Page 31 of Single Mom's Guide to Love

I slowly nod, knowing this is where the real groveling is about to begin. “I know you told me about being a designer the night before, but I never put two and two together. Hell, I didn’t even know we were both flying back to Nashville until I stepped on the plane. And if I can be frank, I canceled on these appointments so much I forgot about them.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Yeah, that stung. But I need to tell the truth from here on out, and I know some of it is going to hurt like bloody hell. “Do you want me to lie?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then, here’s the truth. When I walked into the bar that night and I laid eyes on you, I couldn’t look away. When I asked you to go back to the hotel, it wasn’t to get you into my bed. I just wanted to spend as much time with you as I could because you fascinated me. That night? I thought it was one-and-done, and I know you did too. I was shocked to see you sleeping in the seat next to me on the plane. What were the odds? There I was all morning, trying to figure out how I could see you again, because one night just wasn’t enough, and there you were. Hollywood writers couldn’t script that.”

Maeve’s eyes are widening with every word. I don’t know if it’s a good or bad sign, but she hasn’t left yet. That has to be good, right?

“When I figured out who you were, I felt awful. I wrestled with myself for that entire conversation if I should tell you that I was the mystery client. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

Her arms go back to cross. “Why am I here today? Why did you finally keep the meeting?”

I lean down and rest my elbows on my legs. Groveling is hard work. “When I realized it was you, it hit me how rude I’d been and how much I hadn’t respected your schedule or time. So I told Kat to make it work.”

“So this is pity? I’m only here because I slept with you?”

Ouch. That stung.

But she’s right. No use in lying about it now.

“If you were a stranger? No, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Wow,” she says, dragging the word out for an extra beat. “Well, thanks for being honest?”

“It’s not like that,” I say. Though I’m not sure if that’s the truth.

“Then please, Logan. Explain.”

It’s my turn to stand now. I can feel that I’m running out of time before she storms out. “I canceled because I would rather do literally anything other than talk about furniture or decorations. In many ways I’m still that broke nerdy bloke from Birmingham.”

“You’re a literal billionaire.”

I shrug. “I might have ten figures in my bank account, but I am who I am.”

“Great. Only I would get a frugal billionaire for a client.”

I try not to let my face show that she just called me a client. I doubt she realizes she said that, so I’m going to let it sit and not press my luck.

“Kat’s the one insisting I have the house professionally decorated. Something about me fitting in with Nashville elite and hosting fundraisers or meetings or something.”

“Or that you’re an adult and you can’t use milk crates as TV stands anymore.”

Oh, that trusty milk crate. It was blue and sturdy and perfect.

“That too. Kat finally convinced me I needed this done, but because I’m a pain, I kept finding reasons for her to cancel it.”

“Six times.”

I hang my head. “Yes. Six times. And I’m so sorry for that. I admit, I never considered what it was doing to the designer’s—I mean, your—schedule. I was selfish. And when I realized yesterday it was you, yes, I had her put the meeting back on. And yes, it had to do with our night together. I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t.”

I take a step toward her, hoping she can see the regret on my face.

“But more than that, I had her reschedule because I want to work with you. I want to see you turn this place into something beautiful. When I walked in, and your eyes were closed, you were envisioning the space, weren’t you?”

She doesn’t say anything, but I take that as a yes.

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