by Lulu Pratt
“So you’ve been here?” I remark as we follow the hostess to our table. Ava takes her time answering, remaining silent until I’ve pushed in her seat and settled into my own.
“Only once, for the opening. But my roommate knows one of the line cooks, so he always brings her meals. I think they went to high school together,” she scrunches her narrow nose, trying to recall the memory and I feel myself relax, knowing she’s not used to this type of dining.
“Well, I think this will be a little different. Do you mind if I order?” I propose, and she holds up her hands as if to say it’s fine with her.
“We should get some wine. Do you drink?” she asks, looking over the drinks menu.
She must not know me. Drinking is one of my favorite pastimes, but I’d planned on having a sober evening so I could be on my best behavior. She must know I’m loaded, because I’m sure she wouldn’t just go about ordering wine at a restaurant this nice if she was on her own.
“Hello, Mr. Draper, and good evening, Miss…” the waiter looks at Ava.
“You can just call me Ava,” she smiles at him, and I watch as his shoulders relax. She’s able to make people comfortable, a skill I’ve yet to master. Not that it keeps me up at night.
“Well, good evening, Ava,” he greets her with a slight bow.
“Good evening… Dan,” she reads his nametag and he is flattered by her effort.
“I was wondering if you could show me to the ladies’ room,” she inquires before turning to me, “excuse me, Logan.”
The waiter quickly leads her away, and I’m a bit shocked by her change in demeanor. I can still feel the attraction, and know we’re off to a good start, but she’s much more relaxed and comfortable. It somehow makes her even more attractive.
Don’t get me wrong, I like when women are impressed by the first level of toys and treats I can throw their way, but that’s not Ava. I might have to bring out the big guns with her, but first I’m going to shoot my shot and see how she responds.
Chapter 6
Ava
Logan is going above and beyond to impress and while it’s obvious, it’s also quite flattering. He ordered the chef’s menu – which includes a seven-course meal, with accompanying wine for each dish. Hands down, it’s the best food I’ve ever tasted.
“So, tell me about your work,” Logan asks before sipping his wine as he studies me from across the table.
“I’m a life coach,” I begin, before remembering his impromptu visit. “Well, you knew that… I like to think I’m a good listener and note taker. I just help people realize the goals they have for themselves by reminding them of their desires on a consistent basis.”
“That sounds like a tagline.”
“It kinda does,” I say with a smile, the wine helping me loosen up a bit.
“So, do you like that? Life coaching?”
“Oh, I love it. Without a doubt, it’s a passion for me, and I’m good at it. Helping people is the best feeling in the world,” I say as the waiter returns with another set of dishes for each of us.
“Madagascar chocolate with Ethiopian coffee, served in three different ways,” the waiter proudly announces, setting down the plates on the table.
We’ve already tasted five courses, and although the portions were small, I’m stuffed. The smell of the chocolate, and the presentation is too much to pass up, so I take the spoon and feed myself a scoop, closing my eyes in bliss at the explosion of flavors.
“I take it it’s good?” Logan chuckles and I cover my mouth to hide my laughter.
“It’s delicious. You have to try it,” I motion to the dessert and he takes my advice, raising his eyebrows while nodding after trying a scoop.
“I told you,” I say and the grin he returns makes my stomach tense.
There’s a spark, and while I can’t eat another bite, I don’t want our date to end. The evening hasn’t been overly romantic, but the electricity between us has yet to fade, and I feel it re-emerge every so often, particularly whenever our eyes meet. My body reacts dangerously to him. My thighs are constantly pressed together just from conversing, as my sex clenches for him.
He’s sexy in his black tailored suit, and I can see his muscular build through the soft fabric. His broad shoulders straighten whenever I speak about my work as if he’s perched at attention, hanging on my every word.
“How many clients do you have on a regular basis?” he asks.
“Oh, it depends. But typically, I’m booked weeks and weeks in advance.” I beam with pride, because my career means a lot to me and it’s taken a long time, and a lot of hard work, to achieve the level of success I’ve attained.
“And you are self-owned and funded?” he asks, but from his tone I know he knows the answer.
“Yes. Well, with my partner. It’s the two of us.”
Logan rubs his chin, listening with squinted eyes as if he’s contemplating my answer in deep thought.
Just then, Dan arrives asking if we need anything else, discretely winking at me from our previous conversation when he walked me to the restroom.
“That’ll be it – did you want anything else?” Logan checks with me and I shake my head, unable to try another dish.
“We’ll take the check, please,” Logan nods to the waiter.
“Oh, Miss – Ava has already covered the bill, sir,” Dan nods to Logan before clearing away our empty plates.
The look on Logan’s face is priceless – a mix of fury and disbelief swirl in his eyes.
“I recently came into some unexpected funds,” I try to finish my punch line without laughing, but my smile breaks through before I can complete the joke.
Realizing what I’ve done – paying for the dinner with the money he planted in my purse – Logan relaxes and shakes his head before standing from the table.
“That was enough, right?” he asks while pulling my chair back.
“Oh, yes. I’m stuffed.”
“No, I mean, you didn’t spend any of your money, right?” He asks with a tone of seriousness that makes me question if it was actually a good joke.
“Oh. No, you paid for dinner, Logan. And you tipped quite handsomely,” I say with a wink before walking to the exit.
“This is us,” Logan informs me as we leave the restaurant, heading to a waiting Bentley SUV.
“What about the Ferrari?”
“LaFerrari,” he facetiously corrects me with a smirk before adding, “too much wine,” while holding the car door open.
Climbing inside, I realize how much different his life must be than mine. While I know it’s not the most responsible thing, if Petra and I have a drink too many, we’re still driving home. And if we ever do have too much to drink, we call a cab or an Uber, but never a Bentley.
“I hope it didn’t upset you – ya know, me paying for dinner.”
When he flashes that million-dollar smile, my heart rate regulates, knowing he’s not upset.
“It did at first, but I can take a joke. As long as you didn’t actually pay.”
Without him driving, we’re able to be closer together, and between his proximity and the wine, I feel myself overheating. After a sharp left turn, I fall into his side, and his arm casually falls around me, holding me in place as we ride through the city, our bodies pressed against each other.
Disappointment swirls in my stomach when we enter my neighborhood, knowing this embrace will soon expire.
“What’s your schedule like tomorrow?” Logan asks.
“Oh, well, I had a really good time, Logan. Truly. But, my schedule is so overloaded right now, I don’t know when I’ll be able to get away like this again,” I lie. I don’t even know where the words come from. Am I subconsciously playing hard to get? Truthfully, I’d like nothing more than for him to follow me up to my place right now and take me without question.
“Oh no. I completely understand. This was nice, but I really want to work together. I’ve been wanting to hire a life coach to have on board and thought you wou
ld be a perfect fit for my lifestyle.”
My heart sinks. I’m sure from the look in his eyes, he can see the shock and disappointment on my face. Here I am this whole night thinking there was some type of romantic connection, and he was interviewing me for a job? And I drank way too much wine.
No wonder he was paying so much attention when I answered his endless questions about my career. I feel like such an idiot, forcing a smile as I prepare to hurry out of the car as fast as possible.
“I really appreciate the compliment, especially coming from you, Mr. Draper. But my schedule is air tight at the moment. Thanks for a lovely night. I’ll be in touch,” I lie, knowing I never want to speak to him again, and hoping my formal use of his last name stings the way I intended it to. Before he can answer, I turn to begin to let myself out of the SUV.
“Don’t call me that,” I hear over my shoulder.
His voice is soft, and so close I can feel his breath on my earlobe.
His strong hand covers mine, and the touch of his skin feels like fire against my body. I want to feel him all over me, but I know there’s no way to have that now that he’s revealed his true reason for taking me out. So, I continue my escape, refusing to even glance back before exiting the Bentley and closing the door behind me.
The walk to my front door is longer than normal, knowing he is watching my every move. My body is sluggish with defeat as I force a strong posture while scrambling through my purse for the keys.
Luckily, Petra opens the door for me, and I almost fall into the foyer, quickly slamming the door shut behind me before staring through the peephole as the Bentley remains parked at the curb.
For a moment, I think he may come to my door, but eventually the SUV pulls away, and I let out a deep sigh of relief and disappointment.
“What happened?” Petra asks. I’ve completely forgot she’s witnessing this strange occurrence.
“We need a drink,” I say as I kick off my stilettos before stomping into the kitchen to retrieve two wine glasses and a half bottle of Merlot.
After I’ve run through the details of our night, including the backstory of the interaction at his party, and his pop up at our office, I take a big gulp of wine, preparing for my best friend’s semi-objective analysis of the situation.
“What’s his name?” she asks after a long pause.
“Oh, Logan. I thought I mentioned that. Logan Draper,” I shake my head at my forgetfulness, but from the look on her face, it’s apparent she’s heard that name before. “You know him?” I ask as my shoulders sink further. Just what I need, someone with a history who Petra knows to make me feel even dumber.
“Of course I do. Everyone does. He’s a typical LA dirt bag. Trust fund kid who enjoys screwing young hot girls over,” she says with a look of disgust contorting her face before sipping her wine.
“And? So, you think he’s trying to screw me over?”
“I think you need to get him for whatever you can, because he won’t be interested too long, so it’s best to take advantage,” she shrugs, taking another gulp.
There’s no way I’m going to take advantage of Logan, or even try to get anything from him. Who knows what she would say if I mentioned the thousand dollars he left in my purse, so I keep that to myself.
“I don’t know about that,” I respond after a long pause.
“I’m serious, Ava. Milk him. That’s all he’s good for,” she reiterates, finishing her wine before refilling both of our glasses.
“Petra, you know that’s not me.”
“Well, listen. This is LA. Reputation is everything and your client list is the best marketing you can ever have. Imagine the notoriety we’ll receive from such a high-profile name. He’s a complete narcissist, so he’ll want you to clear your schedule for him. Simply bill him to make up for your other clients, and take him on as a client.”
“I don’t know. If he’s a dirt bag, why would I want to work with someone like that?” I ponder aloud in response to her suggested plan, not wanting her to know the real reason I don’t want to take him on as a client.
I was just daydreaming about inviting him in, wondering what he could do with that body. Closing my eyes with a deep sigh, feigning annoyance, I daydream about his touch, and his smile, while Petra continues on about the nefarious possibilities.
My mind is clouded from the wine and turn of events, but my memories of Logan are vivid. Working together would at least give me an excuse to be around him, but how could I effectively help him with the level of my attraction?
Flipping between the two options, I always land back on a clear vision of Logan, sitting across from me with lust in his eyes. I wasn’t drunk enough to misread him, I just can’t believe I got it so wrong. I thought for sure there was a spark between us.
Would it be possible to work with him without feeling those strong desires?
Chapter 7
Ava
It’s been a week since my date with Logan, and each day he seems to get more aggressive in his attempts to contact me. First, it was one call a day, and then two.
Next, he was sending texts asking if I’m free, and then leaving voice messages when I failed to respond. I’ve continued to ignore his calls and stall him via text. I need more time to consider his proposal, despite Petra’s insistence that I take him for every penny.
Yesterday, he even had a courier service deliver a handwritten note, asking if I could make time to speak with him today, but after several minutes of mock conversations in the mirror, I just couldn’t do it.
Petra has assured me he’s an arrogant asshole, so I imagine he should begin to cool down soon. A week has to be too long of a chase for someone of his caliber. He should be annoyed and over me, or at least that’s what I hope.
Walking into the office, preparing myself for a long day, I’m met with a death stare from Petra, her arms crossed as she stands next to Melanie, our receptionist, who wears a helpless look when my eyes land on hers.
“What’s wrong?” I ask concerned, as Melanie silently apologizes.
Petra steps aside to reveal the largest, and most beautiful, bouquet of white roses I’ve ever seen. They’re long stem, in a tall glass vase, and without counting, I’m sure there have to at least be fifty of them.
Ignoring Petra’s feelings, I focus on the flowers, leaning in to smell the amazing aroma.
“Here,” Petra sneers, shoving a small white card to me.
I don’t tire easily, Ava. Call me. – Logan.
I can’t hide the smile that spreads across my face, as Petra rolls her eyes and walks into her office, calling behind her, “Close the deal today.”
“I’m sorry, Ava. I was going to put them in your office before she got here, but Petra came in earlier than I expected,” Melanie begins, rushing her words in an effort to explain.
“It’s not your fault,” I say with a smile, winking to let her know I don’t care about Petra’s attitude, before carefully carrying the beautiful roses into my office, setting the heavy vase on my desk.
“They are beautiful,” she sighs from my doorway.
“Yes, they are,” I smile to myself.
“So, today’s load just got much lighter. Your last appointment of the day canceled, freeing up two hours, but other than that you’re completely booked.” Melanie runs off my schedule as she does every morning.
“Okay, that’s fine. Please let me know when my first appointment arrives. I need to make a call,” I wait her to leave, watching her fail at hiding her blush, knowing I’ll be calling the sender of such a beautiful floral arrangement.
It takes ten minutes before I can muster the courage to call Logan. Deciding it unprofessional to call his cell phone, I opt for his office line.
“Good morning. You’ve reached Mr. Draper’s desk. This is Jennifer speaking, how may I help you?” His assistant answers, way too perky for eight o’clock in the morning.
“Hi. I was hoping to speak with Mr. Draper,” I request before taking a deep breath.
“I’m sorry. Unfortunately, Mr. Draper is in a meeting. May I take a message?” she says in a most robotic tone. A sense of relief rushes over me, grateful to delay the conversation.
“Yes, please let him know that Ava – uh, Ms. Batcher – returned his call,” I correct myself, hoping to sound as professional as possible when he reads the message.
“Ava? Ava Batcher?” She asks in a shocked whisper.
“Umm… yeah,” I answer confused. Surely, she’s never heard of me.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Batcher. I didn’t recognize this number. May you please hold? Mr. Draper has been waiting for your call.”
I can hear the anxiety in her voice, and don’t want to be the reason she gets in trouble. Petra said Logan is known to be a ruthless boss.
“Ava?!”
My stomach curls instantly at the sound of his velvety soft voice.
“Logan – I mean, Mr. Draper,” I say, determined to be in charge of my emotions.
“I told you not to call me that,” he says in his normal deep and seductive tone.
“Well, what would you prefer?” I bait him, walking around my office in anticipation of his response.
“What’s so wrong with Logan?” he asks, and I can tell he’s smirking.
“Do most of your colleagues call you Logan?”
“You’re not most,” he shoots back quickly.
“So, you’re already making exceptions for me, and I haven’t even taken you on?” I tease.
“I was hoping we could fix that by the end of this call.”
“Oh? I was just calling to thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful,” I say, testing the waters.
“How many days do I need to send them until you will take me on as a client? Or should I just send them on the hour?”
“Is that how you woo your real estate investors?” I question sarcastically.
“Oh, come on, Ava. You’ve done your research, you’re taking me on. Why torture me?”
“If this is torture for you I don’t know that you’ll make it through a session with me,” I immediately recognize the sexual undertone in the sentence, but by then it’s too late.
