Personally, Cassie didn’t think it mattered what kids read as long as they were reading, but she knew that wasn’t a popular mindset. It certainly wasn’t a view shared by the Chicago Public Library’s vice president, who had stared at her with disgust, telling her that despite what she might believe based on the content of the video, time travel wasn’t real. Which was too bad, or else he’d be able to go back in time and cancel this interview.
If time travel were possible, she’d go back and slap the snarky smile off his face, board member or not. Better yet, she’d go back to that day in the castle when she’d first met Logan. Cassie remembered the moment she’d realized it was a prank. At the time, she’d wanted to slap the smile off Logan’s face. Now, she wanted to pummel it.
He’d lied to her. Again. And this time it wasn’t for a few days. The asshole had lied straight to her face for months without once letting that charming bad-boy grin slip. Her lungs felt tight. There was a knot in her chest, twisting and tightening, making it hard to breathe. A constant pressure. A steady, heavy ache carving out her insides, leaving her as empty as the unfilled shoes she’d set out by her door before she left.
Shit. Her shoes. Had he filled them with gifts? Were his shoes sitting out, waiting for her to fill them in return? Oh, hell, was he sitting on her couch right now, waiting for her? Cassie paused outside her apartment. If she opened the door and saw his boat-sized shoes lying in wait, she would have to confront him, something she wasn’t ready to do. But she wasn’t willing to run away either. Not this time. She’d escaped in London when she’d found the contract in his pocket. And avoided confrontation again in Scotland, when she’d hid in her room after he’d stomped on her marriage discussion, snuffing out any vague dreams she may have had about their future together.
Gritting her teeth, she opened the door. Sure enough, Logan’s shoes were there. Cassie bit back a laugh-sob. The urge to flee was strong, but an anchor forged from fury, bigger and heavier than the effing Scot’s shoes, held her in place.
“Lass!” Logan emerged from her kitchen, champagne bottle in one hand, two glasses in the other. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home.”
Once again, the way he said “home” made her heart tremble. Cassie fought the tender feelings rising up. She reached down inside herself, drawing on the anger weighing her down. She sucked in air and welcomed the weight. Tied to the dock, her heart was safe. She would not venture from the shelter of that harbor.
Logan set the glasses on the table by her sofa and poured a measure of champagne in each. “I probably shouldna be drinkin’ again, considering all I had last night, but I couldna resist a toast.” His excitement thickened his burr.
“A toast?” she asked, the words barely able to slip past her tight lips. “Are we celebrating something?” Was the man serious?
“I did it!”
“Oh, you did it, all right.” Cassie stared at the Scot.
“You heard already, then? Isn’t it grand? They’ve renewed my contract, and for the full hour now.” He handed her a champagne glass and raised his own. “Sláinte!”
She threw the champagne in his face. While he coughed and sputtered, champagne dripping off his adorable, arrogant freckled nose, she took the other glass from his hand and tossed that in his face too.
“Christ, what was that for?” He grabbed the end of his shirt and wiped his eyes.
Cassie ignored the flash of washboard abs. Right now, he could do a striptease on her couch wearing only his kilt, and she wouldn’t care. “How could you do this to me?”
“Do what?” He blinked, drops of champagne still clinging to his auburn lashes. “Lass? What’s amiss?” he asked, confusion reflected in his eyes and the tilt of his head.
“Isn’t there something else you want to tell me?” She carefully set the glasses down, her hands shaking with rage. “About a certain video, perhaps?”
Beneath the sprinkling of ginger freckles, his face paled. He swallowed, throat working.
Busted, asshole. “How could you?”
“I didna do it on purpose.”
“Right. Like I’m supposed to believe this wasn’t some publicity stunt.” Cassie laughed. A brittle, mocking sound.
“I’m serious,” he protested, the syllables tripping over themselves.
Cassie couldn’t give him an opportunity to explain, to charm his way past the fact he had lied to her—used her—again.
No. She had to go on the offensive. “Even if the video got out there by accident, and boy, I’d like to hear that story … so what? How was it even possible? And the edits…” She crossed her arms over her chest, holding back the fear and frustration and fury all clawing for space inside her.
“I told you it was a mistake. I didna mean it for it to go public. I’m not even sure how it went public.” Logan ran a hand through his hair, further mussing the already rumpled mess.
“If you had told me the video had been released, given me some kind of warning, I could have mentally prepared myself. At least been aware that it was out there.” Cassie paused for breath, voice shaking. “Instead, I was taken completely by surprise. I looked like an imbecile.”
“You want to be a broadcast journalist, aye? You need to be able to think fast on your feet.” He reached a hand out and traced the curve of her cheek with one finger. “Be ready to roll with the punches. Expect the unexpected.”
His chauvinistic attitude was tinder, his presumptuous comment the spark lighting her temper on fire. “My God, you are so self-involved,” Cassie exploded, shoving his hand away.
“I’m self-involved?” Beneath the mocking curve of his eyebrows, Logan’s eyes widened. “Take a look in the mirror, lass. Since the beginning, this has always been about you. About what you wanted. What you needed.”
“That’s not true,” she argued. “You followed me all the way to another freaking country to get that waiver signed.”
“But I wasna going to go through with it. Did I ever bring it up in London? Did I ask you to sign it? No. You found it. You signed it.”
Cassie glared at him as he stood, cocky and sure. Peter Pan, the eternal mischievous boy—shrugging off guilt, avoiding both commitment and responsibility. “What would have happened if you came to Chicago and the producers hadn’t offered a compromise? If you needed the video? Would you have used it?”
At her question, his face hardened, his mouth growing tight. And when he didn’t reply, she had her answer.
“You know, Logan, I think maybe it’s time you do some growing up,” Cassie continued, so angry, her tongue felt sharp against her teeth. A weapon. A knife to cut him and make him hurt like he had hurt her. “Don’t you realize how your actions affect others? Have you ever taken responsibility for yourself?”
He reeled back as if she’d slapped him. “Aye, I’m aware of all the ways I’ve come up short against my responsibilities. I ken well enough what my flaws are. But I also know life can be the biggest joke of all. Personally, I prefer not to set myself up as the punch line.” He paused, jaw working as he stared at her. “Though perhaps, I already am.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her entire body tensed, ready to strike back, to defend against whatever he might say.
“Do you recall the message you asked Theo to give me, before you left London?” Logan didn’t wait for her to reply, but continued, “You told him that since you’d got what you wanted, it was only fair I got the same.” He stared down at her, green-gold eyes mocking.
“What was it you’d wanted from me, lass? What did I give you?” He reached out and touched her wrist, fingers brushing over the charms on her bracelet as he closed the distance between them, towering over her, nostrils flaring, his chest rising and falling with shallow, furious breaths. “You came to Scotland looking for someone to fuck, and fuck me you did, right proper.” The end of his sentence rasped in his throat.
Logan’s cheeks were a mottled red, and he looked so wounded Cassie almost apologized. But she didn’t, she
refused to back down now. She clamped her lips together and moved away from him, toward the window. She kept her eyes averted and focused on the swirling patterns of snowflakes dancing in the light from the streetlamp. “I think it would be best if you left.”
The room was silent for several long moments. What if he refused to go?
Before she could work out what she would do if he didn’t leave, she heard the entry closet swing open. The rustle of clothing told her he was getting his coat. At the sound of his footsteps approaching the door, Cassie finally turned around. “Leave your key here, please.”
He paused, his broad back to her. After a beat he dug into the pocket of his jeans and fished out the key she’d given him—what felt like a lifetime ago. Logan pivoted, holding out his hand.
Cassie stared at the key in his open palm. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. She sucked in a breath and gathered herself, stepping forward to take the key. As her fingers brushed his, she half expected him to grasp her hand—to tighten his grip and beg her to let him stay.
But he didn’t. He didn’t do anything. Didn’t say anything.
Once she had hold of the key, he dropped his arm and walked out the door, closing it softly behind him.
In his wake, her tiny apartment felt big and empty. Cassie stumbled to the door and pressed her face against it, the beveled edge of a wood panel cutting into her cheek. Her gaze dropped to the ground. At her feet lay the pair of shoes she’d set out this morning. Cassie bit back a sob as she crumpled to the floor.
Peeking out from the toe of each shoe was a small, carefully wrapped package.
CHAPTER 27
SOMETIME LATER CASSIE dragged her pathetic ass off her apartment floor and called Bonnie.
“Hey, Cass.”
“Hey, yourself.” It was good to hear Bonnie’s voice. Cassie fingered her spare key, grateful beyond words for her best friend. For more than twenty years, since she was six years old, Bonnie had been her rock, her steady constant. “Do you have a ringtone for me?” she asked, suddenly recalling Theo’s screeching guitars.
“What?”
“You knew it was me calling. I mean, I suppose that could have been caller ID,” Cassie rambled, not caring she probably sounded like a headcase, “but I was wondering if you have a special ringtone for me. Like a song or something.”
“Oh, um. No.” Bonnie paused. “Should I?”
“Maybe. I should probably do one for you on my phone too. Why don’t we do it together? How about I come over?”
“Ah, sure.”
But Bonnie didn’t sound sure. “I’m sorry; I’m interrupting something. Do you have plans with Gabe?”
“Don’t be sorry. I don’t know where Gabe is. Out with some study group, I think. Which is fine, he was driving me bonkers and I’ve got a ton of papers to get through.”
“That’s right.” This was when Bonnie had her semiannual end-of-semester grading frenzy. “I don’t want to keep you.” Cassie tried to hide her disappointment. “We can get together another time.”
“Actually, now’s perfect,” Bonnie said, and Cassie could hear the smile in her friend’s voice, “as long as you promise to bring ice cream.”
“You bet.” Cassie laughed, relief oozing through her. “Cookie dough or salted caramel?”
“Both. And I could use some chocolate too. Get a bag of Hershey Kisses.”
“Papers that bad, huh?”
“You have no idea,” Bonnie groaned. “Better make it the big bag.”
Cassie pocketed her spare key. Junk food and girl time were exactly what she needed right now. “Consider it done.”
* * *
“That hit the spot.” Bonnie sighed, shoving the nearly empty pint of ice cream back toward Cassie. “Grateful as I am for the tasty distraction, it’s time to spill.” She nudged Cassie with her elbow. “What’s wrong?”
The concern in her best friend’s voice almost undid her. Cassie stared down at the melting dregs remaining in the container. “My big interview was today.”
“Oh God, that’s right.” Bonnie sat up straight. “How did it go? Did something happen?”
“It was an epic cluster fuck.” Cassie looked up in disbelief. “You haven’t heard?”
“I’m in crunch time, remember?” Bonnie waved her arm at the piles of papers scattered across pretty much every flat surface in the room.
Okay, Bon had a good excuse for being clueless. Cassie shook her head at the mess. She’d long ago given up trying to figure out Bonnie’s grading method. When it came to student papers, the normally fastidiously neat Bonnie had a chaotic system that boggled the mind. Bonnie assured her there was a method to the madness, and as far as Cassie knew, she’d never lost a term paper yet, so …
Bonnie tossed a Hershey Kiss at Cassie’s head.
Cassie blinked, dropping the ice cream carton in surprise. “What was that for?”
“Tell me what happened!” Bonnie prodded.
“Right.” Cassie grabbed the empty container and started to pack it with the tiny foil wrappers sprinkled on the floor around them. “Remember what I told you on the flight home from London?”
“You told me a lot of things.” Bonnie got up and grabbed the other pint of ice cream from her freezer.
Cassie felt her cheeks heat as she followed Bon into the kitchen. “This is about that waiver he wanted me to sign.” She dumped the garbage she’d collected from their junk food binge and retrieved her phone from her purse.
“For the video of the prank he pulled on you in Edinburgh Castle?” Bonnie pried the lid off the second container.
“Yep.” Cassie pulled up the video, and plopped back down next to Bonnie, trading her phone for the ice cream. While Bonnie pressed play, Cassie freed a chunk of cookie dough from its creamy bed, watching over Bonnie’s shoulder as the nightmare unfolded. It was all there, from entering that room in Edinburgh Castle, to finding Logan behind the bookshelf, to kissing him.
“It gets worse.” Cassie clicked over to the disastrous ChiChat interview clip.
Bonnie gasped, eyes on the screen. “But this … but you … I mean.…” she sputtered. The clip drew to a close, and Bonnie looked up at Cassie, mouth hanging open. “I told you Tiffany was evil. How could she do that?”
“Pretty bad, isn’t it?” she asked, scooping up more cookie dough.
“Not as bad as some of these comments,” Bonnie said, shaking her head while she scrolled. “And I hate to say it, but maybe you have been reading too many romance novels.”
Cassie choked. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“I mean, come on, Cass.” Bonnie nodded toward the screen. “You tell the guy you know he’s some time-traveling Highlander and proceed to cram your tongue down his throat like it’s your destiny.”
Cassie swallowed past the lump in her throat and set the pint down. “The clip’s been edited. Butchered is more like it. What I really said was, ‘I know you’re not some time-traveling Highlander.’”
“Oh.” Bonnie had the decency to look chagrined. “Why don’t you tell these people that, then?”
“Rule number one of social media: Do not engage.” Cassie had covered enough celebrity meltdowns on ChiChat, including one crying rapper with a snake phobia, to know how true that was. “Besides, if you, my best friend, believed this video is real, what hope is there?”
Bonnie shrugged. “Well, you know what they say, ‘What’s past hope is past care.’”
“Only you say that, Bon. Only you.” Cassie rubbed her palm against her forehead, wishing she could wipe away her memories of today. “How could I be so stupid?”
“Not stupid,” Bonnie said, leaning toward Cassie and grabbing her hand. “Foolish, maybe … romantic.”
Coming from the girl who was convinced her life was a real-life version of a classic novel, this was really saying something. “Holy crap.” Cassie squeezed her best friend’s hand and groaned, “What am I going to do?”
Bonnie wiggled her
fingers out of Cassie’s grasp and handed over the ice cream pint. “First, you’re going to finish this.”
“My boss wants to see me Monday morning.” Cassie poked halfheartedly at the container. “Probably so she can fire me.”
“For what? Kissing a hot guy in a kilt?”
“For not being strong under fire. For being an empty-headed female who reads romance novels.” Cassie gave up on the ice cream and flounced against the embroidered cushions of Bonnie’s overstuffed sofa. “Smart women with promising careers in journalism don’t read fluff like that, right?”
Bonnie made a scoffing noise in the back of her throat and pulled another stack of papers onto her lap. “I may tease you about your man-chest obsession, but I know plenty of smart women who read romance.”
Cassie snorted. “Name one.”
“Lisa Martinek.”
“The alderman?”
Bonnie glanced up, red pen of doom poised over a student’s paper. “The alderwoman.”
“How do you know that?”
“That she’s a woman?”
“Bon…,” Cassie warned.
“We have lunch at the same deli. She eats her corned beef on rye, extra mustard, while devouring Nora Roberts. I see her there all the time.” Bonnie tapped her pen in thought. “I don’t know how she avoids getting mustard all over the pages.”
“Nora Roberts doesn’t count.” Cassie slumped deeper into the cushions. “She’s got street cred. Everybody reads her.”
“Fine. How about my doctor? She loves all those vampire books.”
“What vampire books?”
“You know, the ones with the glitter or sparkles or something.” Bonnie moved to the next paper in her pile. She attacked the first page with a growl. “Ugh. How does someone reach the ripe old age of nineteen, have lived on this Earth for nearly two decades, and not know the difference between ‘their’ and ‘there’?”
While Bonnie continued her rant on homonyms, an idea began to unfurl in Cassie’s brain. Those vampire books had been wildly popular too. But still, to know a doctor was reading them—someone people trusted with their health, their lives …
Getting Hot with the Scot--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 28
