I set the books aside, deciding to keep them for my own collection—for research purposes, obviously—and continue through the drawers.
I found the big black cock earlier in the closet on the top shelf. With the silver accents, it could definitely be renamed the Billionaire.Apparently it was too much for Myrna, which is fine by me, because I’m not sure I could handle the visual anyway.
I arrange for all of her clothes, well-made but twenty years old, to be picked up tomorrow by a company specializing in redistributing them to people in need. I keep her favorite Burberry scarf and hat, though, as well as a sweater for Jordana to curl up on.
Myrna would be horrified, but I’m pretty sure she’d get over it if she knew how heartbroken her dog is right now. Luckily, the pup has her own trust, and Sofia is excited to take care of her.
A few more hours of sorting is all I can take before I’ve had enough. I’ve got a stack of boxes I’m shipping to Myrna’s daughter, whether she likes it or not, because it doesn’t seem right to throw the family memories away.
Sofia is feeding Jordy in the kitchen when I go in search of her.
“I’m done for today. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
She lowers the pink dog-food bowl to the floor. “Me too. I’m exhausted even thinking about how much more there is to go through.”
That’s the understatement of the day. Two of Myrna’s three bedrooms are packed with stuff, not to mention closets and cupboards. She had a lot of years to accumulate things, though, so I guess it makes sense.
“You sure you’re good with staying here again tonight?” I ask Sofia as I wind down for the day.
She dusts her hands off on a rag. “I’m not quite ready to say good-bye yet.”
“I know what you mean.” I give her a quick hug before donning my coat and heading out the door. It’s strange to be back in this building, especially knowing part of it is mine and no one can take it from me this time.
Deciding to walk instead of take a cab, I tuck my hands into my pockets and disappear into the crowd of people going home from work. I don’t miss being one of them.
I pick up sushi from a favorite place and carry it with me, even though I’m supposed to bring some to Dr.Lady Lips, aka Dr.Brennan, for lunch tomorrow. Not having sushi is one of the things I really miss in Kentucky, so having it twice in two days is no hardship. But then again, watching a sushi chef doesn’t compare to the visual of Logan grilling a steak to perfection.
Dammit, I miss him.
This is still all so new to me, and I’m lost in my thoughts until I’m nearly to the hotel.
“Banner! Banner!”
I look around to find who’s calling my name. It’s unusual enough that there’s little to no chance of whoever it is calling to someone else.
A tap on my shoulder has me spinning around to face Brandon Sidewalk, a guy I went out with once to a club opening, who didn’t understand that a short skirt was not an invitation to feel me up.
Unfortunately, he’s standing there with a stupid grin on his face, so I can’t exactly walk away. But I can pretend I don’t remember him.
“I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
His brow furrows. “Brandon Smith. We went out a few weeks back to the opening of Olivesque. I’ve been meaning to text you to see if you wanted to go out again.”
I pretend to dig through my memory bank before letting a look of recognition pass over my face. “Oh, you mean the guy who tried to shove his hand up my skirt without an invitation?”
He takes a step back, shock lighting his eyes. “Uh. Ah. Well ...”
I narrow my gaze on him. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. If you ever want to know how a real man acts with a woman, I’ll let you talk to my boyfriend. Actually, on second thought, he’d probably toss your body down a mine shaft for trying that, so maybe in the interest of making sure he doesn’t spend the next ten to fifteen in state prison, we’ll keep this between us.”
He stiffens, and genuine fear radiates from him as he clears his throat. “Sorry. I guess you’re right. I don’t know you.”
As Brandon Sidewalk turns and walks away, I wonder what I ever saw in the guy to make me accept even a single date. His shoulders barely fill out his suit jacket. His shoes and watch might cost more than some used cars, but they’re pretentious as hell. I know he only bought them because they’re designer.
My list of Brandon’s shortcomings slams to a halt when I realize what I called Logan.My boyfriend.
It’s been a long time since I’ve referred to anyone by that label. I continue toward the glass doors of the hotel as I turn it over in my head.Does he consider me his girlfriend?We’ve never even talked about it.And why would we?
Part of me wants to ask him, and the other part thinks the question is ridiculous. Then again, he thought he knocked me up, so I guess we’ve crossed over some imaginary relationship line, right? I still have no final conclusion when I let myself into my room, set my sushi on the desk, and remove my coat.