Page 13 of Best Kept Secret
Looking up from my phone, I bite back my smirk as I catch a glimpse of the Manhattan skyline coming into view through the windshield as the cab cruises toward the bridge.
Logan had arranged a flight for me later this morning, and I was scheduled to land while he was at practice. But after getting to the airport way earlier than necessary, the woman at check-in was able to bump me up to the first flight of the day. So, I may be a few hours earlier than expected, but I’m here and I’m so ready to see the look of surprise on Logan’s face when I show up at his door before he leaves.
Me: I can’t wait.
L: To see me, right?
Me: I mean, yeah, I guess.
Me: But also… a New York slice. Yummm.
L: I guess if I have to come second best, it’s okay to lose to pizza.
Thirty minutes later, I’m standing on a sidewalk in Lenox Hill, toying nervously with the scrunchie on my wrist, staring up at the looming skyscraper that disappears into the low-hanging clouds. I check the number of the building against the address Logan sent me the other day, and butterflies the size of bulldozers start to wreak havoc in my belly. I can’t remember a time I’ve ever been this nervous. I feel like I know Logan inside and out, yet this is the first time I’m seeing him since our one and only night together in my bedroom back in Ann Arbor. What do I do when he opens the door? Do I hug him? Kiss him? Will he grab me and throw me against the wall in a fit of passion?
Oh, my God. I roll my eyes at myself. I really need to get a grip; this is real life, not one of those Harlequin romance novels I used to sneak from my grandma’s bookshelf when she wasn’t looking.
Gripping the handle of my case, I take a big fortifying breath and walk inside the lobby where I’m met with a grouchy looking man in uniform perched at a desk.
“Name?” he practically barks without looking up from his newspaper.
I eye theNew York Timesin his meaty hands, offering a wavering smile. “Um, Millie Shaw.”
His eyes lift, one of his bushy brows arching slightly higher. “The name of the person you’re here to see,” he says as if I should have known that.
“Oh.” I huff an embarrassed laugh. “Um, I’m here to see—” I cast a furtive glance around the lobby to find it thankfully empty, save for an older woman walking out from one of the elevatorswith a fluffy dog on a leash. Lowering my voice, I lean in a little closer over the desk as I say, “Logan Cullen.”
A smirk tugs at the man’s lips. “Is that so?”
I smile. “Yes, sir.”
With a harsh sigh, the man places his newspaper down onto the desk next to a coffee flask. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms across his chest, staring at me long and hard.
A thick swallow works down my throat. Did I say something wrong?
“Missy,” he begins, and I try not to take offense to his sardonic tone. “You think you’re the first cute little twenty-something who’s tried to sweet-talk her way up to Logan Cullen’s apartment?”
Confused, my brows knit together. “I-I’m not trying to sweet talk my way anywhere,” I say, trying to rein in my frustration because honestly,Missy?
My gaze flits to the computer on the desk next to him. “If you’ll please check, I’m sure you’ll see Logan added my name to the visitor list.”
With a click of his teeth, the man eyes me suspiciously, spinning in his chair with another sigh, as if I’ve just asked him to drive me to the airport during rush hour. Thick fingers click a few keys before the screen comes to life in front of him, illuminating his face with a blue tinge.
“What’d you say your name was?”
“Millie Shaw,” I say through gritted teeth.
His lips purse together and he huffs a breath of air through his nose that sounds like it gets caught up in his nostril hairs, his dark gaze flicking to me and back to the screen with an unimpressed frown.
“I’ll just call up and let him know you’re here,” he gruffs, reaching for the phone next to the computer.
“Can you not?” I interject, forcing a saccharine smile I know doesn’t meet the steely glare in my eyes when he glances at meagain. “I’m earlier than expected, and I’d really like to surprise him.”
The man stares at me for a long moment, hand poised over the phone. With another huff, he hefts himself up out of his chair and rounds the desk, ambling toward the elevators, and I follow quickly, scared I’ll be chastised if I don’t keep up. He presses the call button, and the doors to the first elevator glide open. Taking a key card from the pocket of his pants, he reaches in and swipes the panel, jabbing the number thirty-eight button with his stubby index finger.
“Thank you.” I nod, stepping onto the elevator.
The man’s scowl is the last thing I see before the doors close, and I’m suddenly met with my own reflection looking back at me instead.
