Page 35 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“Logan.”

“Everything okay?” Gah. It’s Darwin.

“Oh … um. Yes,” Logan answers Darwin. “I’m just … planning lunch. Want anything?”

“How thoughtful,” Darwin says. “What are you ordering?”

“I thought I’d get sandwiches from Relish.”

“I’ll take a hot pastrami.” Darwin pauses. “And barbecue chips.”

“Got it,” Logan answers. “I’ll just … get the rest of the orders.”

“Thanks, Logan. Way to take initiative and bring the team together.”

I can’t help myself. I mouth the words right after Darwin says them, mocking his facial expression in the privacy of the closet.

Way to take initiative.Myeh, myeh, myeh, myeh, myeh.

Of course something so mundane as ordering sandwiches for the team is considered exemplary when Logan does it.

Darwin must have walked away because Logan starts talking to me again.

“Hang in there, Olivia. I’m going to find a janitor. Do you need sustenance while you wait? Should I pass you a protein bar?”

“I’m good, Logan. Like I said, I’m just gathering supplies.”

“Right. Okay. Supplies, yeah.”

He didn’t out me to Darwin. I do appreciate that.

I turn on my cell again and shoot Charlie a text.

Me:Locked in the supply closet. The one outside the workroom. Can you come get me out?

Charlie:Seriously? How did you manage that? On my way.

Me:I just walked in. It locked behind me.

Charlie:Never a dull moment. I’ll grab the keys and be right there.

Me:If Logan’s outside the door, pretend you aren’t here to rescue me.

Charlie:Got it.

A few moments later, I hear Charlie saying something to Logan and Logan answering him. I can’t make out the words. Then there’s a key in the door, and light floods in.

“My hero!” I say in an overly dramatic voice when Charlie’s smiling face appears in the doorway. And I must make some dramatic movement with my hand or body because the box I’m sitting on implodes, sucking me in like a napkin being inhaled by a vacuum tube.

Charlie is mid-bow, saying, “My pleasure, milady,” in an equally dramatic fashion.

Logan stops at the door of the closet just in time to see me poking out of this box, my legs dangling out over the edge and my arms overhead like I’m a budding shoot trying to unearth herself in the sunlight.

His face goes through a rapid slideshow of expressions … shock, quasi-concern, arrogance, and finally stoic neutrality. We stare one another down while Charlie quietly watches. I’m daring Logan to say something, anything.

He doesn’t back down. He holds my gaze, and in the coolest of voices, he says, “I’m taking sandwich orders.”

Charlie says, “She likes the Grinder,” at the same time as I say, “I don’t need you to bring me lunch.”

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