Page 58 of Mine to Love

“I’d love water, please.”

“No coffee?” Logan asks, as if he knows me so well. Maybe he figured out my preference by the coffee and creamer I keep in the kitchen at our office. Still, he could have given me the courtesy of greeting me this morning. Maybe a phone call last night when he arrived. Unless he left at the crack of pre-dawn.

I already had a coffee in my hotel room and a caramel latte on the way here. I sat in my car and finished it faster than I should have, needing the extra caffeine and liquid courage. Alcohol isn’t the only beverage that gives me a boost.

“Water is fine,” I respond again without looking at Logan.

“We appreciate you coming here in person. The files you sent and went over last week and the questions you answered this weekend leave us feeling quite confident in your advice,” Vinny says to Logan.

Questions you answered this weekend. The last correspondence they sent was on Wednesday. I made adjustments and sent them to Logan for his final look-through, which he approved of.

“That’s what we’re here for. Years of experience, reliability, and expert advice.”

Years of experience. That’s all Logan. I have about two minutes of experience, and it’s all been with Odyssey.

“If you have the final numbers and projections, we’re all ears.” Vinny returns to his seat addressing Logan. “Your reputation has far surpassed our expectations, Mr. Pierce.”

I don’t have a right to be offended. They hired LP Financial because of Logan’s reputation, not because of mine. I’m a mouse in this race. It’s my first assignment, and I’m still learning. They don’t want an intern, even if I’m technically not one, and even if I did ninety percent of the work for this proposal. They hired Logan Pierce.

The receptionist sets a bottle of water in front of me and disappears again. Spence’s focus has been on me, but more so out of interest than business. Ignoring his attention, I uncap the bottle and wait for Logan to run through the PowerPoint. The PowerPoint I made.

“Reese has it all laid out for you,” Logan says, tipping his chin toward the screen on the wall.

Surprised that he’s going to let me take the lead when Vinny has most clearly expected Logan to present, I clear my throat and take my laptop out. I hook it up to the HDMI cord and project the first slide, waiting for Logan to start.

When he doesn’t say anything, I glance over at him. He leans back, resting one ankle over his knee and again, he tips his chin, giving me the go-ahead. I’d been prepared to present so I shouldn’t be nervous. It’s Vinny’s somewhat dismissal of me that makes me self-conscious.

I take another sip of my water and clear my throat again. “Thank you for giving LP Financials the opportunity to show you what we can do for Odyssey.”

For the next hour, I tap through my slides, many I already shared during video calls, and highlight the updated numbers and projections I figured out this week, with Logan’s help and guidance of constructive written feedback. God forbid he speaks to me.

They have a few questions along the way, addressing them to Logan. Every time he stayed quiet, doing that chin nod thing, giving me the encouragement to respond. To my surprise, I’m able to answer all of them. A few had my brain hurting, and I looked to Logan for guidance, but he encouraged me with his gorgeous dark eyes.

When I’m done, we meet with two managers and are given a tour of the company. We work through lunch, not eating much of the deli platters and pasta salads laid out, and take care of the final paperwork, walking out of the front office a little after three.

Vinny gives me a similar handshake as he did when he greeted me this morning, and Spence’s hand lingers in mine. His eyes drop to my lips. “It’s been a pleasure, Reese. I look forward to working with you.”

Logan shakes hands with the two owners, and we walk out to the parking lot.

“You did great,” Logan says, taking out his phone from his pocket. I hadn’t seen him on it all day and now he types as he walks, following me to my car.

“Thanks. Um, drive safely.”

Preoccupied with his phone, he gives me a nod without looking up. I stand there for a moment watching him, not seeing a car with Maine license plates other than mine.

“Where’s your car?”

Tap. Tap. Tap. He fires off a long message then takes his attention off his phone for the first time since stepping into the sunlight.

“Um. I’ll call a car service.”

“What? That doesn’t make any sense. How did you get here?”

“Flew.” Eyes back down. More texting.

“You flew from Bangor?”

“Austin to Manchester. Car service to here.”

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