by Lulu Pratt
Logan seems unfazed, and I guess that makes sense because this is his normal life, but to me this is unbelievable. The yacht is larger than any boat I’ve ever seen, with seven bedrooms, a full kitchen and several lounge areas for us to relax.
There’s even a smaller boat for us to travel to and from islands, which is just too much for me to even wrap my head around.
“My little mermaid,” I hear over my shoulder just before I feel Logan’s arms wrapping around me.
“Logan, you can’t swim and carry me,” I warn him as he swims on his back, heading back to the yacht.
“Sure I can. I was a lifeguard,” he says, as if this is the simplest task.
“You were?”
My perception of Logan before spending any time with him was that he had never worked a day in his life. I expected him to be pretentious and arrogant, yet he’s nothing like that. Every new fact I learn about his life is a precious gem to me, and the more I get to know, the more interested I am to learn more.
“Yep, at the country club all four years of high school,” he answers once we reach the steps to the yacht.
With a firm hand on my ass, Logan helps me up the narrow staircase as I glance back at him. Smirking like an immature teenager caught staring at my breasts, he follows me up, hugging me from behind once we reach the landing.
“Mr. Draper, can I speak with you when you’re free?” Rodrick asks after announcing his presence with an exaggerated cough.
“Sure,” he nods to Rodrick, before turning to me. “How about you go get changed for dinner while I handle business. I’ll meet you in the dining room in an hour,” he says before kissing me softly while I melt all over.
“Sounds good,” I whisper on his lips and then walk back to my bedroom on wobbly legs.
Falling onto my bed, with my arms flailing in the air feeling as though I’m fainting, I think to pinch myself. All this feels like a fairy tale. The past two days on this amazing yacht have been nothing short of perfection. Being a gentleman, Logan even gave me my own private bedroom, although I’ve chosen to sleep with him on both nights.
Our sexual chemistry is through the roof after I feared the first time could be a fluke. It’s like he gets better each time, and my body craves him even when he’s inside of me. Never in my life have I felt such a strong connection to anyone, but every part of me is just enjoying every part of him.
Wanting to tell someone about my incredible experience, I reach for my laptop, hoping to catch Petra on Skype so that we can have a quick chat. We’ve been playing phone tag since I left LA, and she’s not online when I finally connect to the Internet.
An alert goes off for a new email from her and I get excited. It’s been so long since I talked to my best friend, and even though it’s not in real time, I’m happy to hear from her.
I guess I’ll resort to email since you’re jet setting around the world without thinking of me. Tear.
No, really, sorry I missed your calls. I’ve been swamped at the office, but in a good way. The accounts receivable for this month is the highest in two years!
How is the on-call gig going? Is the asshole actually opening up, or just bragging about how many yachts he owns? I still can’t understand why he needed you to go there with him, so I just hope the sessions are worth it. I have an idea about more billings for him, but I’ll talk to you about that when you get back and give me an update on your progress.
Have fun, but don’t let him take advantage of you. He’s used to getting anything he wants, so don’t let him treat you like the help just because he’s paying you.
Love, Petra
My heart sinks more than once while reading her message. First, when she calls him an asshole, because my instinct is to defend him. That’s not who he is, regardless of what she’s heard. Then my heart sinks again, as she asks about the sessions, because we haven’t had one real conversation about life coaching since we left Los Angeles.
Logan hasn’t brought it up, but even worse, neither have I. As the professional, it’s my job to keep things in order, and I’ve completely dropped the ball. Not only am I not fulfilling my job, but I’m sleeping with the client! What type of unethical sleazeball have I become?
My stomach turns and twists in knots as I shower, my mind racing with ways to turn this around, although I think it’s impossible. We’ve gone too far, and I need to just cut my losses and end this partnership altogether if I want to salvage any respect or integrity.
Wearing a black flowing maxi dress, I head to the dining hall as if I’m going to a funeral. It does feel as if someone has died, so I guess it’s fitting. After spending too much time trying to work through my thoughts, I couldn’t manage to dry my hair in time for dinner, pulling it up into a damp top bun instead.
“You look beautiful,” Logan stands from the dining room table to greet me as I walk in.
Just seeing him brings on a wave of emotions so strong I have the urge to cry with every step I take. Knowing I’ll have to throw away all that’s happened between us sends me into a war of conflicting thoughts.
Turning my face, I barely miss his kiss as his lips land on my cheek. His confusion is palpable as he watches me sit down. So delayed in his thoughts, he doesn’t even help me into my seat, rushing to push my chair in afterwards, as he realizes his lapse in manners.
Focusing on the menu placed on the table setting in front of me, I run my fingers over the thick cardstock, tracing the golden embossed letters to look anywhere but into those deep blue eyes.
“Are you ready to order?” Julian asks. He’s been our waiter for our entire time in Greece, but tonight he feels like a stranger, because nothing is normal after reading Petra’s email.
“Yes, I’ll have the lobster,” I force a smile, handing the menu to him as Logan’s eyes widen with surprise.
Of all the meals we’ve shared together, he’s ordered every single one, except for my impromptu decision at the Istanbul restaurant on our evening of exploration. While I don’t mind whether I order or not, I know it means something to Logan. He enjoys knowing that I trust him, and the look on his face is a look of surprise as he shifts his attention back to Julian.
“I guess we’re having the lobster,” he says with raised eyebrows.
Julian’s eyes shift between the two of us like a child stuck between arguing parents.
“Would you like wine tonight?” he asks.
“No, thank you,” I answer at the same time as Logan’s, “Yes.”
Obviously confused, Julian suggests he bring a bottle and we decide amongst ourselves.
“Are you okay?” Logan leans across the table. Sliding my hand back to avoid his touch, I focus on the fresh white roses on the table.
“I think I’m catching a bit of a cold.”
“Oh,” he sounds almost happy, hopeful even. “I can have them make you soup if you’d like.”
“No, it’s fine. I probably just need a good night’s sleep,” I smile without flashing any teeth as he grins, probably thinking of why I haven’t gotten much sleep since we got to Greece.
“I guess that’s partly my fault,” he looks down, feigning shame, and I try to fight the smile, but my lips curl just thinking of our erotic nights together.
Julian brings the wine, and we make simple conversation as I continue to hold back. It’s awkward, at least for me, but Logan seems unbothered by it all.
Dinner is amazing as usual, but I pass on dessert, just wanting to get this torturous interaction over with. I want him so bad, sitting across from him knowing I can’t have him is painful.
Logan decides against dessert as well, rising to help me out of my chair, but I push back from the table before he can get to me.
“I was coming to help, babe,” he furrows his brows together.
“It’s okay, I got it,” I declare my independence, taking a breath as I prepare for what I know will be the most difficult part of the night.
“Let me get you to bed,” he drapes his arm over my sh
oulder, and I wiggle from beneath his hold.
“I think I’ll sleep in my own room tonight,” I hold my chin higher than normal as my stomach tenses with anxiety and desire.
“What? Why?” The words fall from his lips so fast I’m sure he didn’t mean to speak them so desperately, and before I can respond, he attempts to reclaim a bit of his dignity.
“I’ll let you sleep, babe. You don’t have to sleep alone,” he pulls me to him.
My treacherous body begins to melt, leaning into his touch, as his intoxicating scent plagues my airways. Everything about him is so alluring, so addictive, and I need my fix, but it’s not about what I want anymore, and I’m determined to stick to my decision.
“No, no. I need to be alone.”
“What’s going on, Ava?” He leans back, trying to see me through a new lens.
“I’m just not feeling well,” I lie.
“You were just fine when we got back from a swim. What’s happened?” he asks, tilting his head as if he’s caught me in my lie.
“Logan,” I sigh.
“Ava, I think I at least deserve to know what I’ve done. Have you heard a rumor about me or something? I swear nothing before you means anything.” His voice is laced with a pleading tone that makes my stomach drop with guilt.
“Logan…” I try again, but the words refuse to come out.
“Just tell me.” He lowers his head, and I swallow hard, knowing I must come clean. There’s no way I want him blaming himself for something that is my fault.
“I can’t do this, Logan. I’m your life coach,” I begin and his head snaps up, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Are you serious?”
“Yes! This is completely unethical and I’ve let it get out of control.”
“Baby,” he whispers, pulling me to him.
“No, Logan, no!” I push him away, which is more of an emotional struggle than a physical one.
“Ava…”
I hold my hand up to stop him. “I told you from the beginning, I take my career seriously, Logan. I’m going to sleep alone, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I turn and leave before he can speak another word.
I can sense his disapproval behind me, but he lets me go without a struggle. In some way that’s even worse, because deep down, I want him to fight for me. I want him to make me change my mind, because I still crave him in every way possible.
Immediately after closing the door to my bedroom, I press my back against the thick wood and sink to the floor. How could we go from perfection to disastrous so fast?
Chapter 18
AVA
LANDING IN LA is such a relief after spending the entire day avoiding Logan. The dejection on his face was too much to bear, so I pretend to be asleep the entire trip back.
Now, in the backseat of his Bentley, there’s no more running and the tension is so thick I can barely breathe.
“I know we can’t have what we had, and I respect that,” Logan finally breaks the silence. Looking over at him, the breath catches in my throat when his eyes land on me.
“But can we at least get back to the sessions this week? I don’t want to lose you professionally too,” he continues and I can barely contain my excitement.
“Yes, I’d like that,” I say with smile, and his eyes brighten.
Thinking I’d lost him completely was debilitating, so knowing that we can at least continue our professional relationship brings me such hope.
Maybe there will be something to salvage, considering I’ve cleared my schedule and client list for him. If nothing else, I would like to advance my professional career with his addition to my resume, but I feared he would write me off altogether.
“Great. That takes a lot of pressure off,” he sighs as the driver pulls to the curb.
“I didn’t realize we were so close,” I look out to my house, which looks nothing like my home anymore. I feel like a different woman than the Ava who left with Logan.
“Call me tomorrow,” Logan says.
Didn’t we just discuss the need to keep this professional?
“At the office,” he adds, “to schedule the sessions.”
I move to leave him despite the strong sensation to stay longer.
“I’ll talk to you soon,” I assure him, waiting for him to say the words that are swirling in his eyes, but after a long pause I realize they’re not going to reach his lips.
The door closes and again I feel the urge to cry, shutting all my feelings in that backseat with him, as his driver pulls my suitcase up the stairs to my unit.
“Thank you,” I smile before letting myself into my house for the first time in days.
“Honey, I’m home!” I yell, and Petra responds from the back of the house. I’m happy to know she’s here to help me decompress all that’s happened.
Leaving my luggage at the front door, I grab a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen as I head to meet my best friend in the living room.
“I’m two steps ahead of you!” she yells excitedly while motioning to the coffee table, where a bottle of wine and glasses sit. Jumping up, she wraps me in her arms, and I feel safe and comfortable after the extreme loneliness of the past day.
“I think we’ll need both bottles for all I’ve got to discuss,” I sigh, flopping on the sofa as she fills two glasses.
“Do tell,” she sings, handing me one glass before picking up her own from the coffee table.
“Okay, where should I start?” I rhetorically ask before taking a large gulp of wine.
“How was Istanbul? You were there a full week?”
“No, well, I’ll get to that. Istanbul was amazing! Like, quite possibly my favorite city ever. I went out exploring on my own, and then I dragged Logan to go with me,” I smirk, and she sighs, rolling her eyes before sipping the wine.
“Then he took me around, and we got to see the old city, which has all the monuments and churches. They’re so beautiful, Petra. You’d love it!”
“Did you take pictures?” she asks dryly.
“I did, but not many. I can’t believe how in the moment I was, but I completely forgot.”
“That sucks,” she groans, glancing over at the TV.
“So, then Logan got a request to come to Greece, and he asked if it was okay if we went. Like, he really asked if I had time to cruise the Mediterranean Sea!”
Petra looks less than impressed.
“So, you went to Greece too?” she asks, peeking again at the TV.
“Yes! We spent two days cruising on this beautiful yacht. It was just incredible,” I gush, the wine mixing with my adrenaline as I replay my amazing trip.
“So how many hours did you bill him for?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, a little taken aback.
“I mean, we will be getting paid for all of this time, right? Or was this a vacation?”
“Petra, money isn’t an option to Logan. He’s comfortable paying whatever is necessary,” I explain, the defensiveness apparent in my voice.
“Oh, I know he’s comfortable with it, but are you?”
“You know what? I should go finalize those invoices now,” I lie, taking a deep breath to calm myself before leaving her to continue watching her crime story reruns.
My frustration only boils over through the night, as sleep evades me until the wee hours in the morning.
After a sluggish morning in my empty office, I begin to look at the proposed invoices left on my desk by Petra. While I appreciate her initiative and dedication to our business, I can’t understand her obsession with Logan and what he pays me. She’s treating him as if he’ll stiff me with the bill, and it’s annoying considering she’s always reminding me how rich he is.
No matter how long I try to keep myself focused on scheduling, or billings, Logan constantly traces through my mind. A highlight reel of our trip is on constant replay in my mind, and there seems to be no way to escape it, or him.
After a long deliberation, I make a deal with myself – I can sche
dule my sessions with him for the upcoming week, but it must be professional. That means, there’s really no need for me to speak with him, because typically I work with clients’ secretaries on issues like that.
With my foot tapping, I dial his office number, my stomach turning with each passing second.
“Good morning, Mr. Draper’s office. Sarah speaking. How may I help you?”
“Hello, I’m calling to schedule Mr. Draper’s life coaching sessions for the upcoming week,” I speak with the confidence and authority reserved for my professional persona.
“Really? Is that the best you have?”
“Excuse me?” I hold the phone away from my ear thinking this must be some kind of joke.
“Mr. Draper has never had a life coach, and would never hire such a consultant. He’s not doing interviews about his latest merger, and there’s no way you’ll be sneaking past me with such a weak cover,” she sighs as if she’s actually amused.
“I’m sorry, there must be some misunderstanding. I’ve been seeing Mr. Draper for regular sessions over the course of several weeks. Maybe you’re not privy to these, but I guarantee I’m not making this up,” I explain, debating whether I should mention just returning from a trip with him, but I don’t want to reveal my identity and that’s a dead giveaway.
“If that is the case, please let me know your last session,” she says. She thinks this is a joke, and my frustration is beginning to overflow.
“Fine,” I flip through my schedule, searching for the date of our last session. “Last Tuesday at eleven,” I bite through my teeth, smiling as I hear her flip through her pages.
“Try again. Mr. Draper had me reserve a large block of time, including that hour for a – well, a personal matter, and I can attest it was no sort of life coaching. Have a good day,” she says perkily before ending the call.
With the phone still against my ear, I feel frozen in time as the reality of what she said sinks in. Could he have hidden it from his assistant, possibly from embarrassment? I mean, I’m not a shrink, life planning isn’t the type of thing people hide, but there’s still that possibility.
