Page 63 of Mine to Love

Cream colored walls. Minimal decorations on the wall, a simple pink comforter, and a desk piled high with books. Gone are my textbooks, replaced with read and unread beach reads. Other than the Fourth of July barbecue at the Pierce’s house last month, I haven’t been to the beach this summer.

With only a few weeks left before the weather takes a sharp turn and the leaves change into golds and reds, I need to find time to stick my toes in the sand and get lost in a book. My contract with LP Financial is salaried but also specifies a forty-hour work week, and that all overtime must be approved by management before putting in the extra time.

Only a month on the job and I’ve already gone against the contract. Besides, management isn’t abiding by the rules so why should I?

I fire up my laptop and start searching for apartments.

An hour later, I’ve sent three emails sent to three different rental properties. Two are in my budget but further out of town, and the one slightly out of my range is only two miles from work, at the end of a Cul-de-sac by the marsh. It’s more than I need with two bedrooms and two bathrooms. Maybe they’ll have an opening with a one-bedroom closer to my price range. I give them a call and just my luck, the manager answers.

“I have a condo that just opened up this morning if you’re willing to take over their lease. The association takes care of all landscaping and plowing in the winter, and most home maintenance. We also offer a rent to own, if you want to go that route.”

I meet the manager after work, and by six-thirty, I’ve signed on the dotted line.

***

THREE MONTHS AGO, I was perfectly content working as a loan officer at the credit union. Two months ago, I was a pissed off teller, and then quickly promoted to a new company and dream job. And had the most amazing night of sex in my entire life.

One month ago, I was still living at home and never saw my boss. And now, I have my own place, granted, it’s barren, almost like LP Financials when I first moved in. It took one afternoon of shopping to spruce up the place. It will take a little longer than that to make my apartment feel like home.

One month and I’ve barely seen or heard from Logan. No longer pissed at him for giving me the silent treatment, I now teeter on the edge of worry. If he wasn’t such a private man, I would have asked Doug or even Melinda if he was okay. But I sense while he’s friendly and cordial with his employees, there are lines that aren’t crossed.

I don’t mix business with pleasure.

When he is in town, I can hear him on the phone or tapping away on his computer behind closed doors. I’ve been working on small accounts within an area of Acadia Falls. A boutique in Bar Harbor that needed advice on whether to sell, expand, or stick with it. A chain of convenience stores wondering if expansion was a good investment. And a coffee shop thinking about franchising.

I consult with the team in Austin and am confident enough to work with the local companies on my own. Logan still hasn’t hired anyone else to work at LP Financial, and I have limited experience. He’s never around. We don’t even have a secretary or administrative assistant in this office. The calls go straight to Austin. I hate to complain about the workload, because I love it, but I’m limited with what I can accomplish on my own. We need to properly staff the office if he wants the business to grow.

There are those and a dozen more questions I need to ask Logan, if he ever comes up for air during the few hours he is in town. Juggling my caramel latte and messenger bag in one hand and my keys and a glazed donut in the other, I manage to unlock the door and make my way upstairs to my office.

“I don’t know, Doug. Maybe Monday?” Logan’s exhausted voice rings through the space.

It’s only seven fifty-four in the morning. And an hour earlier in Austin.

“You sure you don’t mind taking care of that for me?” Logan marches out of his office and would have plowed into me if I wasn’t paying attention.

I dodge to the right, spilling half my coffee on Logan’s pants. “Sorry,” I mouth and set everything down on the empty receptionist's desk before running to the bathroom for a towel.

Logan is still standing where I left him, his call ended, and his phone clutched in his hand. Purple bags paint the area under his eyes, and his hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it. It’s usually styled to perfection, cut short and easy to manage.

“Not what you needed this Friday morning, is it? At least it was an iced coffee.” I bend to blot his pants then think better of it and stand, handing him the towel. “I’m really sorry, Logan.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He sounds sincere. Probably too tired and stressed to care about ruined pants.

“Do you have a spare set of clothes? Can I go pick up a pair of pants from your house? From the store?”

“Like I said on day one, you’re not my assistant, Reese.” He slips the phone in his front pocket and tosses the towel to the nearby coffee table. “I don’t care about the pants. They’ll dry. I’ll be behind my desk for the next ten hours anyway. All my meetings are video calls.”

I open my mouth to ask about hiring additional help, then think better of it and clamp my mouth shut.

He runs his hand through his hair and drops it to his neck. “What is it?”

I wouldn’t mind rubbing the tension out of his neck. And other places. “Nothing.”

“I’ve never seen you so serious. Or is that worry? Are one of the clients giving you a hard time?”

“No. It’s nothing like that.”

“Work related or...personal?”

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