Page 58 of One Night in Paris

“What about those pictures?” Sitting up, I looked into his eyes. That certainly wasn’t right. “What about Dave releasing them?”

Logan shrugged. “I’m not worried about it, baby. So much time has passed now, it seems like he was just bluffing. I doubt we’ll ever see them—or hear from him—again.”

Holding his gaze for a long moment, I thought about that. It had been several days since Dave made his threats. But that didn’t mean he’d just disappear. It might just mean he was calculating how best to do the deed—how to hurt us the most.

Deciding not to ruin what was becoming a perfect evening by bringing that up to Logan, I dropped my head back down and took some deep breaths. Logan had been through this sort of thing before. I had to trust him.

And I did trust him. So far, he had never let me down. From giving me a job to the skydiving to the handling of this situation with Dave so far, I had no reason to think that Logan would let me down. Resolving to let him continue to handle the situation, I melted into him, glad to have his strong arms wrapped around me. No matter what storms life brought me, I felt confident that we could make it through as long as we had one another.

31

LOGAN

Sitting at a restaurant for lunch, waiting on Trevor to arrive, I gazed out the window, taking in all of the people bustling by. It was a workday, but I’d let the entire staff have the day off after I’d seen the quarterly earnings report. My team worked hard in everything they did, and that had paid off once again, as always. I didn’t see any reason not to let them have one day to rest, relax, and celebrate our accomplishments.

Trevor had called earlier that morning asking to meet me for lunch, so I agreed. We were supposed to meet at one of our favorite restaurants around eleven, but it was almost eleven thirty, and he hadn’t arrived yet. Sipping on a glass of tea, I sent him a text, asking him where the hell he was. His response was that he had to stop and get something, but he’d be there soon.

“Is there something else I can get you while you wait, Mr. Winters?” the waitress asked. She’d been over to check on me several times, but there hadn’t been anything for her to do, after she brought my drink.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.” I managed a dismissive half-smile, and she fluttered away. I had a feeling she’d be back soon, though. This was the type of waitress who always flirted withguys like Trevor and me wherever we went. It was almost as if they could smell money.

But then, she knew who I was and knew I had money. Strange. I didn’t get recognized in public much, especially when I wasn’t wearing a suit. Today, I had on a blue polo and jeans, a casual outfit but still nice enough for this part of town. I was surprised she even knew who I was. After the article came out about me being an eligible bachelor, there’d been a little bit of buzz. I’d caught a few people snapping photos of me. But for the most part, it had died down. It wasn’t like I was a movie star or a singer or something. Since when did architects have to worry about the paparazzi?

Apparently, all rich guys had to worry about it—even guys like Trevor who had never worked a day in his life. I’d seen his mug on the cover of plenty of tabloids. And he had plenty of women chasing him around, too.

The waitress was on her way over again when Trevor walked in the door. Wearing a white T-shirt with a picture of a surfboard on it and some khaki shorts, with a baseball cap on his head backward, he looked like a frat boy. His flip-flops echoed off the polished wood floor as he came over.

“Logan, my dude, how’s it hanging, brother?” He sat down across from me in the booth, slapping something I didn’t see down beside him. It sounded like a book of some sort.

“It’s about time you got your ass in here,” I replied without answering him. “I’ve been waiting for over half an hour.”

Shrugging, Trevor blew me off, as he always did when he was late. “Sorry. Had to stop and get a copy of the magazine I keep hearing so much about.”

“What magazine?” I asked him, but before he could respond, the waitress was there to take our order. Both of us ordered sandwiches with the restaurant’s signature handmade potato chips, and then I returned my attention back to Trevor. “Well?What are you talking about?” Most of the time, when he got caught up with something like this, it all ended up sounding like bullshit to me, but he clearly had something he wanted me to see or he wouldn’t keep bringing it up.

Without replying, Trevor lifted the magazine up and dropped it on the table.

“Magazine” wasn’t quite the right word for the particular publication he’d deposited in front of me. It was a gossip rag at best, something to use for toilet paper in a jam, being the optimal way to describe it. At first, I was confused as to why he wanted me to see it.

Then, my eyes dropped down from the title to one of the stories featured on the side, complete with picture.

“Holy fuck,” I muttered, my mouth hanging open for a long moment as I processed what I was seeing.

Harper and I stood on the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco, but the picture had obviously been manipulated. We’d been holding hands, but this photo had us in a tight embrace, gazing into each other’s eyes. The headline above the story read, “Bachelor’s New Fling,” and below it, the teaser went on to tell the reader they’d find out who this mystery woman was inside and why she obviously had no scruples.

Looking up at Trevor, I ran a hand through my hair, disbelief and dread filling me to the brim. My friend sat there with his hands steepled in front of his face, a huge grin spreading even wider when he opened his mouth to say, “I guess someone’s famous now. She’s gonna bepissed.”

Narrowing my eyes, I said, “I don’t know why the fuck you think this is so damn funny. Harper isn’t just going to be pissed to see this, she’s going to be hurt.”

Trevor shrugged. “Come on, man. It’s not that bad. It’s just a bit of publicity. It’ll all blow over soon enough. She might actually get a kick out of having her picture in a magazine.Hell, a lot of women will do just about anything to get that to happen. Think about all of those models who practically starve themselves to death, just eating a piece of lettuce or a grain of rice a day, all so they can make it into a magazine.”

Glaring at him, I wondered if he had any idea just how wrong everything he’d just said truly was—on so many levels. “Trevor, first of all, I’d be careful how you stereotype models, since you date so many of them. Secondly, Harper is not a model. She’s my assistant—and I care about her very much. This is the last thing she needed to have happen to her.”

“I do date a lot of models, and they eat like rabbits,” he countered.

The waitress brought our food just then, but neither of us touched it while we were in the middle of our heated discussion. “As for Harper, she’s totally into you. It’s obvious she likes you a lot, so she’ll let this slide.”

“That’s not the point!” I tried to keep my voice down, even though I was upset and growing more so by the minute. I took some deep breaths in through my nose and released them through my mouth. “Harper doesn’t deserve to have to go through this. Period. She’s an amazing girl, with a sick mom, who always tries to do the right thing. She always puts other people’s needs before her own. And selfishly, I let her do that again, even though I should’ve known better. Slimeballs like Dave don’t give a shit about people’s feelings. They just do whatever the hell they want.”

---