Single Mom, Billionaire Boss

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  His phone rang. Carter, the groom-to-be, his best friend from high school. “Hey,” Logan answered. “I’m just now getting to the house.”

  “Liar. You’re sitting in your rental car because you don’t want to deal with Hurricane Julia.”

  “How’d you know it was me?”

  “Nobody in Wilmington drives a car that expensive. Well, nobody but you.”

  Logan snickered. He did have an appetite for nice cars, especially if they were fast, and if anyone knew him well, it was Carter. He and Logan had met freshman year of high school at baseball tryouts. Logan landed a spot on varsity, a harbinger of things to come—full scholarship to UCLA, eight years as a major league pitcher. Record-breaking seasons. Record-breaking salaries. Then a World Series, a loss, and a career-ending injury. His trajectory had never suggested it’d all be over by the time he was thirty.

  Julia was a loss of another kind, although it dogged him in much the same way. His high school sweetheart, the woman who understood him better than most, and yet she’d hurt and disappointed him countless times. He must be a glutton for punishment, because he was still wrestling with his need for Julia.

  “You have to come inside and talk to Julia about getting rid of the press. Tracy is freaking out,” Carter pleaded.

  “I doubt she’s going to listen to a thing I say after what happened after the reunion.”

  Julia and Logan saw each other every year at their high school reunion. The meeting had several time-honored traditions that only they were a part of. First came the downing of a cocktail, followed by merciless flirting—laughing, innocent touches, pointed glances, the flipping of hair from Julia. After the second drink came a spirited round of one-upmanship, including desperate attempts to convince the other how “happy” they were. Once full tipsiness was achieved, the painful stroll down memory lane could commence, usually ending with a heated make-out session. In those instances, one of them was to cut it short before things went too far. It was customary for the other person to stomp on the brakes the following year.

  The last reunion had veered off course. They’d both walked in wounded—Logan hated his new career as a network commentator covering the sport he missed terribly, while Julia had just been offered a role playing a much older woman. She’d also made mention of having been dumped by another boyfriend, but Logan had tried to ignore that part. They’d needed each other that balmy June night, and that translated into two unforgettable days in bed, making love, laughing and talking for hours.

  Unfortunately, Logan had been shaken back to reality when he got to the airport at the end of their weekend and saw a tabloid story saying there was romance brewing with her next costar—the hapless movie star named Derek. True or not, it was too powerful a reminder that Julia wasn’t capable of settling down. She was too busy trying to save the world, too drawn to an endless string of loser guys. Logan refused to be one of her losers. He’d had no choice but to end things before she hurt him again.

  “Sorry you had to find out about her new boyfriend like this,” Carter said. “It’s gotta be tough.”

  “I’m fine. I’d already seen the papers. I knew all about it.” Just like last time. And every other time.

  “Will you please get in here so I can offer you a beer and not feel guilty about having one myself at four in the afternoon?”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Logan did his duty as Carter’s best man, strolling down the aged sidewalk to the Keyses’ house. The reporters yelled after him—mostly requests to get Julia to come outside, although there was one question about life as an athlete-turned-sports commentator. Logan didn’t reply; he just waved. He wasn’t about to chime in if they asked about Julia and her new boyfriend.

  Mrs. Keys opened the door, welcoming him with a smile and a hug. “Logan Brandt. If my eyes don’t deceive me. I hope you and Julia can play nicely today. We have enough drama for a lifetime.”

  Logan nodded, stepping inside and keeping an eye peeled for Julia. “Don’t you worry about us.” I’ll do it for you.

  Carter waved on his way into the kitchen. “Two beers, coming up.”

  Tracy rose from the couch, but grabbed Logan’s arms rather than taking the hug he offered. Her eyes were ringed in pink. “Will you talk to her? You might be the only person she’ll listen to about getting the press to go away.”

  “I don’t know that I have any sway with...” Her name was poised on his lips when Julia waltzed in from the kitchen. Midstride, she froze. He couldn’t move, either. Their eyes locked, and he felt as though he was up to his knees in a concrete block of memories, the most recent ones the strongest—watching her sleep in the early morning as his hand followed the contour of her lower back and a smile broke across her face. When Julia was happy, the world was a beautiful place, and she gave in to it, heart and soul.

  For an incoherent instant, he wished he could take back the message he’d left for her. The one that ended everything. Her pull on him registered square in the center of his chest—a tightening that said two opposing things: he couldn’t live without her, but he had to stick to his guns or he’d end up romantic roadkill. “Jules.”

  “Logan.” Julia didn’t come closer, which was a good thing, albeit disappointing. She crossed her arms, building a fortress around herself. Still, her vanilla scent found his nose and warmed him from head to toe.

  “How are you?” he asked. If ever there was a loaded question, that was it. Stress radiated off her, but she was as stunning as ever. Her silky chestnut hair fell about her face in waves, effortlessly sexy. His hands twitched with the memory of what it was like to have his fingers buried in it. Her peachy skin had a summer glow he couldn’t place—she usually avoided the sun. It suited her. Perfectly.

  “I’m fine. I’m ready to start talking about the wedding and stop talking about me,” she said.

  I bet.

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Mrs. Keys said. “I have a special treat for Carter in the kitchen, and then we’ll get started. Trace, why don’t we go over the schedule and you can fill us all in on the jobs we need to do.”

  Tracy pulled out a binder and perched on the middle cushion of the couch. Carter handed Logan a bottle of pale ale and took a seat next to his bride-to-be, putting his arm around her and kissing her temple. Logan had given Carter plenty to envy over the years, but when it came to this, Carter had him beat. Aside from a temporary breakup, Carter and Tracy’s love story was uncomplicated and sweet. Logan would’ve done anything to have that.

  Mrs. Keys triumphantly presented a platter of her world-famous deviled eggs to her future son-in-law.

  Carter lunged for one the instant they were on the coffee table. “Oh, man. Thank you. I love these things.” He popped it into his mouth and moaned in ecstasy.

  Julia made a wretched sound and pursed her lips, turning away.

  “You okay?” Logan asked as Mrs. Keys took the remaining spot on the couch, next to Tracy.

  Julia clamped her eyes shut and nodded. “Bad experience with deviled eggs on set a few weeks ago. I’m fine.”

  “Oh, honey. I didn’t know,” Mrs. Keys said, as her husband grabbed several of the offending eggs. “I can put them away if you like.”

  Julia shook her head. “Don’t worry about me. I know how much everyone loves them.”

  Mr. Keys sat in his chair, leaving the love seat for Julia and Logan. Once again, their gazes connected, and he had to fight to make sense of what his body was saying to him. The problem was, whenever she was in a foul mood, he had a deep longing to kiss her out of it. He was practically wired to do it.

  Logan offered her a seat. “Please. Ladies first.”

  Julia rolled her eyes. “Such a gentleman.”

  “I’m just being polite.”

  “It’s a little late for polite.”

  “No fi
ghting,” Tracy barked. “Julia, I swear to God, you’re going to kill me. I need the maid of honor and best man to get along. The reporters are bad enough. Not that you don’t have the ability to make them go away.”

  Julia sat, snugging herself up against the arm of the love seat, preemptively distancing herself from him. “I can only say it so many times. The story is fake. I know you all think I have the world’s worst taste in men, but don’t worry. I did manage to avoid this one. And if we just ignore the press, they’ll leave.”

  Relief washed over him, followed by surprise. No romance with Derek? Really? “Julia’s probably right. They’ll get bored if you don’t talk to them.” Feeling considerably more at ease, Logan joined Julia on the love seat. “We’re getting along just fine. No fighting.”

  Tracy’s eyes darted back and forth between them. She seemed unconvinced, but returned her focus to her binder. “Give me a minute to figure out what I want everyone to do. Mom, can you look at this?”

  Mrs. Keys slid closer to her daughter and the two became immersed in conversation. That left Carter and Mr. Keys to feast on deviled eggs.

  Logan was still computing the revelation about Julia’s costar. If the story was fake, had it always been? “So, no love connection with Derek, huh?” he asked under his breath.

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “No, Logan. Not ever,” she snipped. “After that lovely message you left for me, I’m surprised you care.”

  Ouch. “I never want to see you with the wrong guy, Jules.”

  “Okay, everybody. Listen up.” Tracy straightened in her seat and started rattling off orders about the florist and picking up wedding bands, the baker and final dress fittings, like a four-star general about to lead them into battle. That left no time for Logan to continue his conversation with Julia, although he wanted to. At least to smooth things over.

  Julia was scribbling notes as fast as Tracy could talk. “Got it. I’m on florist and cake duty. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it. The only hitch is that I didn’t rent a car.” She cleared her throat. “Logan, maybe you can drive me.”

  “You’re at the same hotel. It only makes sense,” Mrs. Keys chimed in.

  True. It did make sense, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that Julia had ulterior motives. Something in her voice told him that she did. Whatever her plan, hopefully it didn’t include ripping his head off and sticking it on a stake in the front yard as payback for the post-reunion breakup. “Of course. Whatever Tracy and Carter need us to do to help make this the perfect wedding.”

  Copyright © 2017 by Karen Booth

  ISBN-13: 9781488011375

  Single Mom, Billionaire Boss

  Copyright © 2017 by Sheree Henry-WhiteFeather

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Intellectual Property Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com