Meeting His Match

by Tia Souders

  THE SECOND LOGAN LEFT and Marti opened the door to the conference room, Caroline and Mel all but dragged her down the hall and into the freebie closet. They pushed aside racks of the upcoming spring fashion items to make room to squeeze through onto the upholstered bench in the center of the room.

  Caroline flung Marti down like an unruly toddler and pointed. “Talk.”

  Marti rotated her arm like a starting pitcher. “I think you pulled my arm from its socket.”

  Mel leaned up against the wall opposite her, grinning. “I am going to enjoy every second of watching you navigate your way through this relationship,” she said making air quotes with her fingers.

  “Ha ha.” Marti scowled.

  Caroline pushed her blond locks from her face and sat down next to Marti. She had little tiny hearts in her eyes. Where Caroline was concerned, love trumped all. Her head was probably already spinning with a million romantic scenarios of how Marti and Logan would end up together. “The last time we spoke, you said you’d rather die than date him. What’s the scoop?” she asked.

  “I take it you saw the Times article?”

  “And the Instagram posts. Castille was all over this like wildfire,” she said. “I was so excited when I saw the picture of you in that green gown, pressed up against him, I nearly peed!”

  Yikes. Marti needed to get her to dial it down a notch.

  Marti exhaled, resigning herself to telling them everything. After all, she had an article to write, and it just so happened she had her subject, whether she liked it or not. Blue would certainly be pleased. The sooner she filled them in, the sooner she could get back to her desk and get to work.

  She explained everything, ignoring Caroline’s love-struck expression, when she sighed and tucked her legs up underneath her and sat back. “Wow. It’s like the storyline of a romantic comedy,” she said in a breathy voice.

  Marti frowned. “I wouldn’t know, but it’s almost too good to be true. Too easy.”

  Mel stepped forward, arms crossed. “Wait . . . so he doesn’t know that Blue wants you to do this for the article?”

  “No.”

  “Why does he think you’re going along with it then?” Caroline asked.

  “He thinks I agreed so that he’d go to my dad’s wedding with me and find a way to get me out of it early.”

  Mel chewed her lip. Marti could tell the wheels were spinning. If anyone was as relationship averse as Marti, it was Mel. “So a trade for a trade.”

  “You could say that.”

  Caroline grinned. “I can’t believe you’re actually going through with having a boyfriend.”

  “Fake boyfriend,” Marti pointed out.

  Caroline waved her off and stood, making her way to the counter that held a plethora of the latest makeup samples. She opened a tube of lipstick and began to apply it sans mirror, like a pro. “What’s the difference? You’re going to need to be seen out in public together, so you’ll be going on dates and spending time together. There’ll be PDA.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “And you’ll be writing all about it, just like you write about your single life now. It’ll be everywhere.”

  Marti squirmed in her seat. Of course she knew all of this, but hearing it, imagining it made it seem even more real. She wasn’t even sure she could effectively fake a relationship, let alone pull it off in front of millions of prying eyes. “It’s only for two months, tops,” Marti said. “By that time, Logan will have gotten enough attention and donations for his foundation, and I’ll have lived through my dad’s wedding, and we’ll call it off.”

  “What if he falls for you?” Caroline asked, her eyes shining bright.

  Oh, boy. Here we go.

  Caroline was a candy-hearts and flowers kind of girl. She thrived on romantic crap. Fairytales weren’t just a thing of dreams to Caroline, it was the dream, the thing to aspire to in life.

  Marti shook her finger in front of her. “Not happening.”

  “But it could happen.”

  “No.” Marti glared.

  “I don’t like it,” Mel said. “I don’t know why, but I don’t.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t like it. You two are the same. You both hate men.”

  “I don’t hate men,” Marti and Mel said in unison.

  Marti glowered at Mel as she shrugged and said, “I don’t hate men. I just don’t trust them.”

  “Well,” Marti said, “he was pretty honest about everything. I think it’s safe to say there’s no hidden agenda.” Me on the other hand . . .

  “The thing is, what if this doesn’t work?” Marti asked, verbalizing her worst fears. She picked at a loose thread on the bench.

  “What do you mean? Of course it’ll work,” Caroline said, ever the optimist.

  “But we don’t know that, do we? I mean, Blue was only speculating that a relationship would save my ratings. What if she was wrong? What if people are just sick of me?”

  “Sick of you?” Caroline huffed. “Impossible.”

  The thought sent a slice of panic through her chest. It made her heart pound and her palms sweat. Marti had defined herself by her column for so long, she wasn’t sure who she was without it. Though she had refused to think of the outcome if she failed, she had to face the fact it was a possibility. Even if she managed to keep her job, she wouldn’t be Single In the City anymore. She wouldn’t be the Queen of Single. She’d be plain old Marti McBride. She doubted there was even room for her anywhere else on the editorial team.

  Mel placed a hand on Marti’s shoulder and squeezed. “Hey.” She snapped her fingers in her face, garnering her attention. “You got this. If you’re going to do it. Do it right.”

  Marti’s forehead creased. “Meaning?”

  Caroline locked eyes with Mel then glanced back to Marti. “You better make him fall in love with you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  LOGAN

  LOGAN WAITED AS THE phone rang, staring into his cavernous closet, willing his sister to pick up. He had no idea why he was so nervous, but somewhere between Marti’s short, clipped email asking him to attend this art show with him and now, he realized he might be in a tad over his head. Sure, he was a confident man. He had gone through medical school and started his own practice before thirty. Fast forward two years, and there he was. Yet he had no idea how to date a woman with so much clout. Real or not, the thought unnerved him far more than he wanted to admit.

  This was his chance to prove himself, to right the wrongs of his past, to make amends. If he could help women and save lives with Hidden Heartbeat, maybe he could finally forgive himself for the things he’d done wrong in his own life.

  Having Marti on his arm was a bonus.

  He thumbed through a couple of dress shirts as he dialed his sister again and waited. The moment she answered, he didn’t waste any time. He felt like a complete tool enough as it was. “Quick. What do you wear to an art show?”

  “Is that where you’re taking her? Talk about boring.”

  Logan rolled his eyes into the phone, glad she couldn’t see him. “It’s not my first choice, trust me. But when you date one of New York’s resident celebrities, apparently you need to go where you’re expected, and it’s a PopNewz thing. She got the invite and needs to make an appearance, which means—”

  “You’re expected to be there together if you’re really an item.”

  “Right.”

  “Oh,” she cooed, and he could practically see her maniacally twiddling her fingers over the line. “Your first event since the gala. How exciting. And it’s only been four days. Smart. Don’t want people to forget or too much time to pass without solidifying your relationship status.”

  “That’s the plan,” Logan muttered.

  “Why do you sound all death’s doorstep?”

  “Because my first serious relationship since Allison is faking it with a woman who’d rather shove bamboo shoots up her nails than have a boyfriend.”

  “My kind of woman.”

&nbs
p; “Oh, please.” Logan ran a hand down his face. “Not again.” Ever since his sister’s boyfriend cheated on her last year, she’d been obsessed with Marti and her Single in the City column.

  “I’m just razzing you. If anyone deserves someone amazing, it’s you.”

  “Thanks,” Logan said, shifting on his feet in front of his closet. He hated when she hounded him about dating again.

  “Speaking of her, when do I get to meet her?” Britt asked.

  “Never.”

  “What? You’re in a serious relationship, so that definitely means she needs to meet your family.”

  “Fake relationship.”

  “Mhm. For now . . .”

  “Britt,” Logan said in warning.

  “What? Any girl who can’t see how awesome you are is clearly blind. Anyway, are you going to try to plug your story this weekend? You should make it your goal to seek out at least two people and mention how you got together, get the gossip chain started.”

  “Sure,” Logan said. Yanking a chocolate brown suit from his closet, he frowned. “Now can we get back to what I’m supposed to wear tonight?”

  “I think it’s cute you’re asking me.”

  “Well, you are a fashion major.”

  “Still. Okay . . .” she trailed off, and he imagined her eyes lighting up over the line. Giving quality fashion advice was like her magnum opus in life.

  “It’s an art show, so you need to be trendy but sophisticated. But most importantly, you need to look hot,” Brittney said.

  “It would be inappropriate to go naked.”

  “You’re hilarious.”

  Logan grinned. “Any specific suggestion on how your good ‘ol brother can look his hottest, with clothes on, then?”

  A beat of silence passed before she said, “Dark-wash jeans and that charcoal t-shirt you have that almost looks faded and soft to the touch, with a fitted black sports coat. H-O-T,” she said, making Logan chuckle.

  “Got it. Any other suggestions while I’m at it?”

  “Yeah.”

  Silence.

  Okay, he’d bite. Forcing down his smile, he asked, “And what would that be?”

  “Kiss her. Good. Until her toes curl and she questions why she ever wanted to be single.”

  Logan laughed. “You’re insane.”

  “But smart.”

  Logan said nothing in reply. But when Marti’s sweet face and sharp mouth flashed in his head, he thought, Maybe she’s right.

  LOGAN PAUSED JUST INSIDE the gallery entry, slightly late. Still, he was in no rush as his gaze caught Marti standing farther inside the room, studying a canvas encased in light by an installation above it.

  With her back turned to him, Logan took advantage of her ignorance to drink her in before she saw him.

  Her auburn hair was pulled back into a ponytail, a thick wave trailing down her back. She wore a fitted black cocktail dress that skimmed the tops of her knees and set off her milky-white skin. Shifting his gaze down, he took a slow perusal of her long legs, made even longer by a pair of sky-high red heels.

  Something tugged at his chest. He shook it off and released a shallow breath. There could be worse ways to drum up PR for his charity.

  Slowly, he made his way toward her, watching her as he did, noting her bright smile at the passing cocktail waitress. They spoke for a brief moment before she handed Marti a glass of wine and laughed at something she said, staring at her with stars in her eyes. All the while, a man sidled up on her other side and blatantly checked out her butt while she was turned.

  It reminded him of the gala. When all eyes were on her. Despite her popularity, he didn’t even think she was aware of how beautiful she was, which made her even more attractive. People watched her, fixated on her graceful form as she shifted to a different painting and lifted her wine glass to those pouty lips.

  All the women wanted to be her—or, at least, be her friend—and all the men wanted her. Logan wondered what it must be like. To be that enamored in a city filled with people. To have all eyes focused on you in a crowded room.

  When the waitress left and Marti’s gaze shifted back to the painting in front of her, the man trained his gaze on her face with a lecherous smile.

  Logan didn’t like that smile.

  He picked up his pace, weaving through the people socializing in the small gallery and closed in on them just in time to hear the guy making some lame joke, to which Marti responded by saying nothing, flashing him a polite smile in favor of words.

  Logan stepped in front of the guy, blocking his view of Marti, not giving two craps whether it was rude or not, and taking satisfaction in the fact that he towered over him. Fake or not, if Marti was supposed to be his, she wouldn’t flirt with random men any longer. And that smile and those eyes, they didn’t know how not to flirt with a man.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” He leaned in and kissed Marti’s cheek—just a quick brush of the lips—satisfied when they turned a pretty shade of pink.

  Behind him, the guy muttered something under his breath along the line of, figures, then shuffled away. The surge of joy Logan felt at his departure was probably over the top, considering the situation.

  “You’re welcome,” Logan said with a smirk.

  Marti’s eyes flashed. “For what exactly?”

  “Getting rid of that tool.”

  “I don’t need you or any man to save me, Love. I can handle myself.”

  “Right.” A pregnant silence followed, then as if he couldn’t help himself, Logan added, “Usually, when women have a random dude hit on them, they tell him to get lost, instead of flashing him a sexy smile.”

  “Do you really think I don’t deal with this on a regular basis? Men hitting on me? Trust me. I shut down more come-ons than you could ever dream of.”

  “Could have fooled me,” he muttered.

  “You don’t own me, Logan. Just because we’re doing this, doesn’t give you the right to be territorial. I didn’t sign up for dealing with a caveman complex.”

  Logan smoothed his jacket, irritation pounding in his temples. “Well, while we’re on the subject, if we’re going to be dating, I won’t have men hitting on my girlfriend right in front of my face.”

  “And I won’t be treated like a possession, nor like a fragile doll. I’ve never needed help before, and I certainly don’t need any now, from you.” She turned to him, meeting his gaze dead-on, jaw tight.

  Logan snorted, which only made Marti clench her jaw harder, the muscle twitching just south of her cheekbones. She was kind of cute when she was mad.

  “And don’t be late again. I will not wait on any man,” she gritted out.

  “Fine.” Logan turned his gaze to the painting, trying not to let on how much he enjoyed their verbal sparring. “Then I pick you up from now on. I’m not the kind of guy that goes Dutch or meets women for dates. I’ll pick you up properly. I’ll pay, and I’ll hold doors open for you, pull out chairs, too. Because I’m a real man, unlike the losers you’re used to. I don’t want to hear about this equality crap every five seconds. Got it?”

  “Fine.” Her spine stiffened. “Then no terms of endearment. I’m not you or any man’s sweetheart. I have a name. And you’ll use it.”

  Logan laughed and shifted his body in front of the painting, unable to take her serious any longer. Blocking her view, he forced her to look at him. “Don’t worry, McBride. Myself and every other man in this room,” he said glancing around them, “probably every man in this city, knows your name. How could we forget the infamous Queen of Single?” he quipped. “You might as well have a sign strapped to your head that says, back off.”

  Her eyes hardened on his face. She didn’t back down. This was a woman unafraid of a challenge.

  Instead, she pierced him with those ocean eyes. Taking a step forward, she leaned into him, her gaze flickering over his face, making him feel things he didn’t want to feel as she said, “Good. We’re clear on where we both stand, then?”

  “Of
course. I wouldn’t dare dig too deep into your anti-relationship rhetoric.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, catching her by surprise. “You don’t have to worry about me trying to break down those walls. I retired my sledgehammer a long time ago.”

  Her mouth rounded into an O and her eyes widened. To anyone watching, it looked like an intimate moment—whispered words of seduction, rather than a duel.

  Who would be the first to break?

  “You think you know me, Love? You don’t.” She pointed a finger into his chest.

  “No?” He eyed her with a look that said otherwise—like he knew what she looked like beneath that pretty little dress. “Don’t worry, McBride, you can remain cold and emotionally unattached, as long as you smile and look pretty when all eyes are on us. Kind of like right now.” His heart hammered against his ribs, and he lifted her hand to his mouth. It was rigid and stiff, yet he placed a kiss on her palm, noting the crowd they’d drawn.

  He leaned back then and felt a punch of satisfaction at watching Marti exhale and glance around them, visibly shaken.

  She flashed her sweet smile for the people gawking—all for show—then turned her gaze back onto the painting in front of them. “Just try not to fall in love with me, Doctor.”

  His lips quirked. The center of his chest pinched. “I’ll do my very best.”

  They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Logan realized it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. If they could stop going for each other’s throats every two seconds, this temporary relationship might not be so bad. They might even be able to enjoy each other’s company.

  He peeked at her from the corner of his eye.

  Her mouth turned down into a frown, her forehead creased in concentration as she stared at the canvas. Something told him this hard-as-steel version of her was a front. Deep inside, there was another woman. One who needed love just like everyone else. But something had turned her heart to stone, just like past heartbreak had made him guard his.