Unsettled (9 page)

I DECIDED TO BOOT
up my laptop and watch a movie while I ate my dinner. As I was sitting in front of my computer curiosity got the best of me. I typed in Logan’s name in the search engine. A fair amount of bylines populated my screen:

Logan Colton: twenty-six-year-old that is the face of the future?

Reshaping the future of construction, one pillar at a time.

I saw what I’d expected, but then I typed what I really wanted to know in the search box.

My fingers danced over the keypad of my laptop: “Logan Colton + girlfriend.”

This time Google only returned a few results. I clicked on images and there he stood, dapper as ever, with his arm wrapped around none other than Elizabeth Drexel—an up and coming actress. She was nominated for an Emmy in one of her more recent roles, where she played a dying cancer patient. Had they dated? She looked much more like his type—wispy and glamorous. My subconscious took the opportunity at that moment to remind me that she was the type of woman people expected to see him with.

I wasn’t on any millionaire’s long list of friends—nor did I want to be. Logan would just have to settle for one of the women who would be more than willing to sink her teeth into his obscene fortune, guaranteeing that she wouldn’t have to lift a finger for the rest of her natural life.

I clicked on the icon to start
Precision.
Michael Ford’s character’s jumped into view on my screen as I bit into my taco, effectively forcing me to put any thoughts of Logan aside.

7

A
few days had passed since the business card incident and I made no attempt to call Logan. My playing ignorant kept me in a blissful state of mind. I’d managed to keep myself busy video chatting with Danielle and my three-year-old niece, Amaré. I had also begun planning my next visit home to see my parents in August. They didn’t like that I lived so far away, but were accepting of the fact that I liked the East Coast and needed a change of scenery—both of which were partial truths.

I had convinced my parents that my move to D.C. was crucial—since it was every young person’s right to sow their royal oats—not that I’d been camping out at Bonnaroo or attending the annual Firefly Festival. Quite the contrary, my version of a wild weekend was waking up early and driving out to Virginia Beach.

The drive wasn’t too long, so Aspen was able to make it without too much trouble. A lot of times I would see a few things that were photo-worthy and pull to the side of the road to snap a few pictures. My excursions were also a nice getaway from the hustle and bustle of D.C.

When I sat down at my desk the following Thursday the brightly lit message indicator on my phone was screaming in my face. After I logged into my computer and settled in for the day, I began to retrieve the phone messages. Retrieving voicemails always seemed to take forever, especially if the person was extremely long-winded.

I muddled through the maze of options on the voicemail menu and eventually pressed one as instructed by the bossy automated woman to hear my messages. As expected, the two voicemails were nothing exceedingly thrilling.

By late morning I began praying for five o’clock to come quickly. I had just hung up with the Accounting department when my inbox pinged, indicating that I had a new email message—it was Trisha.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: I’m dying

Wednesday, May 14, 2012 10:50 AM

Coffee break?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE: I’m dying

Wednesday, May 14, 2012 10:52 AM

Sure, meet you in the lobby in five.

Trisha and I walked into Muffins chatting. She informed me that Abandoned, one of our favorite pop rock groups, was scheduled to tour the D.C. area in June.

“Wow, it’s packed in here today,” she observed. The shop was buzzing with people and the order line was halfway to the door.

“So are you going to buy your tickets to the concert soon?” I asked, almost shouting. I parked myself behind a slightly balding man to wait for our turn to order.

“I’m not sure. I don’t want to end up in the nosebleed section. Kevin still hasn’t told me if he even wants to go,” Kevin was Trisha’s on again, off again, boy toy.

“I’m sure the show is going to be great,” I said. “They put on a great performance at Madison Square Garden a couple years back. I’ll have to see if my roommate wants to go with me.” We walked up to the counter to place our orders.

“I would like a small drip with room,” I said to the barista.

“Do you know what you want?” I asked Trisha, turning to look at her.

“Small mocha latte, extra hot, non-fat milk,” she responded, fumbling through a container jammed with madeleine cookies and other sweet treats.

“No problem,” the barista replied, typing our order into the computer. “Together or separate?”

“Together,” a voice chimed near my ear as I was about to respond. I turned and a familiar pair of clover-colored irises stared back at me. I was now enveloped obscurely between Trisha and a well-dressed Logan at the cashier counter.

“Oh—hi,” I murmured, startled by his presence.

“Ms. Caldwell, nice running into you—it’s a welcome surprise,” he said. Logan looked refreshingly handsome in his charcoal tailored suit, white shirt, and lavender and grey patterned tie.

“Likewise,” was all I could muster. A trace of a smile flickered across his lips. I was pretty sure he knew he had caught me off guard.

“What is the total please?” Logan asked the barista.

“Seven dollars and ten cents.” Logan handed her a crisp bill and gratefully accepted his change, dropping it into the tip jar.

“What are you doing here?”

“Taking a break from our friend in kind,” he answered, winking. I responded with a knowing look. He was referring to Trent.

“Did you receive my message the other day?” he asked.

“What message?” I asked, oblivious. What was he talking about? Then I remembered. “Oh—I’ve been tied up,” I responded lamely. I might as well of lied and said I was washing my hair for the last four days. He gave me a questioning look, as if he were trying to examine my inner thoughts.

“I’m still here you know,” Trisha interjected.

“Oh I’m sorry—this is my co-worker Trisha,” I said as an afterthought. “Trisha, meet Logan Colton.”

“Nice to meet you,” he nodded in her direction.

“Logan Colton—as in Colton Capital Enterprises?”

“One and the same,” Logan answered unenthusiastically. The quick smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh wow! I recently read the interview you gave in
SmartMoney
. Good piece,” Trisha babbled. Logan graciously smiled at her enthusiastic remarks, but his demeanor was cooler than a few moments earlier.

“I work in the Operations department with Steve Riley. I look forward to working with you if Copple earns your business. Perhaps we can do lunch sometime?” Trisha smiled suggestively at Logan. By the flirtatious tone of her question I surmised that she and Kevin were on the outs—again.

“Perhaps our paths will cross,” he responded impassively, his posture stiff. I felt a twinge of disappointment as I envisioned Trisha and Logan grazing on leafy salads and sharing a bottle of Acqua Panna on a sunny afternoon. The notion of him dining with another woman bothered me. I extinguished the thought from my mind and rejoined the conversation.

“Well, we’d better get back. Thank you for the coffee,” I said, scooping up my beverage from the pickup counter.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled and shoved his hands into his form-fitting suit pant pockets.

Trisha and I exited the coffee shop, rounding the corner that led back to the office.

“Oh my God! How do you know Logan Colton?”

“It’s simple. I don’t,” I replied. I wasn’t interested in volunteering unnecessary information—like the fact that he’d given me his cell number—and I refused to call him.

MY PHONE RANG AS
soon as I sat back down to my desk. It was Danielle.

“Thank you for calling Copple Marketing. Brooklyn Caldwell speaking,” I said into the handset.

“Don’t act like you’re busy sis,” Danielle’s voice was bubbling through the phone line.

“I actually just came back from a coffee run,” I responded, “but something interesting did happen this morning…” I filled Danielle in on the business card note and my brief run in with Logan at the coffee shop. I knew I could get a good perspective from Danielle since she knew exactly what I went through with Damon and understood my apprehensiveness.

“So are you going to call him?” she asked.

“I don’t know…I don’t think so. It seems like a bad idea…” I replied sullenly.

“Brooklyn, you are the only one who holds the key to your happiness. At some point you’re going to have to uncoil the rope around your heart and press forward,” she said.

“I’m just… exhausted. I don’t know if I have the energy to get to know someone new.”

“Well I can’t tell you what to do and I’m definitely far from being a relationship expert, but you won’t know what’s behind his intentions until you do a little exploring. When Malcolm and I broke up I realized something: either I had to love hard, or not at all.” Malcolm and Danielle had separated briefly before they came to their senses and finally got married.

“Yeah...” I breathed, “but this situation is different…and I don’t know if I can love someone the way I loved Damon—he crushed me.”

“I just want you to be as happy as possible. Don’t choose to stay single to shield yourself from falling or feeling.”

I sat there in silence, not sure how to respond.

“I have to go, my boss just emailed me,” she said, groaning into the phone.

“All right, I’ll talk to you later. Give Amaré a hug for me.”

“I will. Think about what I said. Talk to you soon.”

After we hung up, I threw myself into my work in an attempt to dodge thinking about Logan’s propositions. As much as I didn’t want to think about Logan, Damon or love, I found my mind wandering through the sunny and green pastures of
what if.

By the time I looked up it was past five o’clock. I’d got caught up working on a few proposal submittals. I began organizing the files on my desk and wrapping up loose ends so I could head out of the office. I was saving the last document I was working on when my desk phone rang.

“Good evening Marci,” I said into the phone.

“Hello Ms. Caldwell. There is a gentleman waiting for you in the lobby.”

“I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

I grabbed my belongings, taking the time to locate my mace spray and then headed downstairs to the lobby. I reached the foyer and an older gentleman, probably in his early forties, was standing near the front doors. He approached me wearing a casual black blazer, white shirt, and chunky Doc Martens. He was holding a bouquet of white roses. I saw Marci look at the gentleman and nod in my direction.

“Ms. Caldwell?” he asked.

“Yes…” I replied apprehensively. I wasn’t sure how the unfamiliar gentleman knew my name.

“Hello, my name is Merick. Mr. Colton would like to request your presence for dinner.” My mind went blank for a few seconds.

“Excuse me?” I stuttered. I was perplexed that Logan sent a car service to pick me up from work. Merick didn’t look like a typical driver, though. He appeared more assertive and militant. Maybe it was his white walled regulation haircut.

First the card, then the coffee, now he was inviting me to dinner? I didn’t know him from Adam!

“I don’t know…” I stammered, biting the inside of my lip. I looked over to Marci for some sort of unspoken guidance. Marci was all smiles and clearly thought Logan’s scheme was the greatest idea since electricity or running water.

I looked back over at Merick and it was obvious he was waiting for an answer.

“How far is the restaurant?” I asked.

“It is not far from here ma’am. Mr. Colton wanted to ensure you’d be home at a reasonable hour.” I cocked my lip in a side smirk. Apparently Logan had this whole operation planned out.

I blew out a low guttural groan, which probably wasn’t the most ladylike thing I could’ve done.