Margaret agrees, “You’d make a fortune.” Then she continues on her way, “See you tomorrow, Gemima.”

“Bye,” I say, as behind me I can hear Logan heatedly yelling at his father, “Because I love her!” and my worry feels lighter still. He’s not going to get into trouble, I decide, not for one punch, sixteen years after his last indiscretion. It’s not like he’s spent the in between years in prison; he’s been building one of the most successful companies in Paris. No, he’s not going to get into trouble. Logan today is miles apart from his former-self.

Suddenly I realise that Rupert’s old emotions and fears about his beloved son have come flooding back and have overwhelmed him. Yes, that’ll be it, I decide; that’d be the best outcome of this situation.

His next words seem, in my mind, to support my theory, as he refers back in time. “You need to remember how much fucking trouble you’re in, Logan, you can’t forget it!”

“Of course I can’t forget it, I have you reminding me all the fucking time,” Logan seethes.

“Don’t be a little shit,” his father snaps, and for some reason I can’t help but grin. Hearing Logan being called a little shit is so bizarre that it’s humorous. His father continues, “Everything I do, everything I’ve done, is because I love you. You need to fix this, Logan. Fucking fix it!”

Logan’s voice is softer when he says, “I have, dad. I promise you. It’s not a big deal, I had a long chat with the guy earlier today. Would I have done that if I’m still a juvenile?”

Rupert huffs, conceding, “No, I suppose not. Well, that’s good,” he says sternly. “Well done,” he adds, changing his tune.

There’s a long, tense silence.

“You’re very sweary today,” Logan tells his father.

It’s with a hint of amusement that Rupert says, “That’s not a word, son.”

Logan looks up and sees me watching him. Busted again. I quickly avert my eyes.

A second later, I hear him saying, “I’ve got to go. I was in the middle of something when you called.”

My heart skips a beat and my head darts up to look at him again; he’s smiling at me, eager to get me home. I grin back at him, and nod vehemently.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” Logan says.

“Alright. Bye, Logan,” his father says heavily.

“Bye,” Logan replies curtly, swiftly hitting the End Call button and then striding across the room to join me. He stares down at his phone as he walks, and I can hear him growling in frustration.

I say nothing, remaining impassive, letting him speak first.

“That was fucking ridiculous,” he sighs.

“Yes,” I agree. Then, in an attempt to lighten his mood, I say, “Sweary is totally a word.” My job done, he smiles at me, and I hasten to add, “Baby, he’s probably just worried about you.”

“I know he is, but he doesn’t have to be. It’s so stupid, and it’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to hear me being spoken to like I’m an eighteen-year-old delinquent. I want you to think I’m cool,” he tells me, with a huff that’s comically similar to his father’s.

I grin at him again. “I think you’re so cool,” I say, wrapping my arms around his waist and rising up on my tiptoes to kiss his lips.

He responds by taking my face in his hands and kissing me with ardour. I am momentarily lost in our kiss, forgetting completely that I’m at work.

“Eh, pardon?” a shrill French voice interrupts us.

Logan and I break apart to find a surprised-looking Amélie Clémence observing us. I feel my face flush crimson. As if her overhearing me talk about Logan this afternoon wasn’t bad enough, now she’s caught us completely entwined in the middle of the walkway.

However, to my great astonishment, Amélie is in a rather playful mood, quipping to Logan, “I knew a day would come when you and I would be even.”

I can’t believe it — she’s openly talking about the awkward moment that Logan walked in on her and Buddy having sex; she’s talking about it in front of me, as though it’s a common and casual topic of conversation, when she just told me never to talk about it again! It’s Logan, I know it is, he brings out her fun side.

“We are not even, Amélie,” Logan laughs.

Oh, there are so many things that I’d love to say, but I (unlike my boyfriend) feel wholly intimidated and uncomfortable making jokes about my boss’s sex life.

“Mr. Leary, do you ever actually go to work?” Amélie asks him.

“We had a meeting about the project you assigned me,” I pipe up. “It’s in my diary and everything,” I add.

She looks at me like I’m a little peculiar, and Logan stifles his adorable smile.

“It was just a preliminary meeting,” he tells her, “in preparation for our on-site meeting tomorrow afternoon.”

Uh… Our what? Just smile and nod, Gem. “Yes,” I agree, having that awful feeling that Amélie manages to evoke in me of being totally see-through; she so knows something else is at play here, I just wish I knew what it was.

“I see,” she says, forcing her best smile on for one of her best clients. This account from Logan’s company is huge, she’s not going to jeopardise it by asking too many personal questions.

“Four-thirty tomorrow, right, baby?” Logan asks me.

“Yes,” I smile. “It’s…in my diary,” I bluff.

“Very well. So what I saw just now, what was that?” she refers to seeing us making out.

“That was an exchanging of ideas,” I say, trying to keep a straight face, while Logan nods next to me.

“I see,” she says again. “And do you converse with all of my clients in such a way?” she asks me.

“Absolutely not,” Logan cuts in. “You know I’m a special client, Amélie,” he teases her right back. Jeez, he’s so much braver with her than I am.

“Of course, Logan. I understand your birthday is fast approaching. Your fortieth, is it?”

What? “No!” I shriek, appalled that she could think my gorgeous, fit boyfriend is a day older than he is.

Amélie looks at me in surprise. Again. “Is there something wrong with being forty, Gemima?”

The words digging and hole come to mind. “No,” I cry again. “It’s just…he’s not that old,” I say, my voice getting quieter with every word I utter. Kill me, kill me now, I think dramatically.

Logan is silently laughing. I give him a help me look, and he does.

“I’ll be thirty-five on Thursday. My family is flying in from the States,” he tells her.

“Your parents are coming?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Yes,” he nods.

“You’re meeting his parents?” she asks me.

“Yes,” I say.

Humour becomes her. She breaks into laughter at the thought of me, a sufferer of chronic verbal diarrhoea, meeting my boyfriend’s parents. “Oh, I’d pay to see that,” she laughs.

I roll my eyes. I’m not going to be that bad. I hope.

Logan has every confidence in me, saying, “Gemima is brilliant at expressing herself openly and articulately.” He adds, “As for her proclivity to speak her mind prior to considering the consequences—” That’s a nicer way of saying verbal diarrhoea, if ever I heard one.

“Yes,” Amélie interjects, “that is what I am so gleeful about!”

Logan takes my hand and kisses the back of it. I feel my face blush again.

“It’s all part of her natural appeal,” he smiles at me.

I grin back at him and when I turn to face Amélie once more I feel very smug indeed. Did you hear that, Amélie? Natural appeal.

“I cannot deny that there is something…unique…about your presentation,” Amélie sort-of compliments me. “Our clients certainly seem to find you charming.”

Ah-ha! Any niggling insecurities abate completely, and my surety comes back in droves. I am so going to win over Logan’s family. Oh, unless they blame me for the punch-up last week. I shake my head at the horrible thought. Stay positive, Gem.