To Amélie I say, “Maybe being French isn’t as much of an asset as you previously thought?”

“Don’t be absurd, Miss. Samuels,” she snaps, and I grin again. “There is nothing better in the world than being French.”

“You obviously fell under the American charm at one point,” I say. Oh. My. God… Did I really just say that out loud?

Logan chuckles at my unintentional audacity.

“A mistake I’ll not repeat,” Amélie assures us. “Perhaps you’re aware that it’s been brought to my attention that you went back on your word to never divulge the dealings between myself and Mr. Jackson,” she rounds on Logan.

“I’m sorry, Amélie,” he says, not making any excuses for himself.

“One person in eight years is pretty good going,” I come to his defence.

“Hmm,” she’s obviously unconvinced. “Lovely as it’s been talking with you both,” she says with an air of sarcasm in her voice, “I must get going, though I do have something for you, Logan.” She reaches into the pocket of her perfectly tailored linen pants and when she brings her hand back out, her middle finger is raised and she holds the symbol up in front of Logan as retaliation for him telling her secret.

Logan bursts into laughter, my mouth hits the floor. Amélie Clémence, usually one of such composure, is flipping the bird at my boyfriend!

“Good day to you both,” she smirks, as she walks away.

I stare at Logan in disbelief and he gives me a fair enough kind of look. Still in shock, I return to my desk and hurriedly pack away my things, including the photograph of me contained in a cardboard tube and the padlock that I bought last week, both presents for Logan’s upcoming birthday, and which I therefore hide from him as best I can. I’m saved his attention when his phone rings again. He looks at the Caller ID and growls.

Hitting the Answer Call button, he says in a less than enthusiastic voice, “Hi, mom…” He listens for a few moments, before exclaiming, “A bit of a mood? He was fucking fuming!” He listens again, and when he deems it safe, he hits the Speaker button. “Can you say that again?”

“I’m just calling to check on that hair appointment,” I hear Mary-Gene say.

“Desperation is not a good look,” Logan tells her, moodily.

“Oh, just ask her, would you?” she snaps at her son.

Logan rolls his eyes. Clearly there’s an air of tension in the George household today.

“It’s all sorted, Mary-Gene,” I tell her quickly. “This Friday evening.”

“Thank you, darlin’,” she says, her voice abruptly softer. She doesn’t sound like she thinks this is all my fault, I tell myself.

Evidently not in the mood to speak to either of his parents, Logan winds up the call quickly, while I flit around my desk, trying to find the little green house key that I had made for him. It somehow managed to lodge itself down the side of my desk. What else, I then think. Oh, yes, our meeting tomorrow, I remember, making a note of it in my diary.

Straightening up, I turn around with the key in my palm. “Logan Leary…will you accept the key to my house?” I say, theatrically.

He beams at me, unable to hide his enthusiasm, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Our meeting tomorrow, is it real?” I then ask him, as we make our way out of Pierson House, hand in hand.

“Of course not,” he chuckles alluringly, sparking my curiosity.

“Bye, Layla,” I say automatically, as we walk past reception.

“Bonsoir,” she says, doing a double take when she realises that Logan is here.

I grin a little smugly. Silly, Gemima!

“I do want to meet on-site, though,” Logan says about tomorrow. “There’s something I want to show you, and it has to be before sunset.”

“Intriguing, Logan.”

He smiles to himself, his dimples becoming pronounced. Desire shoots through my body and I commit to myself to drive home as fast as I possibly can.

“We can discuss work if you want to…but there are other options, too,” he leaves me guessing. Seeing as we’ll be on a building site I’m convinced that he can’t be referring to anything amorous, but then, what does he mean?

“Very intriguing,” I say again.

He then promises me, “I’ll leave my phone in the car tomorrow. I don’t want anymore untimely, unwelcome interruptions when I’m with you.”

My desire spirals higher. I check the time on my phone, and inform Logan, “We’ll have about three uninterrupted hours before you have to leave to meet Buddy.” I reach up to kiss him goodbye. “Drive fast,” I tell him as I begin walking to my car. “But safely,” I shout behind me.

He smiles and nods, watching me leave.

* * *

We lie sprawled across my bed, staring at each other in the mirrors on the ceiling. We bask in the afterglow of our love making for a long, gratifying time, before eventually migrating to the kitchen. As I haven’t been home since last Wednesday, any food in the fridge is questionable, and so our dinner tonight is comprised of three readymade meals, one for me, two for Logan.

We sit and eat at the dining table, for only the second time since I bought it, which reminds me giddily of the first time, with Seamus and Amber ten days ago.

“Amber’s pregnant,” I tell Logan excitedly, before stuffing a huge fork-full of food into my mouth. Unfortunately the flavour leaves a lot to be desired.

Logan grins, and confesses, “Yes, I, uh, I already know that.”

I swallow hard. “What?” I exclaim. “How?”

“She called me this morning,” he says, before amending, “Well, she called Leary Constructions and got forwarded to at least five different people, who tried to decipher what she wanted, before the call finally came through to me,” he laughs. “She said that she was going to ambush you for lunch and wanted to know if you and I already had plans. I figured she was up to something,” he says, and I like that he has already gotten to know her character so well, “so I asked a few questions. Eventually she spilled the beans,” he smiles. “And then she threatened lots of pain if I told you before she did.”

I laugh out loud. That sounds exactly like something Amber would do.

“I wanted to ask you about your lunch date earlier at your office, but you dragged me into that meeting room, and my mind went blank,” he teases me.

Grinning, I say, “Your memory is faulty, Mr. Leary.” We eat in silence for a few moments, before I ask, “Did she, uh, say anything else?” I suddenly wonder if she questioned him about children the way she questioned me.

“Only that I should remove your pill from your bedside table and destroy it at my earliest convenience,” he says casually, before laughing at the shocked look on my face.

“I…I’m sorry about her,” I say hastily. “She’s very pushy when she wants something.”

“It’s fine, baby,” he grins. “I’m thirty-four years old—”

“Thirty-five,” I interrupt with a cheeky smirk.

He rolls his eyes and I giggle. “My point is, that’s not the first time that I’ve been questioned by a woman about having a baby,” he tells me.

I drop my fork. “Who’s questioned you about babies?” I ask loudly. I want to know her name, I think immediately.

Logan smiles at my dramatics. “My mother, my sister-in-law,” he says cooly, “and Grace, the main project manager at Leary Constructions. You might meet her tomorrow at the site,” he adds as an afterthought.

Good, I think. The mother and sister-in-law, I can understand, but… “Why is Grace asking you about babies?”

Logan grins at me, and gives my hand a quick squeeze. “I suspect because she enjoys having them so much,” he says. “She and her husband — did you hear that? — her husband,” he reiterates with a laugh, poking fun at me, “have three of them, with another on the way.”

Oh… Way to overreact, Gem! “That’s wonderful news, I’m thrilled for them,” I say, picking up my fork once more and trying not to smile.