Page 15 of It Shouldn't Be You
In this case, a pair of leather trousers that look painted on paired with red bottom stilettos and a white corset top that actsas a free boob job is the perfect combination. Couple that with winged eyeliner so sharp it's an art and I’m ready to face the day.
Satisfied with my choices, I make my way down to face the music. I let out a breath and feel my muscles relax a tad when I see Alex sitting to Logan’s right. His joker personality is just what the doctor ordered to cut through the tension I can already sense brewing as Logan takes me in from head to my sparkly blue toenails peeking out from my open toe shoes.
As I take a seat to Logan's left, I feel my cheeks warm under his intense gaze while I prepare my plate with a bit of everything. I make a mental note to explore the kitchen later and meet the chef behind these delicious spreads. If I'm going to be living here, getting to know the staff seems crucial to making life much easier. Maybe I can persuade the chef to let me have free reign of their kitchen in exchange for some baked goods.
Alex, glancing between us with raised eyebrows and a smirk that promises a world of teasing, breaks the silence. "What did I miss last night? Anything you care to share with the class?"
"Fuck off," Logan grumbles, tearing his gaze from me. Grateful for the reprieve, I take a deep breath before painting a smile on my face and throwing my own teasing remark into the mix. "Oh, wouldn't you like to know... Maybe next time you'll have to come along and see for yourself."
"Don’t tempt me, beauty. I think our friend here would have something to say about it."
"Oh, that grump? Never mind him, we can leave him at the restaurant to pay the bill and make our own fun."
"If you two are quite finished," Logan cuts in, his glare levelled at his friend as he grips his knife with white knuckles.
"Fine spoil sport. Some of the men have been wondering where their invite for tonight is."
"Tonight?" As far as I can recall, today's nothing special, unless there's a Scottish holiday or tradition I’ve forgotten about.
"Tell them it’s lost in the mail. Nothing’s happening tonight except me having dinner with my wife, and you, if you insist on being here," Logan grumbles, ignoring my question as he focuses his glare on Alex, who looks all too familiar with the look Logan is giving him.
"Logan, if you think I’m letting your birthday pass like it's nothing, think again.” Alex glares back, and my jaw drops. Birthday? And he didn’t tell me? Unexpectedly hurt by that omission, I frown at my plate, my appetite gone.
"Piss off, Alex, I’ll meet you in my office later," Logan dismisses him before turning to me. "Abigail, look at me."
"No." I’m sure my feelings are plain as day, and I really don’t want to give him that satisfaction.
With a clang, he sets his knife and fork down, gets up, and rounds the table to crouch in front of me. Twisting my chair so he can get closer, he grips my chin and tilts it up, forcing me to look at him.
"That’s better. You don’t need to hide from me. Ever. Why does it matter if it’s my birthday? It's just another day."
"It matters because you didn’t tell me. I asked you to tell me about yourself last night, and you brushed it off like there’s nothing to tell. And yet today’s your birthday, surely that counts as something?"
Letting out a sigh, he looks torn as he shifts his grip so he’s cupping the back of my neck. The comforting grip has me wanting to lean back into his touch, to close my eyes and bask in it. Even if only for a moment.
"I didn’t tell you because to me it is nothing. It’s always been nothing. The last birthday I celebrated, I was seven, and for a present, my father broke my jaw and threw me down to the cellar. Meanwhile, they had a party up here as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened."
My heart breaks for the Logan. He was just a kid. What kind of parent is so cruel to their child on their birthdays that they cause them to develop lifelong trauma around it? Evil ones who deserve to be murdered. That’s who. A dark, twisted part of me is glad Logan was the one to kill Angus and get his revenge. An even darker part wishes he had suffered more.
"Logan, it matters to me. I would have loved the chance to make it special, in a good way for you. To help you start creating happy memories in place of the bad ones. I know we don’t know each other yet, but it would have been nice," I explain, trying to make him see it from my point of view. And when he looks crestfallen as he scans my face, I think I might have succeeded.
"I’m sorry, I truly didn’t think of it like that," he says with a frown, wiping my errant tears away with the back of his knuckles. The way he so effortlessly and genuinely apologizes solidifies my decision to make today as special as I can for him.
"I guess there’s always next year, right? You may as well go on up and meet Alex; something tells me he’s mad as hell at you."
"You sure?" His frown says he doesn’t want to leave, but if I have any hope of pulling off a birthday party in a few short hours, I need him locked in his office out of the way.
"I’m sure," I say with a soft smile before shooing him out of the room with a gentle push to his chest. Watching him head up the stairs, I wait until I’m sure he won’t come back down before setting my plan in motion with a few well-placed text messages.
So far, Smithy has been a stoic, silent presence, but hopefully, roping him into my shenanigans will bring him out of his shell; otherwise, he’s going to struggle big time getting along with Cole’s larger-than-life personality. Not to mention the fact that once my year of having Cole here is up, it would be nice to have a guard with some personality.
“What’s the occasion?” Cole asks as I let them into the house and lead them towards the kitchen.
“It’s Logan’s birthday, which he failed to mention. Which means we have a surprise party to throw together and get theword out about it and not a lot of time to do it,” I explain as we head into the kitchen.
The kitchen is a spotless work of art that should be photographed for a home magazine. While the rest of the house might have been decorated with masculine influence, this was clearly done with a woman’s touch. Huge glass windows allow natural light to flood in and reflect off the marble counters and steel appliances. My baby pink KitchenAid stands out like a sore thumb amongst the otherwise very minimal and classy setup.
“Can I help you?” An older lady with a warm smile and grandmotherly energy asks as she comes through a swinging door, her arms full of ingredients and a dusting of flour on her cheeks. Cole rushes over to help her set everything down while Smithy stays hovering in the doorway.
