Page 16 of It Shouldn't Be You
“I’m hoping you can. I’m Abbie, Logan’s wife, and he just so happened to forget to mention his birthday to me,” I explain with an eye roll and watch as realization dawns on her.
“Oh, that poor boy. I’m Kelly, I’ve been here since before he was born. What can I do to help?” In that moment, I know we’re going to get along just fine. Anyone who can be so ready to jump and do everything they can for someone else is speaking my language.
“Any chance you can help us whip up enough food for a surprise birthday party? And how would you feel about letting me use your kitchen to bake a cake?”
With a sharp nod and a shared glance filled with knowing, one part of the plan is born. Kelly gets to work phoning for backup and crafting a menu while I give Cole and Smithy a list of things to get before tying an apron around my waist and getting started on the cake.
While I would love to have more time to plan this out, sometimes you just have to work with what you have. And what I’ve got is a wonderful chef willing to slave away in the kitchen all day, two bodyguards with a shopping list as long as their arms, and the power of word of mouth to let everyone know this is happening. And luckily, my baking supplies. Can’t exactly have a birthday party without a cake, after all.
The day passes in a blur of action, and before I know it, Smithy and Cole are taking the last of the dishes outside while Kelly and I finish loading up the dishwasher.
“Leave the cleanup to me, you just worry about getting ready for the party,” Kelly tuts with a fond smile, before trying to push me out of her kitchen.
“Thank you so much, Kelly. You’ve been an absolute godsend today. Please take tomorrow off or at least come in late, I’ll tell Logan,” I implore her before pulling her in for a hug.
“It was my pleasure; now you just focus on the birthday boy, and I’ll worry about me,” she replies with one last smile. I leave her and make quick work of showering the remains of flour and a hard day's work away. Pulling on a black cocktail dress with a slit up the thigh and some light makeup, I make my way downstairs and take in the miracle we pulled off.
The back garden has been transformed into the perfect outdoor party setup. The pool has been roped off to prevent any accidental falls when the drinks start flowing, and pillar tables are scattered around for people to set their drinks while they stand and chat.
Meanwhile, the food and drink tables are along the back with a cluster of seats scattered around since, in my opinion, eating while standing is not the vibe.
All of this is behind the black and gold balloon archway that leads out to the back, and I cannot wait to see Logan’s expression as he walks through the archway and takes in everything. At this point, there’s no going back, so I can only hope he doesn’t hate it.
Chapter 12
“Explain to me again how you wined, dined, and then kissed Abbie last night, all while omitting that today’s your birthday. You thought that was a brilliant idea?” Alex seems to make it his mission to push me to my limits.
“You know damn well how little I care about today. It honestly never even crossed my mind, and I sure as shit didn’t plan on her finding out through your smart-ass remarks. Also, it’s Abigail, not fucking Abbie. That nickname is too common for her.”
“Your list of things to make up for just keeps getting longer. Maybe she’ll take me up on my offer to run away with me after all.”
I toss the rugby ball on my desk at him and smirk as he curses when it hits him. “Keep your playboy act for someone who buys it. We’ve got bigger issues right now. How’s the Daniels deal coming along?”
“It’s looking greener than before. Smithy’s cousin has agreed to set up a meeting for next week, so with any luck, we could get the first shipment over to Belfast within the month.”
Trying to facilitate a regular shipment of our specialty ghost guns to Belfast has been a headache, but if we can convince Jo Smith, Smithy’s cousin who manages a fleet of under-the-radar ferries, to put our shipment on one of them, then we might be able to get this show on the road.
The sooner we can get this deal set up, the sooner we can establish a new stream of income to replace the money my father brought in from the auctions. The sooner we can show the Old Guard and everyone else that we don’t need to engage in unethical activities to make bank, the better.
It makes me sick how many of the men here have voiced concerns over a decrease in payouts and seemingly don’t care about the sources of those payouts. It might be too late to change everyone’s way of thinking, but the sooner we find out one way or another what we’re working with here, the sooner I can do some kneecapping and get rid of the dead weight.
With that debrief done, Alex turns his attention to his laptop and pops in his earphones. Sharing an office space with someone who needs constant stimulation and noise, while I prefer silence, could be a recipe for disaster, but we’ve been doing this long enough to have a system that works. So, as Alex blares music loud enough to damage his eardrums, I let silence envelop me as I lose myself in the never-ending to-do list.
“That’s enough of this shit for one day,” Alex groans as he stands and cracks his back before coming over to my desk and closing my laptop, nearly slamming it on my fingers.
“What if I was in the middle of something important?”
“Are you forgetting I can see your screen in the window reflection behind you? You’ve been playing Candy Crush and hitting ignore on the last five calls. I think you called it a day at least an hour ago.”
“There’s only so much email and admin stuff you can be motivated to handle in a day.”
“Hey man, you’re preaching to the choir. Now, let’s go find Abigail and see what Kelly has whipped up for us.” The emphasis he puts on Abigail’s name makes me roll my eyes.
“You’re getting spoiled rotten living here. Do you even remember how to cook?” I quirk an eyebrow as I grab my phone and stand, stretching. Damn, sitting in an office chair all day is worse for my back than being in active combat for ten hours a day.
“Of course. I can whip up a mean scrambled egg on toast. And you know as well as I do just how protective Kelly is of her kitchen.”
“Fair enough. Remember when Smithy went in and helped himself to some of her cookies?”
