Page 8 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

At least I got the apartment. I only work here at Barnes. It’s been a happy place for me. I still have all the other hours of the week when I’m not at work to live a Logan-free life of bliss.

Okay. You know what? No.

Just no.

Logan has won everything all our lives. He doesn’t get to take this too.

I’m a fighter. I was at Barnes first.

I’m not letting him waltz in with that business-casual look and his ruffled hair, the crisp cotton shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a peek at his perfect clavicle. Nope. Those rolled up sleeves, revealing forearms that appear a bit thicker than they were in college, will not dominate my world. He thinks that’s going to do something for him? No. It isn’t. I’ve been working here for six years. This is my domain. He’s not going to saunter in here with that jawline and those eyes and his mad skills and take over.

For once, I’m claiming my territory.

I nod my head to myself to confirm the seriousness of my resolve.

Oh, Logan Alexander. You chose the wrong place to come to work.

Darwin prattles on about Logan’s achievements—most of which I know about but definitely not because I’ve obsessively tracked his life. We work in the same industry. I hear things. Maybe I check every so often. Just to make sure he’s safe and sound, practicing his excellence in another county.

I thought I’d be a jump ahead of him. I never imagined Logan would show up in Serendipity Springs again, let alone here.

Finally, Darwin finishes his lengthy and effusive rhapsody recounting Logan’s resumè.

I love Darwin. He’s an awesome boss. We have a good rapport.

I’ve just had the rug ripped out from under me.

If I were Darwin, I’d gush too. But I’m not Darwin. I know Logan way better than I wish I did.

The usual hum of conversation resumes after Darwin, Lydia, and Lord Voldemort leave the room. I stare ahead, processing the facts.

Logan Alexander moved back to Serendipity Springs.

Logan Alexander works at Barnes.

Logan Alexander will be in my life—daily—from this point forward, indefinitely.

I shake my head as if coming out of a daze. My coworker, Suze, walks over to me.

“Are you okay? You look a little lightheaded. Did you run fifteen miles this morning and forget to eat protein? I’ve got Reese’s in my purse. They’re the closest thing to a protein bar you’ll get from me, but they taste way better.

“No. Thanks. I’m good.”

“You sure?”

I glance around. “Yeah. It’s just … you remember that guy I told you about from high school and college?”

“Yeah? The nemesis?”

“The antithesis of all human decency. Yes. Him.” I glance toward the door Logan walked through only moments ago.

“Waaaiiit …” Suze says, following my gaze and looking back at me with her lips in an “O.”

“Yep.” I pop the P sound.

“Oh, girl. You need those Reese’s. Hang on.”

Suze briskly walks away and takes her purse off a hook on the freestanding wall in the middle of the room. Sometimes there’s a donut wall hung there, other times we affix a dartboard. A mechanical screen is mounted overhead which we lower down for video presentations. Cubbies line the other side so employees can stash their belongings. It’s all part of the open, shared workspace concept.

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