Page 20 of Mine to Love

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr....”

“Johnny. My friends call me Johnny, and your family has become dear friends of mine.”

“And you of us.” Camilla kisses the top of his head. “He’s adorable, isn’t he?”

Johnny has the flirtatious grandfather next door kind of smile and kind brown eyes. Eyes he passed on to his daughter.

A daughter whom I just majorly insulted. As well as her father.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I’m fully aware I have a temper. Over the years, and with lots of therapy, I’ve learned how to curb it, how to redirect it. Being called a whore who would stoop so low as to sleep with her boss to keep her job would make murder defensible in any court.

Okay, maybe not murder, but hitting my boss—the president and owner—is surely acceptable. It doesn’t matter either way. Excusable or not, I’m not sorry for hitting Logan. What an arrogant ass to accuse me of such a thing.

But insulting my father pushed me over the edge. That, surely, would excuse me from punishment for hanging him up by his balls. How did I ever think Logan Pierce was sexy? He’s serious, arrogant, power hungry, and insulting. Too bad God had planted him in a family with morals and high standards.

I suppose every family has a black sheep, and Logan is the Pierce family’s. The cool breeze whipping off the ocean masks my tears, and Emerson buys the lie. There’s no reason for her not to believe it’s the wind causing my eyes to tear up. I never cry, and what would my reason be today? I’m more than pissed about being demoted but nothing to cry about. I’m mad at myself for these stupid tears. I have never ever cried over a guy, and Emerson has no clue there was a guy.

I never cry.

So why does Logan make my eyes water? Why does the anger spill into tears? I’ll run a thorough self-analysis tomorrow when I have no distractions except laundry, scrubbing toilets, and spring planting.

Emerson came down to the rocks to tell me dinner was ready, and we’d gone back inside and found our seats around the dining room table. With the wind picking up, the dinner got moved inside.

I take a seat next to my father, with Camilla on the other side of him. Thankfully Logan sits to Camilla’s left so I don’t have to see him or even feel his presence at the table. With so many people in the dining room, and Gabriella and Nick entertaining everyone with their stories, it lets me hide behind my cornbread and smoked ribs.

I manage to avoid Logan the rest of the evening. I help my father out of his borrowed sweatshirt, then give hugs all around, tactfully skipping Logan.

If my father or even Emerson picked up on my odd behavior, they had the smarts to keep it to themselves.

I spend Sunday doing household chores and digging in the dirt to plant tulips and daffodils. My father came outside to “supervise” for a bit before getting too cold.

Monday morning comes around before I’m ready. I haven’t slept well since Saturday. Heck, since Tuesday night when I mounted Logan like a hooker in heat. It isn’t like he pushed me away or even gave a half-second of thought. All he cared about was that I was sober enough to make a conscious decision and if I had protection.

Not a total asshole, but still one, nonetheless. For a hot minute I contemplated wearing my most stoic, buttoned up business attire, and then toss that idea aside as quickly as a hooker’s underwear.

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