Heart Strings

by Melanie Moreland

  He opened the door. “Let’s do this, Lottie.”

  Chapter 18

  Lottie

  At Logan’s insistence, we stopped and he purchased flowers for my mother. It was a small bouquet, but the flowers were lovely. I knew he was determined to make the best impression possible, and I hoped my parents appreciated the efforts.

  The only clue that he wasn’t as calm as he pretended to be was his stillness. I was used to his foot tapping, his fingers drumming to music only he could hear. He was always composing in his head, a sound or a beat he would hear often setting him off. He carried a small notebook that he frequently jotted lyrics and musical notes into when inspiration struck.

  But today, there was no music in him. I slid my hand into his and squeezed. He smiled at me, kissing my lips with a wink, but even his fire was dimmed. He was focused on a goal. One I hated, because I was fearful of the repercussions if it failed.

  We arrived at my parents’ condo building, Logan whistling softly under his breath as we got into the elevator. “Impressive.”

  I shrugged. “Ostentatious. But they love it.” They liked the doorman, the huge lobby with its imported marble and dark wood, the concierge, and the valet parking that all came with the hefty price tag of living here. They could well afford it, and it seemed to make them happy. Or at least as happy as anything made them anymore. I still fondly recalled the house I grew up in. It was large and spacious but homey. The condo we moved in to after Josh died was cold and impersonal, and this one was even more so. Decorated beautifully, without a single trace of the parents I remembered and missed.

  Logan bent close to my ear. “They’re spending the inheritance I’m after. You need to speak to them about that.” Then he nipped my lobe with a low growl, making me chuckle. I was grateful he had seen the humor in my mother’s warning and was trying to keep our spirits up.

  We were still laughing when the elevator opened, and we approached my parents’ door. My mother was waiting, the concierge having announced our arrival. She watched us approach, the way Logan had me tucked tightly to his side and our shared amusement. I wondered if she could see how we felt. If the love inside spilled over and radiated around us. It felt as if it did to me.

  I smiled as we got close. “Hello, Mom.”

  She nodded, loosening her arms she had crossed over her chest. “Lottie.” She tilted her head. “This must be Logan.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Mrs. Prescott.” He held out the bouquet. “Thank you for the invitation.”

  She stared, surprised at the flowers. A memory came to mind of me bringing another man to my parents. One of the approved, suit-wearing businessmen they wanted so desperately for me to have in my life. I hadn’t wanted to bring him, but they insisted, excited that I was seeing someone they would approve of. He had walked in, acting as if he owned the place, ignored my mother, kissed my father’s ass the entire time, and had angered me to the point I refused to see him again. It was obvious my father was the draw, not me. He hadn’t thought to bring a bottle of wine, flowers, or anything.

  But Logan had. Silently, I scored one for him in the win column.

  A smile crossed her face. “How lovely,” she murmured, lifting the bouquet and inhaling the scent. “Please come in.”

  We followed her in, and I took Logan’s coat and mine, hanging them in the closet. We removed our wet boots, and I tried not to giggle at Logan’s socks.

  “Argyle?” I whispered.

  “Seemed appropriate,” he replied with a swift kiss. “Should I have brought shoes?”

  “No, it’s fine. I never do.”

  I introduced Logan to June, who beamed and welcomed him warmly, then offered us a drink. She returned a few moments later with coffee for us and the flowers in a vase which she handed my mother. I was shocked when Mom placed them on the table beside her, touching the petals of the freesias gently. There was something different in her gaze today. It looked softer. Accepting. I dared to hope maybe she was really going to try.

  “Did Lottie tell you these were my favorite?” she queried.

  “No,” he replied honestly. “I chose them because they were so lovely. I’m glad they please you.”

  My mother hummed and turned to us. “Lottie tells me you are a teacher.”

  He nodded in agreement. “I am.”

  “What grade do you teach?”

  He answered her, adding a couple of amusing stories. She didn’t laugh, but I was thrilled she was being polite and hospitable. When Logan stopped talking and took a sip of his coffee, I spoke.

  “Where’s Dad?”

  “Oh.” She waved her hand. “Some to-do with business. He’ll be along shortly.”

  As if summoned, my father appeared, striding into the room, a frown on his face. He didn’t acknowledge Logan, or even greet me.

  “It appears someone jumped the gun on your merger, Lottie, and leaked it before the press release happened.” He sat down, crossing his legs. “Most inconvenient.”

  I was shocked at his rudeness, although I supposed I shouldn’t have been. Logan took it in stride, standing, and extending his hand.

  “Mr. Prescott. Montgomery Logan. I’m pleased to meet you, sir.”

  For one awful moment, I thought my father would refuse to shake his hand. But he slowly got to his feet and did so, examining Logan with barely concealed disdain.

  “Lottie said your name was Logan. You go by your last name?” he asked as if it were a sin to do so.

  Logan smiled and lifted one shoulder. “Montgomery is a mouthful, and I dislike Monty. Logan is easier to handle.”

  “Hmph.” My father sat back down, turning to me. “So, the leak.”

  I tamped down my frustration. “Which merger? I have more than one.”

  “The record company deal.”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. Especially given that industry. We almost anticipated a leak.”

  “I don’t like it. Anyone you can think of who would have something to gain by leaking it?”

  I didn’t miss his sidelong glance at Logan. I braced myself for the onslaught that was about to happen. But my mother stood. “Charles, enough. It’s Sunday. Lottie is here. Leave the office until Monday.”

  He opened his mouth, shutting it quickly when she glared at him. “Sunday, Charles. It’s Sunday.”

  As a child, Sunday had always been enforced as the “no work” day. My mother insisted with the busy life they led, one day a week was not too much to ask. My father set aside the office, she didn’t worry about housework, and we spent the day as a family. These brunches were all that was left of that dead tradition, so for her to bring up the past surprised me. That my father bowed to her wishes astonished me even more.

  “Then let’s eat, shall we?” he said and crooked his elbow for my mother to take.

  Logan followed suit, winking at me and dropping a fast kiss to my head. “Survived so far,” he whispered.

  I nodded, hoping it continued.

  Logan

  “You met in the subway?” Lottie’s father, or Mr. Prescott, since he didn’t offer to let me call him Charles, asked, his appalled tone letting me know what he thought of my statement. His wife hadn’t corrected my use of Mrs. Prescott either, but somehow it didn’t feel as insulting.

  It had been the same the entire brunch. I had to admit his tone varied. Disgusted, dismissive, patronizing, contemptuous, and often bordering rude was the range. At each new tone, Lottie seemed to shrink a little more before my eyes. She picked at her food, admonished her father on occasion—not that it did any good. Every question he shot my way was designed to embarrass and belittle. Every response to my replies ensured everyone at the table knew he thought I was an idiot and didn’t belong there.

  I tried to direct my comments to Lottie’s mother. She, at least, seemed to be trying. She had been unfailingly polite, gracious, and a good hostess. She attempted on occasion to stop Lottie’s father, but he was determ
ined to hate me, usually speaking over her and interrupting often. I thought him rude, overbearing, and an utter asshole.

  I was certain he had similar thoughts about me.

  “Yes,” I replied smoothly. “I needed to sit down and get some notes out on a song in my head, and Lottie sat across from me. I was captivated.” I glossed over the true story, knowing what a response that would get me.

  “Oh, a wannabe singer, are you?”

  “No, sir. I simply enjoy writing music. It’s an outlet for me.”

  “Right,” he snorted. “Because your life of teaching is so stressful.”

  I fought down a wave of anger. He was beginning to piss me off, but I refused to rise to the bait. He wanted me angry. He hoped I would show what he felt were my true colors and embarrass myself in front of Lottie.

  “You don’t know anything about my life, sir,” I stated. “Or the stress and worries it contains.”

  For a moment, the table was silent until Lottie spoke. “And you never will if you don’t begin to listen, Dad.”

  He glared at her, then looked at me. “Did you know about the record label merger?”

  I sighed, knowing that somehow, he was going to try to blame the leak on me. “I did,” I acknowledged. “But I assure you, the kids in my class promised not to say a word. I thought I could trust their discretion.”

  Lottie laughed at my joke, and even her mother’s mouth quirked. Her father didn’t see the humor. If anything, it made him angrier.

  “Sabotaging a business deal is nothing to laugh at.”

  “Enough,” Lottie’s mom said. “No more business talk. You are being obstinate today, Charles. Behave.”

  Lottie looked at her father. “This merger is not going to suffer because of a leak. You know that. Logan had nothing to do with it. It was probably one of the companies themselves. We’ve seen it before.” She paused. “Stop it, Dad. Please.”

  I knew her plea wasn’t simply for the merger talk. She was asking him to lay off me. He stood, setting down his napkin. “Excuse me.” He strode from the room.

  “My husband has a lot on his mind,” Mrs. Prescott said in the way of an excuse.

  I wanted to tell her that was no excuse for his behavior, but I only nodded and finished my breakfast. My appetite was gone, but I refused to let them see how upset I was. I had been wrong when I assured Lottie nothing bad could happen over breakfast foods and coffee. My battle for acceptance by her parents was not going to be an easy one.

  “I think we need to go,” Lottie stated, standing. “I guess I had better make some calls.”

  Her mother nodded, looking disappointed. I excused myself to use the washroom, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Maybe I should have cut my hair even shorter. Worn a damn suit. I shook my head, knowing it wouldn’t have helped. The only thing that would have aided my case was an Ivy League education, a large bank account, and a career her father found acceptable. Teaching wasn’t one of them. Neither was music. I had a feeling the news I hoped to share with Lottie soon wasn’t going to be celebrated by her father.

  I stepped out of the room, somehow not shocked to find her father waiting, his arms crossed.

  “Mr. Prescott.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “If you thought cutting your hair and putting on a clean shirt would help, you’re wrong. I know your sort. A lazy drifter. Coasting through life on nothing. Latching on to my daughter, hoping for an easy ride.”

  “Wow…impressive,” I shot back. “You got all that from breakfast and a one-sided judgmental conversation?”

  He straightened, his arms dropping to his side. His hands were clenched in tight fists, much the same, I was certain, as his asshole. His sphincter must be in spasms by now, this guy was so tightly wound. His eyes were so much like Lottie’s, yet different. Her soft blue radiated warmth. His were ice-cold and angry.

  “You are not good enough for my daughter.”

  “I entirely agree with you.”

  My statement caught him off guard. I held up my hand.

  “Yet, we’re together. Your daughter is bright, beautiful, and makes me happy. Even though you want to throw something sinister and ugly into it, that’s it in a nutshell. I had no idea who she was when we met, and it didn’t matter then or now. I like Lottie for Lottie. For her warmth and her soul. Regardless of the pain she has suffered, she’s such a giving person, and she brings so much to my life.” I paused. “I am not giving her up.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “The last time I checked, your daughter and I were both mature, capable adults. Completely able to choose who we spend time with. And Lottie has chosen me.” I narrowed my eyes, suddenly tired of his attitude. “You really want to push this and see who wins?” I asked quietly. “The man who makes her feel guilty for being alive, or the man who adores her beyond all reason? Who would do anything, be anything, she needed to make her happy?”

  His face paled.

  “Do you really not care? Or are you trying to make her pay for something that wasn’t her fault for the rest of her life? She doesn’t deserve that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me. Don’t push it, Charles. You won’t like the result.”

  Before he could respond, Lottie came around the corner. She stopped when she saw us.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing,” I assured her. “I was thanking your father for a delicious meal. We both agreed the company could have been better.” I smiled at her. “I’ll go say my goodbyes to your mother.”

  I turned and left them alone.

  I’d face the fallout later.

  Chapter 19

  Lottie

  We were silent on the ride home. Logan had laced our fingers together, his thumb stroking my skin, but he remained quiet, staring out the window into the darkness of the subway tunnels. I watched his reflection in the glass, wondering what he was thinking. Brunch had been awful—my father acting worse than I had feared. My mother had been more receptive, but it wasn’t enough. I had to avert my eyes, blinking away the sudden tears that were forming.

  What the hell was wrong with me? I rarely ever cried, yet the last week I’d felt as if I were constantly on the verge of tears. And I was tired. I needed a break, I decided. A vacation. Tomorrow, I would check my schedule, figure out when I could clear some time, and submit a vacation request.

  Logan tugged on my hand, and I realized he was standing, waiting for me as the stop approached. I offered him a rueful smile and stood with him, approaching the doors. My steps faltered as we passed the spot I usually sat to listen to him play, and I looked at the wall he always stood by, waiting for me.

  “I remember the first time I saw you,” Logan murmured, following my gaze. “So beautiful, so troubled. You looked as if you carried too many burdens on your tiny shoulders. The second I saw your lovely eyes, it was as if my world changed. Remolded itself. I knew I had to help you.”

  “You did,” I confirmed, squeezing his hand. “More than you know. That night and every night since.”

  “Do you miss me being here when you get off the train?”

  I knew if I said yes, he would somehow figure out how to be there. Right there, leaning against the wall, playing for me. Ignoring the people who stood to listen, because all that mattered would be that I was listening. I smiled and shook my head. “I like walking into my place and you being there. Sharing a meal with you. Having a private concert.” I met his concerned gaze. “Feeling your skin on mine as we make love.”

  His eyes darkened and he stepped closer. “I believe I promised you some ravishing when we got home.”

  Home.

  Hearing him say that word made my heart beat faster. Because where Logan was now was home to me.

  “Yes, I think you did.”

  He lowered his head and kissed me. He wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me tight to his chest, and kissed me until I was breathless. The air around us pulsated with the heat building be
tween us. In the background, I heard catcalls and whistles, but I didn’t care. I wanted more. More of his kisses, more of his essence, more of everything that was Logan.

  He broke the kiss and gazed down at me, his expression intense.

  “Let’s take this somewhere more private.”

  I could only nod.

  I lay sprawled on Logan’s chest, exhausted, and oh so deliciously sated. He had, indeed, ravished me thoroughly, bringing me to a shattering climax with his mouth, then his fingers, and finally, his thick cock.

  He played with my hair, stroking it gently, caressing the ends between his fingers. I loved how he kept me close after we were done. He held me, touched me, hummed, whispered low words of endearment.

  “Lottie,” he said. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. “You can ask me anything.”

  “Are you happy?”

  I frowned. “Right now? Yes.”

  “No, in the bigger picture. Are you happy with your life?”

  I pursed my lips. “I’m happier now than I was a few weeks ago. Before you came into my life.”

  He stroked my cheek with the back of his hand. “I make you happy.”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you change to be happier?”

  I sat up, pulling the sheet around my torso. “I know where you’re going with this, Logan. I can’t quit my job and bake cupcakes. It’s not that simple.”

  He tucked an arm under his head. “I know that. But if you could do anything, if money weren’t the constraint, what would you choose to do?”

  I paused as I considered his words. “I would love to bake and create. I made a wedding cake once for a friend. It took me days of planning and baking, but I enjoyed every moment. I would love to be able to do that.”

  “Only one cake?”

  I nodded. “I had some inquiries about doing more. But I had to take vacation to make that one. Work has been so busy, I haven’t taken any time since, aside from one week with Brianna.” A thought occurred to me. “Oh—but I was thinking of taking a little time off. When is your Christmas break?”