by Layla Hagen
“Who is it?” Ava appears next to me.
“Bennett overload,” I tell Ava.
“Drunken Bennett overload,” she replies in surprise. I narrow my eyes and giggle. The boys seem to have drunk at least as much as we did. Sebastian appears to be the soberest, closely followed by Logan. Blake and Daniel are behind them, bickering over who has the more toned abs. Right.
Stumbling inside the store, the boys peek around for their sisters.
“We’ve come to say sorry,” Logan tells Pippa. “Haven’t we?” He throws the twins a death stare. Sebastian reinforces the threat by tapping his foot on the floor. Blake and Daniel don’t look sorry in the slightest, but they cower under Sebastian’s gaze. God, they’re all so adorable, I could hug them. I’m very huggy today.
“We’re sorry you were there to witness it,” Daniel says.
“I’d still kick his ass,” Blake clarifies. “But sorry we upset you.”
Logan remains silent.
Sebastian groans, dragging his hands down his face. “This apology plan is going nowhere fast. You were supposed to say ‘we’re sorry.’ No additions,” he admonishes.
“At least I can always count on them to be honest,” Pippa tells Sebastian.
“Especially after they’ve had a few shots,” he supplies. “They might’ve overdone it.”
“So did you,” Alice tells him. “Let Blake and Daniel be Blake and Daniel. Logan never pretends anyway; not even you can make him apologize. You’re the only diplomat in the family.”
“How did all of you end up drunk?” Summer asks.
“Well,” Sebastian says. “These three went to drink and plot how to best corner Terence.”
“We did,” Logan admits.
Blake points at Sebastian. “Then he came and played the big brother card.”
“We’re getting off topic,” Sebastian says. “I wanted to drive everyone back home safely, but they corrupted me to drink too.”
Blake squeezes his shoulder. “That’s what little brothers are for, Sebastian.”
“Cab for everyone?” Daniel asks. “This was my pickup line in college,” he informs me. “I’d offer to share a cab with whatever girl was the prettiest, and gave her a night to remember. Pity I was too drunk to remember.”
He all but pats himself on the back with that remark. Turning serious, he looks at me and adds, “I also didn’t say a proper good-bye tonight. I’ll leave in three days to visit a friend in Thailand, and I’ll be gone for some time. I hope to see you again when I return. I’ll kick my brother’s ass otherwise.”
It takes me a second to understand what he means. He’s unsure if I’ll still be dating Logan. Wow, way to sober me up completely.
I smile. “I’ll be Ava’s maid of honor anyway.”
Soon, the cabs arrive. Ava, Sebastian, and Pippa take the first one, while Alice, Summer, and the twins grab the second. Logan and I walk to his apartment.
***
Logan’s quiet the entire walk, and I wonder what’s on his mind. Maybe he just needs to sleep. Except he doesn’t seem tired, and he’s not that drunk. When we enter his apartment, he squeezes my hand gently. I stop in my tracks in the center of the living room. It’s pitch dark since neither of us bothered to turn on the light.
“Sorry for the drama tonight,” he says in my ear from behind me. My back is turned to him. “And thank you for putting up with my crazy family.”
He flattens his chest against my back, reminding me of the moment of passion we shared before we left. He intertwines his fingers with mine, and this simple act feels even more intimate than making love to him did.
“Your family is great, Logan, and I love every single one of them. Exuberant Pippa, spoiled Summer, crazy Blake and Daniel. I have to come up with an adjective for Alice. I even adore Sebastian for making my best friend so happy. I love your parents too.”
I search out his warmth, taking his arms and draping them around me. Logan puts his lips to my ear. “Not mad at me for being overbearing?”
“You mean flat-out threatening Terence? No.” Fearing I’m setting a bad precedent, I add, “I mean I’d be fuming if you had no reason, but you had a good one.”
“I thought you’d be mad at me by default.”
I laugh, swirling around. “Why would I do that?”
“No idea. I thought there was something about girls sticking together.”
“I got everyone on Team Logan way before you guys arrived.”
“You’re perfect.”
I lick my lips. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” Kissing one eye then the other, he adds, “You’re more than perfect.”
“Your sisters want to wear my dresses to Summer’s gallery show,” I tell him.
“That’s great. Let’s celebrate your first sales.”
Wrapping his arms around my waist, he lifts me off the floor. I catch a glimpse of his expression in the moonlight—he’s grinning. Logan is genuinely happy for me. My first impulse is to tell him that I still have a lot of work ahead of me before I can celebrate, but I remember what he said about celebrating each step. Right now, that feels exactly right, especially when I can do so with Logan.
“Agreed, but no more alcohol, please.”
Logan puts me down. “Fine by me. That’s not exactly what I had in mind anyway.” He presses his forehead to mine, cupping my cheeks. “I already told you you’re perfect, right?”
“Are you trying to charm the pants off me?”
“I would, but you’re wearing a dress.”
Suddenly, I understand why he’s trying to charm me. The bastard. “No, Logan, you’re still not allowed to rip apart my dress. A thousand compliments won’t convince me.”
“I don’t have time for that many. I need you,” he says with urgency, then devours my mouth. A few seconds later, I’m lifted off the floor again. Logan carries me in his arms, walking blindly through the dark.
“Shouldn’t we turn on the light? Can you find the bedroom—”
“Shh,” Logan says. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.”
Keeping his promise, he leads us to the bedroom safe and sound. He lays me on the bed, turning on the lamp on the nightstand.
“I want to see you,” he says.
Maybe it’s the few sips of wine I had, or maybe Logan somehow succeeded in tearing down yet another one of my walls, but a confession slips past my lips.
“If the store does well, I want to bring Mom and Brian here.”
Logan nods, urging me to go on.
“I... The reason I want to go back to North Carolina if the store fails is not just for me; it’s for my parents too. I want to take care of them after they retire.”
He hops into bed next to me, lying on one side. Caressing my cheek with his fingers, he says, “We’re very much alike, Nadine. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out all right.”
“I hope so. I’m confident right now. I am very lucky to have run into you and your family.”
He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering on my skin while his arms pull me closer to him. At this moment, I realize that I’ve never felt so cherished in my life.
“I’ve always considered myself a lucky guy,” Logan murmurs against my forehead, “even more so after Bennett Enterprises became a success.” Pulling away, he tilts my chin up. “But meeting you, that was my real luck. You mean more to me every day, Nadine. You complete me in the best possible ways. In all the ways.” As he holds my gaze, it strikes me that he’s right. We’re very much alike—we’re two people learning to love and let ourselves be loved again. Without taking his eyes off me, Logan starts removing my dress carefully. I undress him too, kissing each inch of skin I reveal.
Logan makes love to me gently, for a long time. Afterward, as we fall asleep in each other’s arms, I am sure I never want to let him go.
Chapter Fourteen
Nadine
On Monday morning, I wake up with a jolt, half an hour before my alarm is set to ring.
D-day is here. Logan’s side of the bed is cold. I wish he were here to hug me good luck, but he had to fly out to London to meet his brother. He’ll be gone the entire week, back just in time for Summer’s gallery. A bulge of anxiety forms in my stomach, but I push myself to my feet, and force myself to go through my morning routine.
In the living room, I find a croissant and a note on the table.
Wish I could be here for your opening week, or at least kiss you good luck this morning. I did try to hug you when I woke up, but you kicked me good (I’ll have the bruise to prove it when I return).
Love,
Logan
The note alone is enough to turn my anxiety into euphoria. I eat the croissant and make myself a coffee. Unfortunately, the coffee turns my previous euphoria into downright dangerous energy. My pulse is drumming in my ears, and my heart beats at a nauseous speed. I walk to the store even though I’m wearing high heels, hoping to walk off some of that energy. No such luck.
Once inside the shop, I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, remove the paper covering the glass and turn on the sign on the door, indicating I’m open for business. Right then, my neighbor, the owner of the shoes and bags shop, passes by, offering a thumbs-up. I wave and give her a smile I’m certain came across as manic.
This is it. The day I’ve been preparing years for.
It’s a good thing that my euphoria level was out of this world when I entered the store, because with each hour that passes, it dwindles and dwindles. Not one soul steps inside, which makes all of my dread come back. What if this is a mistake? I’ve invested everything I had into this. To think I might lose everything makes me sick to my stomach. I play with my phone, itching to hear Logan’s voice, but he’s on the plane. I resolve not to call him when he lands either. I’ll sound like a whiny child, and that’s not sexy at all.
When Pippa sends me a smiley face, my mood lifts. I remember that I did, in fact, sell the girls four of my dresses, which gives me a great head start. Yeah, a vicious voice says in the back of my mind, to four people you know. They might’ve been pity buys.
Luckily, I have the changes for Summer’s dress to keep me occupied for the afternoon. Not one single person steps into the store the entire day. When I head to Logan’s in the evening, I’m in tears. On Tuesday, I go over the advertising plan I worked on with Ava. She’s a marketing genius, but she had to scale her genius down to my nonexistent budget. The plan was to save up the money I earn in the first month of sales, and use all of it for marketing. If today is anything to go by, I won’t have anything to save.
In the afternoon, I have my first customer when an elegant woman in her late thirties walks in. I try to remember that she’s a visitor, not yet a customer. I’m determined to turn her into one.
“You have a great selection,” she comments. “I’ve yet to see the newest collection anywhere.”
I smile. Yeah, this is what my store’s unique selling proposition should be: always carrying this season’s collections, not old ones. The downside? I must also sell each collection as soon as I bring it in before it becomes last season’s.
“What would you like to try on? With your hair and long legs, can I tempt you with an Elie Saab dress?”
“Oh, absolutely, he’s one of my favorites.”
Eying her again, I decide she’s a size four, and take an appropriate dress from the hanger. “How about this one?”
“Lovely. None of my girlfriends will have anything like it.”
I show her inside the changing room.
“This looks gorgeous on you,” I say when she comes out, parading in front of the large mirror.
“Right?” She smiles in the mirror, then turns around. Her eyes widen as she gazes at something behind me. “What is that?”
I don’t even turn around to know what she means. My dresses are in that area. She picks up the train of her Elie Saab dress and hurries to them.
“These are beautiful,” she exclaims, touching the fabric of a burgundy one. My stomach feels lighter than it has in days, but immediately plummets when she glances at the tag and skeptically asks, “Nadine Hawthorne? Never heard of her.”
“Oh, that would be me,” I murmur.
“You design?”
“Yes.”
She pinches her nose. “I’d rather have something by an established designer. No offense, but I can’t show up at a charity gala wearing a no-name outfit, even though your dresses are pretty.”
I feel like someone punched me in the gut. Sure, I expected this to some degree, which is why I store many big-name designers. But having someone throw in my face that my work is less valuable because I’m not famous is still unpleasant. How can I be known if no one buys my designs? What came first, the chicken or the egg?
I plaster on a smile. “Should I pack the Elie Saab for you?”
“Yes, please do that. I’ll tell my friends about your store. It’s pretty.”
I feel a bit more encouraged as she leaves. If more people come, some will eventually buy my designs too. But that “eventually” will come after a long time. Pippa arrives before closing time on Tuesday to pick up the dresses for the girls. I leave her alone in the front while I bring the packages from the back room.
“How’s business?” she asks when I return.
“Not much happening.”
“Well, obviously. No one knows about your gorgeous dresses.”
“Exactly,” I say miserably. “A customer told me to my face that she likes my dresses, but she can’t buy them because she’s never heard of me.”
To my astonishment, her smile grows wider. “Things will change after Summer’s gallery, if you want them to.”
“How?” I ask suspiciously.
“I can invite some established fashion bloggers.”
“Pippa, I appreciate it, but—”
“You’re stubborn and think that my pulling some strings will give you an unfair advantage, and somehow undermine your efforts.”
“Something along those lines.” Not to mention I’m terrified at the prospect of fashion bloggers seeing my babies. What if they hate them? I suppose the downside of preparing twelve years for one dream is that when you’re finally living the dream, you’re afraid anything you do might ruin it.
Or maybe I’m overanalyzing this, and the simple explanation is that I’m a coward.
“You and I both know how the world works. You can have the best products, but if no one’s aware of them, you won’t sell. I’m not promising you anything. The bloggers might decide the dresses don’t suit their style, but at least they’ll see them.”
Now I’m downright panicking. What if the bloggers do hate my dresses? I try to reason with myself. She’s right. After all, my dream isn’t an empty store, but people walking in and happily walking back out.
“Okay, thank you.”
“So, I have your permission?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Thank God, because I already invited them.”
With that, Pippa winks and heads out, leaving me smiling. Then I realize my dresses will be under the bloggers’ scrutiny in a few days, and I’m right back to panicking.
***
Logan
“You’re distracted,” Max remarks. I’m sitting in my brother’s office in London, and I’ve spaced out a couple of times in the last two hours. I’m wasting both our times because I’m not at the top of my game.
“Sorry, still have a bit of jet lag.”
“Let’s grab dinner. We can come back afterward.”
We walk to the steak restaurant across the street where we eat every time I’m in London. The waitresses greet Max as if he’s an old friend. He regularly spends his evenings at the office, which irks me. Sebastian and I work long hours too, but he’s overdoing it.
“We can discuss sales—” I begin after the waitress takes our order, but Max shakes his head.
He raises an eyebrow. “No business talk during dinner.”
“You’re awfully str
ict about that rule, considering you’re almost sleeping at the office.”
“I have my priorities.” He smiles, reminding me of Dad. Our father always insisted that dinner is family time. “How’s Summer? Stressed out about the next gallery?”
“As always.” We continue to talk about our baby sister until the food arrives.
“What’s this I hear about someone named Nadine?”
I put my fork down. “I see the Bennett rumor mill has no problems crossing the ocean.”
Max shrugs. “Man, there’s no escape from the mill when talking to Summer.”
“Nadine and I are dating, and it’s going great.”
“Good,” he says between bites. “It was about time.” His tone is final, and I know he won’t ask more; my brother’s not one to pry. And thank fuck for that, because there’s enough meddling going on from the rest of the Bennett clan. Christopher was in Hong Kong when Sylvia and I broke up, but Max was still in San Francisco. He was my drinking partner of choice because he can down whiskey with me, while keeping his mouth shut. Sebastian would always follow that whiskey with some ridiculous advice. Blake and Daniel are even worse. “I want to find a replacement for myself, here in London. I want to come back home.”
I stare Max down, then nod. “Sure. Do you have a timeline in mind?”
Sebastian and I had hoped the twins would stay overseas for about ten years, but it was obvious from the very beginning that neither was thrilled by the prospect of spending so much time abroad. We’d prefer to have someone from the family lead foreign operations, but I can understand his wish to return.
“No, but I’m already searching for someone to take over here.”
“Let me know if I can help. Does Christopher also want to return home?”
“Haven’t talked to him about it lately, but I think he’d like to hang out in Hong Kong for a few more years.”
“I—”
That’s when a group of holiday carolers enter the restaurant and start singing “Carol of the Bells” at the top of their lungs. Since there are three weeks to go until Christmas, the city’s already in holiday mode. Out the window, I notice the light decorations up and down the street. I was so engrossed in business matters that I hadn’t paid attention before. If Nadine were here, she would’ve made me pull my head out of my ass and admire everything. That woman loves her Christmas decorations. Her shop gives Santa’s workshop a run for its money. The only things missing are elves.
