Page 35 of Mine to Love

I’ve never looked up Logan but find myself doing so tonight. There are dozens and dozens of articles about him and his company. He’s often a guest on Austin’s local news station offering financial advice. There are hints to his net worth, well into the eight figures, and that isn’t counting all his investments.

There’s no juicy gossip, other than he’s the son of Travis Pierce, who inevitably taught him all he knew in the financial world. Travis’s net worth is guessed to be in the nine-figure range.

The financial stuff is interesting, and normally I love diving into it, but I want to read about the man behind the suit. There are a handful of pictures of him at fundraising and philanthropy events, never with a woman at his side.

I look up from my laptop and take in my surroundings. A twenty-eight-year-old woman sitting in her twin bed in her childhood bedroom in her parent’s house shouldn’t be fantasizing about such a man.

Heck, I have carnal knowledge of him. Of his lips. The taste of his tongue. The touch of his fingers. The hardness of his— “Gah! Get your head in the game.”

The sex was good. Of course, it was. A man of Logan Pierce’s stature has to have dozens and dozens of women at his beck and call, willingly giving their bodies to him to use and abuse.

Only he hasn’t used and abused mine. Our sex was rushed in the front seat of his car, but it wasn’t...dirty. He pleased me and made promises to do so again, only he hasn’t.

He’s never made a move at the credit union. He didn’t hit on me at The Beer Garden. And he hasn’t reached out to me about this job opportunity. Maybe he has no idea his company has selected me as a candidate. According to Logan, he didn’t make the changes within the credit union. He had his people take care of that.

Maybe Doug does all the hiring and Logan has no clue I’ll be training in his building in Austin in three days.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

***

WHATEVER I WAS EXPECTING, it wasn’t this. A man in a business suit holds up a sign with my name on it. I walk up to him and ask him his name.

“Miss Elliot? Mr. Doug Timms asked me to bring you to your hotel. Do you have baggage?”

Oh, do I ever. “Just my carryon.” I send Doug a text to the number he left for me. You can never be too sure, especially in a new city, and one as big as Austin.

He confirms he sent over a driver to get me and apologizes for not picking me up himself. Feeling better, I move closer to my chauffer.

“I can take that for you, ma’am.” The driver reaches around me for my bag.

“Thank you.” I follow him out the door and get in the back of a black car while he puts my suitcase in the trunk. The evening air in Austin is much warmer than in Maine and it feels nice on my skin.

The leather seats are buttery soft, reminding me of the high-end leather of Logan’s BMW. The driver closes the back and I get a sudden chill from the air conditioning. When he takes his seat behind the wheel, I lower the back windows.

“Would you like to stop anywhere before going to the hotel?”

“No thank you.”

I take in the lights of the tall buildings as we drive through the city. It doesn’t take long to get to the hotel. The Four Seasons isn’t anything like your typical Holiday Inn. When Doug sent me the itinerary, I looked up the hotel and nearly passed out at the price for one night’s stay.

I remember the children’s story my mother had read to me about Madeline in New York City. This isn’t New York, but holy hell, do I feel out of place. I mentally run through the clothes I packed in my carry-on and instantly second guess my selections.

High heels and short skirts are my idea of dressing up, but I’d packed my longer pencil skirts and a pair of dress pants airing on the more conservative side. I dressed for comfort on the plane and wonder if the hotel will balk at my leggings, sneakers, and sweatshirt.

There’s no more time to think. The driver has my door open and his hand out to help me to the sidewalk.

“Thank you.” I step out into the warm night air and breath in the smells of the city. So different from coastal Maine. City life would be fun with girlfriends, maybe a boyfriend, but not as a forever home.

The doorman greets me with a polite smile. “Enjoy your stay at the Four Seasons, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Southern charm isn’t a thing of the past, I suppose.

“Welcome to the Four Seasons, ma’am.” A tall man in a tailored suit welcomes me in the lobby. “Are you checking in?”

“Yes. I have a reservation.” Wow. Don’t you sound intelligent? I’m a bit out of my element here. From the hanging light fixtures to the elegant glass walls, the hotel screams class without being over the top snobby as I expected. The pictures I saw online didn’t do it justice. Granted, I don’t get out much and don’t have much hotel experience to compare this to.

---