Through Jenna’s Eyes

by Kristi Gold

  Through Jenna’s Eyes

  Kristi Gold

  To my daughter, Kendall Paige, for growing from a precious child into a remarkable young woman.

  Chapter One

  Logan O’Brien had learned long ago the phone always rang at inopportune times. During a shower, which he’d already taken. During sex, which unfortunately wasn’t an issue tonight. And in this case, during an extra-inning ball game, which ranked right up there as another worst-case scenario.

  After pausing the game with the remote, he grabbed the phone and answered with an irritable, “Yeah.”

  “Sorry to bother you, boss, but we have a situation.”

  Good old Bob, Logan’s right-hand man. Whenever a problem arose, the retired cop always sounded as if he worked for a Secret Service detail, not as a driver for well-heeled Houston society. “It’s late, Bob. I’ve got the ball game on and I’ve only been home for an hour. So, unless you’re going to tell me that every limo or sedan I own has simultaneously broken down, you handle it.”

  “We’ve got an alleged intoxicated female who needs a ride.”

  Not the first time one of his employees had faced that situation. “And this is supposed to impress me how?”

  “It’s Jenna Fordyce.”

  Great. The daughter of his VIP client, Avery Fordyce. Logan’s company took care of all the billionaire’s corporate and personal transportation needs, not to mention the other clients Fordyce had sent his way. “What about Calvin?”

  “He’s off tonight. I’d do it, but I’m waiting to take a wedding party to the airport. And I thought since old man Fordyce trusts you, and this is—”

  “I know, Bob. His kid.” So much for a night of sitting around in his underwear, relaxing. “I’ll take care of it. Where is she?”

  “At a joint called La Danza. It’s on—”

  “I know the place.” He’d been there before. Several times over the past year, but not in a few weeks. At least the nightclub was less than two miles from his downtown condo. But the Fordyce estate, where Jenna still resided, was located a good thirty minutes away, longer if the Saturday-night traffic happened to be heavy.

  “The bouncer called dispatch about five minutes ago,” Bob added. “He said he’d wait with her until someone got there. I’m thinking she’s in pretty bad shape.”

  That didn’t surprise Logan one bit. The club was known for its high-octane drinks. One or two martinis would do the trick for a lightweight socialite. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

  After hanging up the phone, Logan sprinted up the stairs to dress in a faded blue T-shirt, jeans and a pair of hiking boots, clothes he would never allow his employees to wear while conducting business. But if the heiress had tied one on, she probably wouldn’t notice his attire. Even if she didn’t approve, right now he only cared about getting this over with so he could get back to the game.

  When he reached the parking garage, Logan opted to take his Hummer instead of the roadster, in case she happened to get sick. God, he hoped she didn’t. That would pretty much ruin his night completely.

  As he navigated the downtown streets, Logan realized he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pick Jenna Fordyce out of a crowd, considering he’d never officially met her. But he had seen her framed high-school graduation photo on Avery’s desk—a predictably beautiful, dark haired, dark eyed young woman. Daddy’s little princess, just like Logan’s ex-fiancee, who had played the pregnancy card until he’d called her bluff, fortunately before he’d been trumped into marriage.

  Yeah, he’d had his fill of debutantes. Society babes who couldn’t see beyond the fact he had the means and the money to keep them in the lifestyle to which they were accustomed. He doubted Jenna Fordyce was any different from the rest, particularly since she was the only child of a widowed business magnate.

  A few minutes later, Logan pulled behind a stretch limo, the only space available beneath the portico of the five-star hotel that housed the popular nightclub. He stepped out into the warm June night and immediately caught sight of a no-neck guy with a clean-shaven head standing a few feet away, his arm around a woman.

  The closer he came to the couple, the more certain he became that he’d found Jenna Fordyce—a few years older than depicted in the photo, but still as striking. She was conservatively dressed in a blue sleeveless blouse, a white skirt cut right above the knee and low heels. Her brown hair curled past her shoulders and a pair of sunshades covered her eyes, indicating she’d moved past three to at least four sheets in the wind. She was also pressing a white cloth over her right eyebrow, and Logan wondered if she’d engaged in a catfight. That would definitely make the society page tomorrow.

  As he approached the unlikely pair, Logan nodded at the presumed bouncer and addressed the woman at his side. “Ms. Fordyce?”

  She inclined her head toward him. “Yes?”

  “I’m Logan O’Brien, the owner of your father’s transportation service.”

  When he offered his hand, she ignored the gesture, fumbled in the skirt’s pocket and withdrew several bills that she pressed into the bouncer’s palm. “This should take care of the bar tab, Johnny, with a little extra for your help. And, if you don’t mind, could you tell my friend I’m leaving now? I wouldn’t want her to worry.”

  “What does she look like?” Johnny asked.

  “A pretty blonde,” she said. “Her name is Candice and she’s seated at the bar. I believe she’s wearing pink. She always wears pink.”

  The bouncer regarded Logan, his arm still firmly around his charge. “Someone needs to check out the cut on her head. She had a pretty nasty fall, but she wouldn’t let me call the paramedics.”

  Jenna waved her free hand in dismissal. “It’s nothing.”

  When Logan noticed the red seeping through the cloth, he realized the injury could be serious. “Johnny’s right. You’re bleeding. You need a doctor.”

  “Can we discuss this in the car?” she asked.

  No discussion required. She could argue all the way to the hospital, but he wasn’t about to turn her loose without making sure she was okay. “Let’s go.”

  The bouncer held out her arm to Logan. “She’s kind of shaky, so you need to hang on to her.” Usually Logan wouldn’t mind wrapping his arm around a sexy woman. But this blue-blooded babe didn’t interest him—or shouldn’t—for several reasons.

  Logan circled his arm around her waist and braced her elbow with one hand. Slowly, he guided her to the SUV, noticing immediately that she was small, maybe five-two, a foot shorter than him. Definitely not his type. He preferred women with more substance, inside and out.

  Once they reached the passenger side, Logan opened the door, helped her up into the seat and, in a show of benevolence, buckled her in. So far, so good. She hadn’t taken another tumble on the way, even though he suspected she might have if he’d let her go, considering how carefully she’d measured her steps. Whatever she’d had to drink, he assumed it must have been fairly potent. But he didn’t detect the smell of alcohol, only the scent of her perfume. Nothing overpowering, just a light fragrance that reminded him of his mother’s favorite lavender soap. That was definitely a switch from the women he’d known who bathed in expensive concoctions designed to turn on a man, when it only served to turn him off.

  Logan climbed into the driver’s seat, flipped on the overhead light and pulled his cell phone from the holder attached to the dash. “Do you want to call your father and let him know what’s going on, or should ?”

  “Good luck,” she said. “He’s in Chicago on business until tomorrow. And I gave the staff the night off.”

  “Anyone else I can call?”

  “No.”

  Figured. That meant she was his sole responsibility for th
e time being. He shoved the phone back in the holder and released a rough sigh. “Then I guess it’s you and me and the E.R.”

  She frowned. “Just drive me home and I’ll be fine.”

  Not until he had a better look at the cut. When he reached over to remove the cloth, she physically jumped, as if he’d scared her out of her skin with a simple touch. “Relax,” he told her as he lifted the makeshift bandage away. “I’m only trying to see how bad this is.”

  “It’s a minor scrape,” she said. “I got up close and personal with a wall outside the ladies’ room when I tripped.”

  Obviously she hadn’t bothered to check it out in a mirror. “It looks like it might need stitches. The hospital’s not that far.”

  “No hospital.” Her voice held an edge of panic. “I don’t care for emergency rooms, or doctors.”

  She could be concerned the medical staff would run a tox screen, and that could pose a problem if the press got wind of an off-the-chart blood-alcohol level. Still, her condition might warrant treatment beyond mending a superficial cut, and right now she was Logan’s responsibility. He lifted her hand from her lap and pressed it against the cloth again. “You could have a concussion.”

  “I’m certain I don’t.”

  “Are you a doctor, Ms. Fordyce?”

  “Are you, Mr. O’Brien?”

  For the first time in his life, Logan wished he were. Then he could examine her, medically speaking, and take her home. Her home, not his. But medicine hadn’t been his calling… and that gave him an idea. “Look, my brother is a doctor, and he only lives about ten minutes from here. He could probably check it out.”

  She mulled that over before saying, “I’ll agree to this, but only if you promise to take me home afterward.”

  Not a problem, since that was his plan. “I’ll give him a call and see if he’s available.”

  Logan already knew he was. He’d spoken with Devin earlier in the evening and learned he had a rare day off from his duties as chief resident of trauma, which meant this request could cost him. Big-time.

  He retrieved the cell phone again, hit the speed dial and hoped he didn’t wake the whole household, including the baby. Or worse, disturb his brother catching up on lost time between the sheets with his wife.

  After two rings, Devin answered with his usual, “Dr. O’Brien.”

  “Hey, Dev, it’s Logan. Sorry to call you so late.”

  “I’m still up, thanks to a kid who’s decided it’s playtime, not bedtime. What’s going on?”

  “I have a client who needs medical attention, but she’s not too keen on going to the E.R.” He sent Jenna a quick glance to find her staring out the windshield. “She has a cut on her forehead. Mind if I bring her by so you can take a look at it?”

  Devin released a low laugh. “A client, huh? Are you charging for stud service these days?”

  He was in no mood for his brother’s attempt at humor. “I provide driving services for her. If you’ll do this, I’ll let you have my season tickets for the home game of your choice.”

  “Deal. But if it’s something I can’t handle in a nonhospital setting, then you’re going to have to take her to the E.R.”

  That could pose a monumental challenge for Logan. But what choice did he have? “Agreed.”

  “Hang on a minute.”

  Logan could hear the sounds of muffled voices and realized Devin was consulting his wife. A few moments later, his brother came back to the phone and said, “Stacy’s okay with it, on one condition, aside from the tickets. We do this at your condo, and I have to bring Sean with me. Car rides make him sleepy.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” And it wasn’t a problem for Logan. He enjoyed being around his fifteen-month-old nephew, as long as he could send him home again. What he knew about taking care of a kid for more than a few hours could best be described with two words—not much. As far as taking Jenna to his place, that meant less of a drive. The faster he got this over with, the quicker he could get her back to the Fordyce mansion.

  Logan snapped the phone closed and turned his attention back to Jenna. “He’ll meet us at my apartment.”

  She kept her gaze trained on the dashboard. “Where do you live?”

  “Downtown. A couple of miles from here.”

  “I appreciate this,” she said. “I hope I’m not causing too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all.” And that wasn’t exactly true. She could mean big trouble for Logan if he didn’t stop noticing things about her, including the fact she had a great body, even if she was short. He needed to remember she was the daughter of a client. An important client who wouldn’t appreciate any man having questionable thoughts about his daughter. Especially a man whom he trusted to do the right thing—and the right thing would be for Logan to keep his eyes, and his hands, to himself.

  “Do you think I can take this cloth away now?” Jenna asked after he started the ignition. “My arm’s getting tired.”

  “Let me see.”

  When she lowered the rag, Logan lifted her chin and brought her face toward him.

  Okay, so she had soft skin and a really nice mouth. So did a lot of women. She probably had a hefty trust fund and an overblown sense of self-worth, too. Logan refused to head down that sorry road again.

  “It’s stopped bleeding, so you can take it off,” he said as he returned his hands to the steering wheel and his mind back on business, where they belonged.

  He drove back to the loft at a sluggish pace behind the weekend traffic and ill-timed lights. During the trip, Jenna kept her sunglasses in place and her gaze centered straight ahead until they pulled into the parking garage. Aside from a muttered, “thanks,” when he helped her out of the Hummer and into the elevator, she remained silent. That was okay with Logan. He intended to keep their relationship on a strictly professional level. He also planned to keep his distance, but he didn’t feel he could do that until they reached his apartment; the reason why he continued to hold on to her until he had her seated on the club chair in the living room.

  “This seems like a nice place,” she said, finally breaking the silence.

  Searching for much-needed space, Logan dropped down on the sofa across from the chair. “I bought it from my sister and brother-in-law after they moved into their new house.”

  “Then you have one brother and one sister?”

  “Actually, four brothers and a sister.”

  She smiled. “Wow. I’m an only child, so I can’t imagine having such a large family. What are your parents like?”

  Small talk was good. He could handle small talk. “They live in west Houston in the same middle-class neighborhood where I grew up.” Heavy emphasis on “middle class.” Logan wanted Jenna Fordyce to know up front that he hadn’t originated from her side of the society divide, even if his financial situation had changed with his success.

  When she made no move to take off her sunglasses, he said, “Feel free to get rid of the shades. I’ve been there before, so I’m not going to judge you.”

  She wrung her hands together several times. “The light bothers my eyes.”

  Man, he wouldn’t want to be her in the morning. “If you think it’s bad now, wait until tomorrow.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Obviously she’d never visited hangover central before, whereas, at one time, he’d been a frequent guest. “I take it you don’t drink too often.”

  “No, I don’t. I’ve never cared that much for alcohol. I only have a glass of wine on occasion.”

  That could explain her current state if she’d had more than a few tonight, but something still didn’t quite ring true for Logan. Her speech didn’t sound the least bit slurred. In fact, she sounded coherent. Probably one of the lucky ones who could drink and drown and still be able to fake sobriety.

  When she grew silent again, Logan considered turning on the TV to watch the baseball game he’d recorded, but decided Ms. Fordyce didn’t look like a baseball fan. He
suspected tennis was her game, if sports interested her at all. For that reason, he should probably ask what she preferred, and right when he was about to pose the question, the doorbell rang, indicating help had arrived.

  Logan pushed off the sofa, strode to the entry and opened the door to his brother who had a duffel bag hanging on one shoulder and a wide-eyed toddler wearing red superhero pajamas braced on one hip.

  He stepped aside to let them in. “You made good time.”

  “The advantage of learning the fastest route when you’re on call,” Devin said. “Where’s the patient?”

  “Right down the hall.”

  When they reached the living room, Logan gestured toward his guest who had yet to acknowledge them. “Devin, this is Jenna Fordyce.”

  When Devin moved in front of the chair, Jenna offered her hand and a smile, something she hadn’t done with Logan back at the bar. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Devin. I hope I’m not wasting your time.”

  “Not a problem,” Devin said as he handed off Sean to Logan before taking Jenna’s hand for a brief shake. He pulled up an ottoman in front of the chair and set his bag in his lap. “Now, let’s take a look at that cut.”

  Logan hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “While you’re doing that, I’ll take the kid into the kitchen and see if I can find him a cookie.”

  Devin sent him a hard look. “Don’t give him more than one. If I bring him home on a sugar high, you and I both are going to have to answer to my wife.”

  Logan had always considered his sister-in-law to be a reasonable woman, but he didn’t want to test her. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  After he entered the adjacent kitchen, Logan held Sean high above his head, eliciting a laugh from his nephew. “You’re getting heavy, bud,” he said as he brought him back down and set him on the counter. “I only have a chocolate-chip cookie, so I hope that’s okay.”

  Sean answered with the single word, cookie^ and a wide grin, indicating Logan was definitely speaking his language.

  When he opened the cabinet, withdrew the cookie from the package and handed it to Sean, the kid squealed. One thing about it, toddlers could be easy to please, unlike several of the women Logan had known. One in particular. He wasn’t sure why he kept thinking about his former fiancee tonight. The answer to that was sitting in the next room, undergoing an exam by his brother. But aside from Helena’s and Jenna’s similar backgrounds, he recognized several differences between the two, at least when it came to the physical aspects. Then again, he didn’t plan to explore those differences. Once Devin was done doing his doctor thing, Logan would have Ms. Fordyce back at the family mansion in record time.