“That’s not annoying, it’s insightful.” He sighs heavily.

“Sorry,” I mumble, “you don’t have to answer.”

“Yes, I do. If there’s one person I want to answer to, it’s you,” he says, meaningfully. “I haven’t always been so passive with Taylor,” he begins. “When my parents and I started talking again after I moved here, Taylor was furious with them. I guess he felt betrayed that they would want anything to do with me after the trouble I’d caused. I think he’d grown used to being their only son,” he tells me and I remember that Logan had no contact with his family for four years. Taylor must’ve assumed him gone forever. “When I came back into their lives, I was grown up, successful, I’d made my parents proud, and Taylor hated it. Back then I did everything I could to appease him, because I felt guilty,” he admits. “Really guilty. I apologised more times than I can count, but he never forgave me. He was rude and belittling, and I let him be because I was certain that I deserved it.

“You don’t deserve it,” I say quietly.

“I know that now, baby. When I was twenty-five I was awarded Best Newcomer at some business function,” he says offhand, “and Taylor told me over the phone that I did not deserve to be appreciated for anything. Not one single thing. And that’s when I realised that I had to stop trying so hard; I had to let him be mad and I couldn’t allow his anger to hold me back. I told him one last time that I was sorry for putting him in hospital, but that I wasn’t going to take anymore shit from him. He tested my resolve, the way any sibling would,” Logan chuckles, “but I never let him get under my skin again.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’ll never escape the fact that it was my actions that caused this rift. That’s OK, I’ve accepted that. And of course, if I could go back in time, I’d do things differently. But I don’t feel guilty anymore.” He’s silent for another moment, before telling me, “Gemima, I don’t let his behaviour slide, I choose to ignore it. Because I’ll be damned if someone is going to tell me what I do and do not deserve. That’s my call to make. Taylor’s wasted most of his life holding a grudge against me; I’m not going to do the same.”

Pride swells in me as I take in his words. Gracious, mature, humble are just some of the compliments circulating around my mind. Not only has he fought to overcome his own demons, but he’s also managed to do what most people never can — to be unaffected by the opinions of others. Logan is his own man, entirely, and that makes him so much more powerful than Taylor — with his grudge and his bitterness — will ever be.

“Baby? Are you there?” Logan asks.

“Yes, I’m…I just wish that I was with you right now,” I say, wholeheartedly.

“Why? What would you do?”

“I would hug you for a long time,” I tell him and he chuckles, “and I’d tell you that I’m proud of you for everything you did long before we met.”

“Thank you,” he says affectionately.

Unable to hold it back, despite the fact I’d rather say it to his face, I blurt out, “My mom told me that my father used to have a saying: when you own your own story, no one can use it against you. It reminds me of you. You’re the best man that I’ve ever known, Logan. I really mean that.”

He makes the sound that he makes when he’s happy. Very happy.

“I bet your dimples are showing,” I grin and he laughs loudly. Jeez, he’s the only one who could do this to me, who could have my heart hammering and my body yearning to be near him, whilst I sit idly in my work cubicle. I check the clock; I can leave here in half an hour, which means I’ll be at the apartment shortly after, I don’t want to wait another unnecessary minute to hold him in my arms. Then it’ll be just me, Logan, and the birthday cake.

* * *

An hour later I twiddle my thumbs, waiting for the elevator in Logan’s apartment to collect me from the basement. When it arrives I step inside before the doors have even fully opened. I’m impatient. Incredibly so. The stagnant evening traffic did nothing to help my impatience, it only made me tense and agitated. The doors close and I curse the elevator to move faster. It’s been a tense day, I note, starting with Logan’s mother nearly catching us in the act.

It’s time to relax now, I tell myself. Finally I hear that satisfying ping sound, and I march eagerly forward into the apartment before I scream and jump in fright. Logan leaps out in front of me, a look of boyish exuberance on his face. He laughs heartily at my reaction, clearly thrilled to have startled me.

My heart lurches uncomfortable in my chest. “Fuck me,” I mutter in shock, my eyes wide. He got me good!

Still laughing, Logan takes my bag from my hand, and drops it to the ground, before hoisting me up into the air and holding me tightly under my backside. “You know I’m not a fan of that expression, but baby, I just can’t resist you,” he says, looking up at me as I grip his shoulders for balance. He walks us into the living room and then falls back onto one of the sofas, causing me to squeal again.

I end up straddling him, feeling a little like a rag doll. “Are you quite done?” I ask in mock exasperation.

He smiles that breathtaking smile, looking youthful and completely gorgeous. I flatten him against the back of the sofa, kissing him fervidly. “Have you been home all afternoon? I question, eyeing the bathrobe that he’s wearing once again. If he hadn’t of sent me those photos of himself at lunch then I’d think he’d never gotten dressed today at all.

“I got in about half an hour before I called you,” he says, his hand gliding lightly over my cheek. “I came home early to meet Mercy, but I’ll tell you about that later,” he smiles.

“Tell me about what?” I’m suddenly curious.

“Later,” he breathes, sitting up and wrapping a hand around the back of my head, bringing my face closer to his, and kissing me for a long, delicious moment. “I want to tell you about a phone call that I just had,” he announces.

“Oh?”

“I, uh, did some digging,” he says sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Digging?”

“About what’s happening behind the scenes at your work,” he explains.

“Oh…you can do that?” I ask, impressed. “In under an hour, no less.”

“I have an almost direct line into Amélie’s closest circle,” he tells me. “Cheryl’s sister-in-law is Amélie’s PA, Rosita.”

“Really?”

He nods. “You’re not mad?” he asks, adding, “I don’t want you to feel like I’m overstepping.”

“Did you get any juicy details?”

“I got them all.”

“Then it’s fine,” I grin, though I remind myself that less than a week ago I was pissed off because of people discussing Logan behind his back, and now here I am actively participating in similar industry gossip. Double standards are not cool, Gem! But I ignore my inner-scolding, and say to Logan, “Tell me everything.”

“You were right — Amélie wants to expand, and she’s set on developing an urban landscaping sector within the company. She’s been looking into things for the best part of a year, according to Rosita. Apparently the closest earning design firm behind the Pierson Group is getting a little too close for Amélie’s comfort. She wants an edge, and she thinks she’s found it. About six months ago she headhunted a woman who’s really illustrious in the industry—”

“Not Madeleine Lily?” I asked, shocked. When I saw her earlier this week I assumed she was client, not a potential new employee!

“Yes, her,” Logan nods.

“Oh my god.” My inner-fangirl surfaces and I feel giddy again.

“Amélie wants her to head up the team, and she agreed, but André Pierson put a stop to it.”

“Why?” I knew he was annoying.

“Cheryl said that Rosita said that Amélie doesn’t know why,” he says, before grinning broadly. “I feel like I’m in high school,” he sighs, making me laugh. “So Amélie’s been trying to convince him for months, and it seems like he might finally be warming up to the idea,” Logan concludes the gossip.