Unsettled (30 page)

“It hadn’t been like that before. My dad always took immense pride in the fact that I was his first son, junior—the whole nine. One year, on the anniversary of my grandparents’ death, my father got completely wasted. He wasn’t a loud drunk, he would just sit quietly in his chair and stew over things. Honestly, I don’t think he ever really dealt with the abrupt loss of his parents. Everyone else in the house was sleeping, and I’d come downstairs to get a glass of water. When I asked him why he was up so late, he said, ‘you know it’s your fault, don’t you son? You kept pushing your mother and me to let you boys go to that dumb baseball game—and look what it got me—two dead parents and a crippled son. It’s amazing how you were the only one who was able to come out unscathed. I hope the next time you decide to act so selfishly you think twice.’ ”

My head shot up in sheer disbelief.

“Oh my God. He really said that?” I asked.

“Yes,” he whispered, turning to avert my questioning eyes. “Yes he did. I don’t think he remembers saying it, and even if I confronted him about it, he’d probably lie and say that it was the Jack talking, but I know what I heard and I live with that guilt every day.”

I dropped my camera to my side and walked to face Logan. I reached out and cupped his face. “I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, “but you have to know that your grandparents’ death and Scott’s amputation weren’t your fault.”

His eyes told me he didn’t believe me.

“It happened a long time ago, but it doesn’t change how he feels about me, or how I feel with knowing his feelings. I’m sure the only reason he came here this evening was to discuss me pouring money into his firm to save it from bankruptcy.”

“Have you ever considered talking to him about your feelings?” I suggested, searching his green orbs for insight. I felt like a hypocrite suggesting he be open with his father, when I had hid my feelings and circumstance from practically everyone for so long. When he shifted his eyes and turned out of my grasp to look past the bluff, I had my answer. I turned to face in the same direction that Logan was looking in, surprised again by the immense greenery and natural landscape.

“No, my father is many things, but being in tune with his feelings isn’t one of his strong suits.” I couldn’t miss the irony in his statement. I wondered if Logan knew how alike he and his father were in that sense. We had decided to open up to one another, but that was only after we both spent weeks reigning in our true feelings.

“Six years ago I graduated from Cornell University, with a degree in Business Management and Accounting. When I enrolled at Cornell, my dad’s master plan was for me to finish my education as soon as possible. Cornell is my parents’ alma mater. My educational journey was preordained from an early age. As the oldest I was expected to gain admission to Cornell, graduate, and then accept a mid-level accounting position at my father’s accountancy firm in Virginia, until I was groomed enough to take over the business. From the outset, accounting was never a field I was particularly interested in. At the time though, I wasn’t strong enough to tell my father I wasn’t interested in accounting because I ultimately wanted him to be proud that he raised a productive member of society. Plus, I carried what he’d revealed to me so many years before with me daily,” he explained.

“Ultimately, I muddled through four years at Cornell and graduated. Three months after graduation I had a cozy office in my father’s sky rise, but I was completely miserable focusing on line-item cost analysis and expenses. I stayed on at the company for two years after graduation, but the whole time I was hatching a plan to make an escape.

“My grandparents had trusts set up for me and my siblings when we were very young. That money became available when I turned twenty-four. Unbeknownst to my parents I decided to cash out my trust fund and combine it with the money that I had saved to start my own business. I’d also reached out to some of my father’s more established business partners to pull together more backing for my business venture. Luckily a few of my father’s close associates understood my desire to move on and decided to help me out. I wanted to pursue a career that I was passionate about. I really wasn’t interested in being part of the
résumé-
driven society that required me to wear a suit and tie religiously; that lifestyle was never for me. I can handle it a few times a month, but no more than that.

“The day I told my father I no longer was planning on working at the firm, he was infuriated. Once he realized that I wasn’t jumping into my business venture with my eyes closed or banking on a whim and a prayer, he eased up a bit. To her credit though, my mother played a role in chiding my father to see the up side to my venturing out on my own; she’s always been the more level-headed of the pair.”

“I thought that when Colton Capital Management cleared a million in revenue I’d be content, but somewhere along the way my work has become my life,” he said, shrugging unapologetically and taking another sip of his drink.

“Nature of the beast, I suppose,” he continued. “Once the business started obtaining residual revenue streams, I bought out the partners who initially invested in Colton Capital Management. Once Scott finished college, he came on as a silent partner to help grow our business.”

“Well, you’ve managed to use your drive to steer you into positive directions. That in itself is something to be proud of,” I offered, even though I sincerely hoped it wouldn’t be that same trait that would inevitably drive a wedge between us.

“Have you ever talked to anyone about all of this?” I asked.

“Not really into all that shrink stuff,” he said, blowing off my question. I wasn’t exactly on the therapist cheering squad, but after my miscarriage I’d found talking to one useful enough. Maybe he would come around in time.

I decided it was probably time to switch the subject, since I knew that the issue with Logan’s father and his subsequent guilt wouldn’t get solved with one discussion—especially not if he was unwilling to face the issue head on. All I could do was hope that one day he’d come to grips with the fact that the whole situation that he’d endured was out of his hands, and he wasn’t to blame.

“So, what were you talking about earlier when you told your dad that we have plans?” I asked as I watched the sun slip behind the horizon.

“Yeah, about that,” he said, turning to face me. Mischief played in his eyes, and he cocked his lips into a smile.

“Well, I have to admit that I may have lured you here under false pretense,” Logan began.

“What do you mean?” I didn’t like the sound of his admission.

“We do have plans tonight, but they’re with two hundred and fifty other people at a charity benefit.”

My eyes shot back, past my hairline. “Logan! Why didn’t you tell me? I didn’t bring anything to wear! They won’t let me through the front door,” I groaned, “and it’s already getting late!”

Logan laughed at my response. “Don’t worry, your outfit is waiting upstairs,” he said breezily, flinging his arm over my shoulder. He leaned in and kissed my temple. Logan pulled me back toward the house.

“And how exactly did you pull that off?” I asked, looking at him pointedly, grilling him with my eyes.

“I have friends in the right places,” he teased.

“So what you’re really saying is you enlisted the help of my dear friend Alex,” I countered. There was no way that he’d managed finding out my dress size without help from someone who was privy to that information. I sucked my lip to keep from laughing, as I attempted to stare him down as we walked back toward the house.

“Yes, that is correct,” he laughed.

AFTER TAKING A RATHER
quick shower, where I was conveniently interrupted by a naked Logan, I entered his spacious bedroom to find that my gown for the evening had already been laid out for me. I was taken aback by the dress’s sheer and subtle beauty.

The garment was smoky green with lace flower–embroidered rhinestone flowers on the shoulder straps. The dress was beautiful, but it wasn’t an overstated piece that it would draw attention to me. I liked how it was so me. Next to the bed was a pair of t-strap, zip-back, rhinestone-studded heels that matched perfectly. Alex hadn’t missed a beat by picking out a matching clutch, earrings, and hair comb.

While Logan finished showering, I slipped out of his room in just a bathrobe and ventured down the hallway to another spare bedroom suite. I wanted to get dressed privately to surprise Logan. I hoped I looked as nice in the dress as he thought I would.

After an hour of moisturizing, curling, and squeezing into shapeware that had been conveniently hidden under the gown, I slipped into my dress and was thrilled that it fit perfectly.

I slid my feet into the heels and stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bathroom. I had decided to wear my hair in a pinned side swoop of curls that played on my shoulders and framed my face. The empire waist and ruching along the v-neck brought just the amount of attention, necessary to make me feel elegant, but at the same time didn’t scream “Hi, I’m his whore for the evening,” which I was thankful for since sometimes Alex’s dress selections could be a bit risqué.

When I finished picking over my appearance, I made my way back down the hall and into Logan’s room. I slid through the opening of the bedroom door.

“You look—beautiful,” he said. He looked just as handsome in a three-piece black tuxedo. To my surprise, he was wearing a smoky green bow tie that matched my dress. I had to laugh.

“Are we going to prom?” I joked as I stepped closer to him.

“Nope, but there won’t be any question who you’re with,” he said, pecking me on the lips. “Shall we?” he asked.

“Let’s do it before my feet fall off,” I said, eyeing my heels and smiling. Logan gave me a knowing smile and escorted me out of his bedroom. “While you look beautiful in that dress, I’m having a hard time not thinking about how long it will be before I can unzip you out of it.”

We made our way downstairs and through the kitchen, walking through a side door that led into a garage.

Logan flipped a switch in the garage and the space instantly brightened.

The Range Rover sat in a designated spot in the three-bay garage. I stopped in front of the passenger door.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Aren’t we taking the Range?” I asked.

“No, c’mon,” he said, pulling me back to his side. I followed Logan past the SUV and stopped abruptly in front of a pewter-colored Mercedes that had been hidden from my view.

“Wow, this is a nice car,” I said.

“That it is,” he said, smirking back at me.

“What is it?” I asked. The car looked to be vintage and I definitely hadn’t seen one on the road.

“Get your pen and pad ready, it’s a mouthful. She is a 1954 Mercedes 300SL Gulwing, but for short I call her the Sea Gal,” he said, smiling proudly as he unlocked my door. “Step back while she spreads her wings,” he joked. He was like a proud father dotting over his daughter. I enjoyed seeing him act like a giddy schoolboy over his car.

“Wow, fancy,” I responded, keeping up with his banter. Logan helped me get settled into the bright red leather bucket seats, then closed down the door.

I marveled at all the little knobs and the wood grain steering wheel.

A few seconds later Logan was sitting next to me and pulling down his driveway into the night.

“I’ve never seen a car like this before. Where did you get it?” I asked, adjusting my seat belt so that I didn’t wrinkle my dress.

“It was my grandfather’s,” he responded. “I guess he knew how much I liked it, so he left it to me in his will,” he said somberly.

I didn’t know how to respond to his comment, so I just stayed quiet and we pulled through the gate and onto the street.

21

T
wenty minutes later, Logan pulled the Mercedes into the valet area underneath a brown concrete building. I quickly pulled down the sun visor and checked my makeup before I got out of the car. I was a little nervous. Two hours earlier, I had no plans of rubbing elbows with benefactors at a charity event. I definitely looked the part of a savvy socialite, now I had to play the part. That was a role I wasn’t very comfortable with.

“Good evening Mr. Colton,” the valet porter greeted as he took Logan’s keys. The valet runner stepped to my side of the car and helped me out of the coupe. The valet staff knew Logan? He must come here often.

“Thank you,” I said, standing and adjusting the bottom of my gown. I walked to Logan and inserted my arm through his.

We walked through a glass enclosure that housed plush cherry blossom trees and up a series of marbled stairs. When we reached the lobby, Logan steered us toward a guest table near the entrance of a ballroom door.

“Good evening sir, this way please,” the table attendant said as she walked us to our seats.
Annual L.L.A.P.
Benefit, Ballroom Four
, the sign read as we crossed the threshold into an opulent dining room, with a dance floor perfectly centered under a chandelier. I wondered what L.L.A.P. stood for, but figured I would find out soon enough.