13
All Eyes on Us
The waiter bowed. “May I help you into your seat, sir?”
“For God’s sake,” Logan grumbled, tugging the seat from the man’s grasp. “I’m a grown man, I can pull out my own chair.” He demonstrated by pulling his chair out slowly from the table and slipping into it, watching the waiter suspiciously.
“Thank you,” I said, as a second waiter finished helping me slide up to the table. He accepted something from the hostess that turned out to be an exact replica of my cream-and-gold chair, except in miniature. He picked up my purse from the floor and placed it gingerly in the tiny seat. It looked upon the room with regal haughtiness.
“Oh,” I squeaked. “The purse gets a chair.” Of course it did. And here my whole life I’d been resting purses on the floor like a plebe.
Across from me, Logan eyed the waiter, who was now unfolding his white napkin with great ceremony. “Don’t you dare,” he said, as the waiter moved to place it in his lap. Logan raised an eyebrow, and the waiter, finally seeing reason, dropped the napkin and scurried away.
Logan nodded to himself, satisfied, then caught sight of me. “What?”
I couldn’t help grinning. “You hate it here.”
He gestured around the gilt ballroom. “You mean this shiny, gold-plated peacock parade? Of course I hate it here. Looks like King Midas barfed it up.”
“No reflection on you,” I assured the new waiter, who’d stopped by to fill our water glasses. “So why come, then?”
Logan rolled his eyes. “Nora insisted. Something about this being where politicians go to see and be seen. The crème de la crème, in her words. Twatville, in mine. Oh, hi, Senator.” Logan waved and grimace-smiled at an older man a few tables over. “King Twat,” he muttered under his breath when the man looked away.
I eased back, resting my shoulders against the seat. I’d been nervous walking into Apex, my first Michelin-starred restaurant, especially after so many heads had turned to watch us make our way across the dining room. But Logan’s disdain for the place was a tonic. “Well,” I said, “I do think this might be the fanciest place I’ve ever been. So thanks for the experience, at least.”
Apex always made Austin’s best-of-fine-dining lists. It was built into a grand old mansion in a part of the city where the streets turned residential, a charming neighborhood full of shops and eateries and million-dollar homes. No steel or skyscrapers here. So even if Logan changed his mind and canceled our business date right now, I’d chalk the evening up to a success. I’d gotten to wear my emerald dress, the silk one I never had a chance to wear, a Town Car had picked me up at my front door, and when I’d walked into the restaurant, Logan had been waiting at the hostess podium in a black suit so sharp it set off his stubbled jaw and thick black hair. He’d been talking to the hostess, but stopped midsentence when he saw me. The look in his eyes before he’d swallowed and schooled his face had caused a return of that fizzy feeling in my stomach.
Now, across the table, Logan’s expression softened. He cleared his throat, then took a large sip of water. “Places like this are the opposite of how I grew up. They remind me that some people have so much, while the rest of the world is struggling. That’s why I don’t like it.”
I cocked my head and studied him. The lighting in Apex was low and moody, and the single ivory candle flickering between us cast shadows under his cheekbones as he frowned. His eyes were dark and serious. “You don’t even like campaigning,” I realized.
He started to say something, then stopped. When he spoke again, he did it carefully. “I want to be governor more than anything. But yes. I’ll admit I don’t like playing the game. Schmoozing, kissing rings. It doesn’t come natural to me like it does to Mane or even that old fart Senator Abington over there. But it’s the price of entry. If you want to be in a position to change things, you’ve got to do it.”
That sounded like a line Nora had drilled into his head. I wondered if convincing Logan to play nice had been part of the turnaround The Watcher on the Hill had described in his blog post—the switch to more mannered behavior that had won Logan his recent spike in approval. “Was it different when you started out?”
He huffed a laugh. “Yeah. When I ran for commissioner right out of grad school, I was myself. Heckled reporters when they said something misleading. Called out other politicians when they lied through their teeth. Told my donors when they were being unreasonable. And it worked—it got me elected and saw me through all four years. But that was a small race compared to this. When I started campaigning for governor, the Dem establishment told me they’d pull their support if I didn’t behave and stop calling out their old-timers. And we needed their money, so here I am.” He nodded toward the senator he’d waved at. “Muzzled and making nice with dinosaurs whose voting records make me want to pull my hair out.”
Huh. So, the world hadn’t wanted Logan the way he came, either. He had to work at being appealing, just like me.
He frowned. “Why are you smiling?”
“It’s just nice to know I’m not alone. You seemed so self-possessed at our press conference while I was having a heart attack.”
“That was your heart attack face? I assumed it was your dear-God-I’ve-made-a-huge-mistake-tying-myself-to-this-clown face.”
“And here’s your wine, Mr. Arthur, compliments of our sommelier.” Out of nowhere, Logan’s favorite waiter materialized at his elbow.
“For fuck’s sake,” Logan said, as we both jumped. “Stealth of a cheetah.”
“Apex thanks you for dining with us.” The waiter uncorked and started pouring, unruffled.
Logan eyed the bottle, which looked old and dusty. “Okay, I’m not going to say there aren’t perks to the peacock parade. But somehow, it just pisses me off more.” When the waiter left, he raised his glass. “May this give us gout, as we deserve.”
I gave him a look.
“Fine. Here’s to you and me, playing the game so well they let us in. To tear the whole thing apart from the inside.”
I clinked his glass, but inside I was thinking, Yes, of course. I was a chess move to Logan. Another strategic decision he had to endure because Nora said it would bring him closer to winning. Why did I keep forgetting that? It was frustrating how much being around him felt like sitting in class after pulling an all-nighter, having to constantly resist the pull of my body to relax and sink under the spell of dreaming. My instincts said to sink into Logan and forget reality. It felt so easy and natural talking to him that I had to keep jerking myself awake to the fact that it was only part of a game.
“Here’s to Trojan-horsing Texas,” I said softly, taking a sip, and his grin turned devilish behind his wineglass. “So.” I set my wine down. “How did you grow up? I mean, I know you’re from Odejo.”
He tapped his glass. “The talking points are that I grew up on a farm as an only child. My parents were small-time farmers who moved to Texas from the UK because they had this dream of the little red American farmhouse. The reality behind the talking points is that we were alarmingly poor and constantly struggling. Neither of my parents realized how hard it would be to be a mom-and-pop farm here. No matter what they did, they couldn’t compete with Big Ag, never mind how green a thumb my mum has.”
“Is that what gave you your political ambitions—watching them struggle?”
“Fuck yeah it was. That and a million other things. Some of my best friends growing up, their families worked for the big corporate farms around Odejo, and they got paid pennies. Never had job security or health care, always had to move around to find the next job, which meant my friends had to keep switching schools and fell behind. Meanwhile the people they worked for raked it in.”
“Have you decided on your dinner choices?” the waiter asked, materializing once again like a ghost over Logan’s shoulder.
Logan squeezed the table so hard his knuckles turned white. “You,” he gritted out. “Didn’t even hear you...breathing. Not even a warning cough.”
“I highly recommend the prime rib,” said the waiter, and when I looked at the menu, I almost gagged. Ninety-five dollars. Even if I hadn’t just listened to Logan talk about how he’d grown up, I never would’ve considered it.
“I’ll have the ahi salad.” At thirty-two dollars, it was one of the cheapest items on the menu.
“The vegetable lasagna for me,” said Logan.
“Very well, sir.” The waiter swept our menus out of our hands and melted away.
“Are you a vegetarian?” Logan presented as the kind of man who might eat a cow raw with his bare hands if it pissed him off enough.
“I’ve seen how the sausage gets made,” he said. “Literally. And I want no part of that. Besides, it’s good for my blood pressure.”
Huh. Logan Arthur, full of surprises.
He took another sip of wine. “You came out of nowhere with that education pitch, by the way.”
“Sorry,” I said reflexively.
He shook his head. “Don’t be. I liked it. Nora was convinced you were going to ask for something frivolous, no offense to Beyoncé. I’m glad you care about policy. How’d you get into education?”
“I’ve always wanted to be a librarian.” I repressed a smile as Logan took it upon himself to pour me more wine. The earthy aroma of the liquid as it filled the glass made me wonder what it must’ve been like growing up on a farm. “I’ve been a book nerd all my life. Escaping into reading’s my happy place, so libraries were always safe, whenever school and other kids—” I cleared my throat. “I had great relationships with teachers growing up. I always knew I’d major in library science—”
“At UT, like your sister. And Mane,” he added with a pointed look, twisting the wine bottle away from my glass without spilling a drop. For someone who detested fancy restaurants, he sure was good at them.
“Lee and I overlapped my freshman year and her senior, and then she stuck around for grad school.” I hadn’t considered anywhere else for college: Lee had gone to UT, so I’d followed. Not that we’d been close back then, despite how much I’d longed to be. Those were the dark ages when Lee was still reeling from our father’s betrayal and pushed everyone away, me most of all. “I always knew being a librarian wasn’t going to make me rich, but it’s been gutting to see the state of schools from the inside. You have all of these talented, well-meaning educators, and it’s like the system is determined to bleed them dry. It’s really hard to give kids your best when you’re worried about getting laid off all the time. Did you know a ton of schools don’t even have a library anymore, let alone a librarian?”
“Wow,” he said, wide-eyed. “What can we do—”
“Alexis?” asked a familiar voice. The sound of it stopped me cold.
No. What were the odds? I looked up—and sure enough, Chris Tuttle himself was striding to our table. The sight of him was a punch to the gut. He was slimmer now than when we’d dated, and growing out his hair, which gave him a bohemian-accountant vibe. He clearly hadn’t transformed into an ogre overnight, despite the many pennies I’d thrown into the school fountain wishing for it.
“Chris,” I gulped. I could feel Logan’s eyes on me. “What’re you doing here?”
He nodded behind us. “Out to dinner with my folks. They insisted I come say hi. Sorry.”
I followed the direction of his gaze and found his parents, waving at me from a corner table. I’d forgotten the Tuttles were both doctors and had fine-dining money. Dutifully, I waved back. Unlike their son, Chris’s parents had always liked me.
“So what, you two used to date?” Logan asked, with his usual tact.
“Oh, sorry—Chris, this is Logan, my, um...”
“Boyfriend,” Logan said, giving me a quizzical look. He stretched out his hand. “Nice to meet you, mate.” Chris shook Logan’s hand with a smile, though when Logan released him, he winced and discreetly flexed his fingers.
“So, how are you doing?” Chris asked. “It’s been, what...over a year?”
Logan’s eyebrows perked up.
I cleared my throat. “I guess it has been. Who’s counting, though? Time, it flies. Can’t keep track of it.”
Chris rocked on his heels. “I’m still dating Kim, by the way. The woman from, uh...” His voice trailed off.
Right. Kim. The woman he’d cheated on me with (the second time around). I felt my cheeks heat. Apparently, I was supposed to congratulate Chris on his accomplishment. “That’s—I guess—I’m happy for you.”
I felt Logan’s warm hand close over mine and looked up at him. He was leaning across the table, wearing the sappiest face I’d ever seen, practically batting his lashes. It was so un-Logan-like that I actually had to bite back a laugh.
“I was just saying to Alexis that I can’t believe we only met a year ago.” Logan shook his head. “And dating for six months. I feel like I’ve known her forever.”
“Oh.” Chris swallowed. “I guess you guys got together pretty soon after we...” He cleared his throat but didn’t finish.
Logan turned his sappy face on Chris and lowered his voice like he was sharing a secret. “I keep trying to bring up marriage and she keeps saying not yet, we’re not in any hurry, let’s enjoy the honeymoon phase. You know, that rip-each-other’s-clothes-off part. She’s a cheeky little devil. I can barely keep up. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you.”
Oh, lord. He’s really going for it. I felt my face flame and dared a glance at Chris. His face was the portrait of shock.
Logan gave my hand the briefest squeeze, though his eyes stayed trained on Chris. “I happen to think, when you know, you know. And who could spend ten minutes with Alexis Stone and not want to keep her? I mean, you’d have to be a supreme fucking twat to let her get away. A colossal, gigantic, ruinous level of nitwit—”
“Okay,” I said quickly, tugging his hand.
“A ne’er-do-well fuckboy,” Logan finished, smiling in satisfaction. “Don’t you think?”
“Uh,” Chris stammered. He looked over his shoulder. “Oh, shoot, my mom’s calling me back. Gotta go.”
I looked over Chris’s shoulder at Dr. Tuttle, who was calmly eating her soup, and felt the most absurd streak of joy.
“Great to see you,” I said, sitting taller. “I’m glad we’re both in better places now. Sometimes a breakup really is a blessing in disguise, don’t you think?”
“Sure. I mean—yes.” Chris turned to flee, then stopped and glanced between Logan and me. “Thanks for not punching me this time.” He darted away.
Logan’s eyes gleamed. “Well, well, well. Don’t we have a lot to unpack?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipatory glee, then nearly shouted when a long, disembodied arm slid his lasagna in front of him.
“Your meal, sir,” said the waiter.
Logan pointed his fork at the waiter as he rounded the table to place my salad in front of me. “You know what? I’m not mad this time. Your timing’s impeccable. I just worked up an appetite running laps around that guy.”
“You’re terrible,” I said. “But also, thank you.” It occurred to me that Logan would probably ask for more details about Chris, all of which were humiliating, so I blurted: “I still have a lot to say about education. Don’t think you’re getting off the hook.”
He studied me, forked poised over his pasta. In the candlelight, his eyes were rich as melted chocolate. His mouth quirked. “By all means. Change the subject.”
Over dinner we fell so deep into conversation about how I’d like to see the school system change that I forgot to notice the curious stares from other diners. I forgot everything, including that Chris was in the room, until the waiter handed Logan and me dessert menus and I looked over to find Chris’s table empty. At one point in the conversation, when I’d started to get on a bit of a roll, Logan had thrown up a hand to pause me, rooted in his jacket, and pulled out his phone, asking if it was okay to record what I was saying. I’d never had anyone ask to memorialize my thoughts before, and it loosened my tongue: if Logan and his team actually thought what I had to say was worth listening to, I wanted to make sure it was good.
Logan insisted on ordering chocolate cake and coffee so I could keep talking. When the waiter placed the thick slice between us, he leaned close, dipping the tines of his fork into the icing. “If you could start campaigning anywhere, where would you go? Who’s the core constituency we need to rally first?”
I watched the fork as he brought it to his lips. I knew the answer to the question, but it was hard to remember at the moment. “The, uh...”
He waited patiently, fork still in his mouth. Mentally, I shook myself. “The Texas Library Council’s conference is next week, right here in Austin. Thousands of librarians from all over the state come every year. It would be the perfect place to talk to a bunch of sympathetic ears. I was thinking we could put up a booth. I can look up how to do that.”
His fork clattered to the plate. “Brilliant. But leave the logistics to me.”
“Deal.” I took a bite of cake and almost groaned. This was better than a thousand grocery store candy bars. Why had I spent my life settling for inferior imitations when something this good had been out there waiting for me this whole time?
Logan’s eyes were fixed on my mouth. “Do you—” He cleared his throat. “Think we should set some ground rules?”
I finished swallowing and sat straighter. Unlike Lee, I loved rules. They existed to make you safe and comfortable. “Yes. Rules. What were you thinking?”
“I think the first has to be the obvious one: no dating other people until we’re past election day so we don’t blow our cover. Will that be a problem?”
Right. Because of my robust dating life. “I think I can manage.” I quirked a brow. “Can you?”
“I’m assuming that’s a playboy dig. In which case I’m gracefully ignoring it.”
“What about touching?” I asked, and rushed to clarify when Logan’s grin grew wicked. “Guidelines around touching. If we’re out in public, people are going to expect us to act like a couple.”
“Well.” He dragged a finger over the tablecloth. “What are you comfortable with?”
The memory of that exact finger tracing against my lips made me wrench my eyes away. But the image haunted: Logan holding me up against the elevator rail, my legs wrapped around him, shoulders to the wall, his finger brushing my lip before he bit it softly. A mix of tender and rough, like Logan himself.
His quiet voice filled the silence. “We’ll probably need to hold hands.”
I nodded, trying to regain my composure. “Holding hands, putting our arms around each other, kissing on the cheek. I think those are...safe. But obviously no real kissing.”
“Obviously,” he said. “I can’t imagine a scenario that would require...”
Our gazes locked. And we both had to be remembering the same moment, when I’d spun him around in the lobby, catching his face in my hands. We had to be, because Logan’s eyes had darkened into pools of ink, his expression so intense, eyes searching. It was the look he’d given me right before he’d seized me and kissed me back.
“Maybe—” I cleared my throat. “We should just agree to run all campaign decisions by each other first. And leave it at that.”
“Right,” he said, voice thick. “Sounds smart.”
“Your check,” the waiter trilled, and without missing a beat or even moving his eyes off me, Logan held up his credit card, already at the ready. The waiter seized it, eyebrows raised, and whirled away.
“Hey,” I said. “You finally saw him coming.”
Logan winked. “Finally saw him coming.”
There was a slight, pleasant chill to the air when we stepped out of Apex onto the sidewalk. The neighborhood lights twinkled around us.
“I think that’s your car,” Logan said, pulling his blazer tighter and nodding to the sleek black Town Car waiting at the curb.
“Thanks again for—”
High-speed shutter clicks cut me off. Logan and I spun to find a short man in a slubby jacket with camera, ducking in the restaurant’s flowerbeds.
Logan groaned. “I told Nora no PR. Oi, Larry,” he called. “You know you don’t have to hide in the bushes like a creep, right, man?” The photographer only shrugged, and Logan turned back to face me. “Sorry.”
“Hey.” I slipped my hand in his, keeping my voice low. “This is why we’re together, remember?”
“Right,” he said slowly, as if he’d forgotten. Then his mouth cracked into a smile and he lowered his voice to match mine. “You saying you want to put on a show?”
I used my stern librarian voice. “As long as it stays within the rules.”
“Come here,” he growled, and in one fluid movement he’d tugged me flush against him and turned his back on the photographer. My heart beat wildly as he pushed his hands through my hair and leaned in close. When he spoke, his lips brushed my ear. “How’s this?”
From where the photographer was standing, it would look like we were in the middle of a torrid embrace. “Technically,” I whispered, feeling his stubble tickle my cheek, “within bounds.”
His voice was quiet. “I don’t know why any pap is interested in me. Monumental waste of time.”
I breathed in his spicy woodsy-berry scent—a tad stronger tonight, like he’d freshly spritzed. “Maybe it’s because you’re thirty-three and you could be the next governor of Texas. Or that you’re a known firebrand, you’ve dated NBA cheerleaders, and you look the way you do.”
“She googles.” He pulled back an inch. “Are you saying you think I’m attractive?”
I rolled my eyes and stepped even closer to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and trying to ignore that I could feel my blood pounding through every inch of my body. “Like you haven’t had your appearance dissected a million times. You know what you look like.”
His hands moved slowly out of my hair and trailed down to my shoulders, where they rested for a moment. Then, as if he was hungry for more, they kept sliding down my spine.
“There was also,” I said, lifting to my tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “that time I kissed you.”
A breeze passed and I felt him shiver. “I seem to remember you drinking a few whiskeys that night.” His voice was low. “Wasn’t sure if you regretted it.”
I could feel my cheeks heat. Why had I started down this road? “Well, I am standing here, pretending to kiss you while a middle-aged man snaps pictures, so I could see how you’d question my judgment.”
He was silent for a beat. When he looked down at me, there was tender amusement in his eyes. He leaned in, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, and whispered, “Only one.”
I frowned against his cheek. “What?”
“I’ve only dated one NBA cheerleader.”
I pulled back to find him grinning, and rolled my eyes as discreetly as possible. “Can I ask you a question?”
His reply was automatic. “If I can ask you one.” Ever the negotiator.
“Why did you say those things at the press conference about me being a good person? You barely knew me, and you didn’t have to. I mean, I lied to you the night we met.”
The photographer moved to catch our profiles, camera lights going off rapid-fire.
Logan wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me closer, cupping my face. “I’ve found there can be a lot of truth in fiction.” His voice came out low and gravelly, his mouth so close to mine that if I raised my chin even a millimeter, our lips would brush. Each word shivered through me. “And there are different ways to get to know someone. Sometimes it’s what they tell you, but a lot of times it’s what they don’t. Especially in my line of work. You learn to watch the way people act. When they’re alone for a moment and think no one’s looking, or when they talk to strangers. Even just the way they look at you. People are constantly telling you who they are if you’re willing to step back and listen.”
I thought of Logan at the Fleur de Lis, listening to me go on about my life as Ruby Dangerfield. In the conference room, listening with his arms crossed as his staff discussed what to do about the photo crisis. In the Antique Car Society office, listening to me and Nora debate the education policy.
“I felt good about what I said at the presser,” he said simply. “You might’ve made up the details that first night. But I saw you.”
His words cast a spell and I couldn’t look away. Just the thought of him considering who I was so seriously made my limbs feel warm and heavy. His attention was a spotlight, but one I didn’t mind.
“My turn,” he murmured. “You said you were out to celebrate being done with your ex, and I don’t think that part was a lie. Was it?”
“No,” I whispered. The photographer could’ve evaporated for all I knew. I couldn’t be bothered to check.
“And it was Chris?”
“Yes.”
His gaze moved over my shoulder to focus on something in the distance. “I meant it when I said only a deluded man wouldn’t recognize what he had,” he said softly. “For whatever that’s worth, from the near stranger playing your boyfriend.” His gaze fell back to me, and he gave me a small smile. Almost wistful.
I realized in that moment that Logan didn’t, despite the length of time I’d known him, feel like a stranger. Not in the slightest.
“That’s it,” the photographer grunted. “Got what I needed.”
Logan turned. “All right, then, Larry. Say hi to the wife and kids.”
The photographer was already shuffling away, but he tossed up a hand in acknowledgment.
“Guess we don’t need to, uh...” I glanced down at the small space between us.
“Right, of course.” Logan released me. “Show’s over and you want to go home.”
It was déjà vu when he swept me into the Town Car and shut the door behind me. Just like the video with the Rockets cheerleader, except against all odds, I was the glamorous woman now. As the car pulled away from the curb, I watched Logan through the window, standing on the sidewalk with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, so handsome under the streetlamps. And it dawned on me in that delayed way my feelings sometimes did that I didn’t want this fake date, or business meeting, or whatever it was, to end.
And that was a problem, wasn’t it? Because while I was letting myself sink into dreamy fantasies, Logan had been clear from the beginning about where he stood. I want to assure you the last thing you need to worry about is whether I have feelings for you.
I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the leather seat, repeating the words like a mantra so they would sink in. I want to assure you, I want to assure you, I want to assure you.
Stay awake, Alexis. No dreaming.