Page 5 of Chance of Romance
She grabbed the phone. “Yes. Actually, I already have a talk show booked. I’ll be going onSunshine AmericaMonday morning.”
“Fantastic! I can parlay that into more national interviews. The other talk shows will be dying to have you on!”
Her grip on the phone tightened. “That sounds like a lot of spotlight.”
“First things first, Sabrina, would you like to write a book that helps millions of women all over the world?”
“Yes.” There could be only one answer to that question. She’d dedicated her life to helping others.
“Great! I’ll email you the agency contract. Look forward to working with you!”
Joyce disconnected.
Sabrina slowly lowered her head to the desk, resting her forehead on the cool surface, trying to find her calm stable center again. Things were out of control—snowballing, crazy, circus-level drama. She remained in that position for a very long time, so overwhelmed her brain stopped cranking outfraudand shifted to a dull white noise.
Someone knocked on her door, and she jerked upright, smoothing her hair. Shit. How long had she been quietly freaking out? Did she miss lunch? Was it time for her afternoon appointment already?
“Come in,” she called.
The door opened, and Logan poked his head in. His short light brown hair and neatly trimmed beard highlighted a striking, perfectly symmetric face with warm brown eyes, a narrow nose that tilted up slightly at the end, and a killer smile. He was, by far, the best looking of the Campbell men, and they were a handsome lot. She’d heard he took after his beauty-queen mom, the masculine version of perfect fine features. He should be the one on TV.
“You free for lunch?” he asked.
She checked the time on her phone. She still had forty-five minutes. “Sure,” she managed, coming back to herself after her brief meltdown.
“Great.” He stepped inside, carrying a bag from the Chinese place and setting it on the coffee table between the beige client sofa and her matching beige counselor chair. He was tall, six feet, wiry with muscle like an athlete, but also really smart. He was the tech guy in his company. Checkin was an online service that did background checks on temporary caregivers and employees.
She remained at her desk, waiting to be sure she was steady enough to join him. This had been a hell of a day already, and it was only lunchtime. He took a seat on the sofa, casual and relaxed as always in a long-sleeved black cotton shirt, close-fitting faded jeans, and sneakers.
He lifted his head. “I got chicken and broccoli and pork lo mein, figured we could share.” He flashed a smile that lit up his gorgeous face, and she felt herself flush. Even from a distance the effect was spectacular. “Got your favorite fried dumplings too.” He set out paper plates, napkins, and plastic forks he’d brought from his own office’s kitchen.
“Thanks, Logan. This is just what I needed.” She closed the distance, pleased that her legs were steady, and took the chair across from him. She crossed her legs in her charcoal gray pencil skirt and grabbed one of the bottled waters he’d brought, twisting the cap off.
She was always careful to keep a table between them. Not like she was going to throw herself at him, it just seemed easier to keep the friendship boundaries clear. It baffled her why she lusted for him so badly, even knowing how unsuitable he was for her. There was the commitment-phobe thing, though now she wasn’t so sure if he actually was that, given the recent shocking news that he still pined for his ex.
Either way—commitment-phobe or ex baggage—Logan was a bad bet. On top of that, he was a risk-taker. Sabrina had worked hard for a stable no-risk lifestyle. Just look at how he’d quit a lucrative job at his brother’s company to strike out on his own with Checkin. He’d slept on his friend’s couch for a year, barely scraping by. Okay, yes, her tolerance for risk was extremely low compared to other people, she knew that about herself, knew she needed security and stability more than the average person because of her previous relationship and her unconventional childhood, but there it was. That chance-taking streak within Logan, which might’ve been just fine for someone else, was simply too much of a risk forher.
She let out a quiet sigh. She just needed to find a risk-averse, relationship-ready man to let loose her pent-up lust.
She stared at his large masculine hands as he set the food out. Logan always remembered her favorite dishes from local restaurants. He was a very thoughtful friend, unusual in a man in her experience. Still, just a friend. They took turns paying for lunch, so it wasn’t like this was a date. She tore her gaze away from his hands and—since he was focused on the food—looked her fill at his handsome face instead. Not for the first time she wondered what his beard would feel like. Soft the way his hair looked, or rough like stubble?
She took a long drink of cooling water, wishing she could get over this embarrassing lust for her friend.
His brown eyes twinkled with amusement. “Mad tells me you want me to be your fake fiancé.”
She spewed water, her cheeks burning. When she could finally speak, she told him, “Your sister has a big mouth.”
He chuckled low and deep. “Yup. I told her it was ridiculous.”
She wiped her mouth dry with a napkin. Did he mean the two of them together were ridiculous or the concept of a fake fiancé was ridiculous? “Why exactly is it ridiculous?”
He lifted one finely formed shoulder. “All the work of pretending, none of the fun.”
Her stomach dipped. What fun did he mean exactly? Was this not as one-sided as she’d thought? She blustered on. “That was Hailey’s idea, and it’s messed up.”
He inclined his head and dug out some chicken and broccoli, put them on his plate, and pushed the container across the table to her. “Mad says you’ve got a big opportunity as a relationship expert. She sent me the link to your article. Some fierce stuff in there.”
She wasn’t sure if fierce stuff was good or bad, but just hearing “relationship expert” made her adrenaline spike—heart racing, breath short, sweat forming on her upper lip.Fraud, fraud, fraud.TV, cameras, lights, millions of people watching her say what? She had no idea what she was going to say, had no idea what they were going to ask. What if she blurted she’d become a relationship counselor because she’d been left at the altar? What if they looked into her noncommitted background? It would ruin her reputation, destroy her practice.Fraud, fraud, fraud.
