6
Strictly Professional
I’d almost made it across the parking lot when a deep voice called out behind me, “Alexis, wait.”
I stopped, heart rate spiking. Because of course I knew that voice. I gave my silver Jetta a longing look, then took a deep breath and turned.
Logan strode out of a back door I hadn’t noticed. His office was one of those quirky old renovated brick buildings that seemed to be everywhere downtown, and with its steepled roof, it looked like it could’ve been a church once upon a time. Don’t find a stitch of this charming, I instructed myself. Eyes on the man charging toward you. The clandestine political operative. The cad. The very good kisser—
I was still shaking my head when Logan caught up to me. He looked like he was all wound up to say something, but when he clocked my face, he paused and huffed, “What?”
“I was just thinking that the last time I saw you, you were running in the opposite direction. Interesting how the tables have turned.”
“Oh, good.” He grinned and I thought, Uh-oh. His expression was the gleefully manic one of a man who loved to rumble, getting his heart’s desire. “The gloves are finally coming off. Well, the last time I saw you, your name was—” He made sarcastic little air quotes. “Ruby Dangerfield.”
It clicked: Logan wasn’t just angry at the situation. He was angry at me. What nerve, when he was the one who’d gotten us into this mess.
“You lied about everything, all night,” he said. “Your family, your friends. You’re not even related to Rodney Dangerfield!”
Just like Saturday night, Logan had a strange effect on me: my brain took his unapologetic brashness as an invitation to stop worrying about everything before I said it. “Oh, come on.” I snorted. “If you actually believed Ruby Dangerfield was a real name, that’s on you.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I bet you never even went on an archeology trip to retrieve a stolen artifact from the mouth of the Himalayas.”
I crossed my arms. “Of course I didn’t, because that’s the plot of a children’s novel. It’s disconcerting you didn’t know that.”
“Ha!” Logan rocked back on his heels. Okay, so we were doing this. Out here in the parking lot, with the faint tang of gasoline in the air and a beautiful robin’s-egg blue sky stretched above us. “You’re right. I work in politics. I should immediately suspect every person I meet is trying to pull some con on me. So what was your plan if the fire alarm hadn’t gone off? Spend the night with me, then take off in the morning, secure in the knowledge that I could never track you down because I didn’t have your real name?”
My cheeks were flaming. “So I told a few white lies.” I spun and beelined away. Unfortunately, Logan’s legs were long, so he had no trouble keeping up. “You’re the one who dumped me in an ambulance and took off without another word. But I guess that’s your MO, seeing as how you’re a playboy and all.” I finally reached my car door and started to yank it open—then thought better and turned back around. “Is that how you end it with all your women, or am I especially not worth the goodbye?”
“My women?” Turning around to face him had been a bad idea. Logan stepped closer, shaking his head. Despite his tone, I could feel myself drawing nearer to him, pulled by the hard planes of his chest in that fitted white dress shirt, the dark line of his jaw, shadowed with stubble, the long column of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing above the knot of his tie as he swallowed. I reversed course, backing up until my shoulders hit the car. He only leaned in closer. I was caged.
“What I don’t understand,” he said, in a low voice, “is why you’re so bothered. Admit it. You were going to drop me at the end of the night and disappear without a trace.”
“Like you literally did?”
“There were photographers! I was trying to avoid this exact—” He stopped and scrubbed his hands through his hair, unleashing his curls. Then he looked up at the sky. He was silent for several beats, like he was counting in his head. “Okay,” he said finally, his voice tightly leashed. “For the sake of a truce, let’s just say neither of us was planning to see each other again and leave it at that. I get that publicly dating me is the last thing you want to do, since you went to such elaborate lengths to ensure I knew nothing about you. But—look. Winning this race means everything to me. And my team wants it as badly as I do. I don’t always agree with Nora’s methods, but I trust her. And she thinks doing this is the only way to keep this story from being the meal my opponents feast on from now until November.”
My car door was warm from the September sun. I leaned harder against it. Witnessing Logan prostrate himself felt unnatural. “You really don’t have to...”
He sighed. “I didn’t come out here to argue, or close the deal. I came to say I know we’re giving you the full court press. But you don’t have to do this.”
This man was more confusing than an illustrated cover on a romance novel. What the hell was going on inside his head? “I don’t?”
“Of course not. If you don’t want to, I’ll figure out a way to keep your name out of the press. I’ll make sure no blowback falls on you, I promise. But—” He blew out a breath, and caught my eyes. The look on his face was intense as usual, but this time, intensely sincere, like he was gearing up to make a speech. This must be the Logan Arthur politician face. I swallowed, unable to look away. Damn, he was good.
“If you’re even considering it,” he said, “I want to assure you the last thing you need to worry about is whether I have feelings for you. I have zero interest in being in a real relationship with anyone. So if you’re concerned that agreeing to date me would be awkward because we already kissed: I promise it won’t be. You don’t have to worry about me thinking it means anything, or, God forbid, making overtures. We both had a lot to drink Saturday, and clearly acted out of character. Probably for the best it got cut short—”
I practically tripped—standing still—in my haste to say, “Obviously for the best. Well done, lightning, is what I’ve been saying.”
He gave me a quizzical look, but mercifully moved on. “The point is, if you’re even considering saying yes, please know I intend for this to be entirely professional. I’ll—I mean, the whole campaign—we’ll treat you with the utmost respect. No funny business.”
How in the world was I supposed to get a handle on my thoughts when Logan’s were so illegible? Did he want me to say yes or did he want me to say no? I knew I should be thinking this through logically, considering all the angles, but what my brain kept returning to was I want to assure you the last thing you need to worry about is whether I have feelings for you. And every time it went there, it felt like poking a bruise. A tender, sore feeling.
“Thanks for the, uh...reassurance. I’ll take it under advisement.” I popped the car door and sank into the driver’s seat. “And I’ll get back to you. Soon,” I added, at the look on his face. I shut the door, wrenched my eyes from the window, and pressed the ignition to escape.