’t available right this second, Tate decided that teasing him would be just as much fun.
Am I being interviewed for a specific position I don’t know about?
After he put his helmet on, he turned the key in the ignition and felt his phone buzz.
Logan: While there are many positions I’m sure you’d qualify for, I think I’ve narrowed it down. I’m after a very private and discreet PA. But I need a few more details before I invite you to my office for a sit-down-get-to-know-you interview.
Tate pressed a hand against the erection he was now sporting. Fucking hell. He could just imagine what an interview with Logan would be like. Torture. Thirty minutes of cock-pounding torture.
Logan in one of those immaculate three-piece suits he wore like a second skin. That coal-black hair styled perfectly, and his strong chiseled jaw. Add in those sexy-as-hell glasses that framed his blue eyes and hell—maybe he should go pay him a visit on his dinner break this evening.
Before he started the engine, he quickly text back: Gonna be late for current job. Text me where I should meet you for this sit-in-your-lap deal or let me go so I’m still gainfully employed, SIR.
Logan felt his cock stiffen at that final word typed in all caps.
Fuck. He wanted to hear that on Tate’s tongue in person. He’d never been one to get off on role-playing before, but—
“Logan?” Cole’s voice broke through his thoughts as effectively as a bucket of ice water.
Well, shit. Time to face the music.
Maybe, if he survived, he could convince Tate to come and—
“Hey,” Cole said.
Logan turned to see him standing behind his desk with his arms crossed. His blond hair was sticking up in messy spikes where he’d run his fingers through it. Probably in annoyance at me.
“Want to maybe pull up a chair and tell me about this little fucking surprise Christopher Walker dropped in my lap last night?”
Not really…
“That wasn’t a question,” Cole informed him as though he could read his mind. “Sit down. Now.”
Cole’s tone left little choice but to do as he’d said, and Logan knew better than to argue with him when he was in one of his moods. So he sat.
Since he wasn’t sure what Chris had spilled the night before, Logan remained silent as Cole glared at him, and suddenly, he found himself grinning.