I grab my phone and call Banner back, fully expecting an earful about me answering the door to Emmy Harris wearing only a towel.
Instead, I get Banner’s voice mail.
“No one leaves voice mails anymore. Text me if it’s important. And if you’re trying to sell me something, go buy a bag of dicks.”
I leave a message anyway. “Bruce, call me back.”
I’m still trying to keep my eyes open after two hours of watchingSportsCenter, but my phone doesn’t ring before I fall into bed.
Chapter 11
Banner
One brilliant thing about New York? Everything is open late, and that worked perfectly for my defensive shopping last night.
When I walk onto the plane taking me to Gold Haven, I’ve got one more suitcase than I left with, packed with enough scandalous lingerie to destroy any man’s inhibitions.
Do I think I really need it to make sure I have no competition for Logan?
Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fucking fabulous, and that man is lucky to have me.
I remind myself of that no fewer than eighty times on the flight. But that doesn’t mean I’m about to leave anything to chance.
Also with me—more lube. Just in case.
Brown Town, here we come.
I’m a woman on a mission when I step off my last flight at six o’clock at night, annoyed it took me an entire freaking day to get here since I made my plans at the last minute. As soon as I leave the rental car desk, I’m headed for my first destination. Logan’s shop.
He’s never going to know what hit him. My skirt is short, my heels are tall, and my hair, skin, and nails are perfect from the pampering I managed to sneak in this week.
I pull into the parking lot an hour and a half later, mostly because I was so busy singing along to every kick-ass female anthem on my playlist that I missed the turn and went fifteen miles in the wrong direction.
But no one needs to know that little detail.
The lights are still on, and Logan’s truck is parked in its normal spot alongside the building. No other cars remain in the lot.
I pull out my phone and switch it out of airplane mode. I told myself I kept it there all day because I was worried about the safety of my flights and obviously because of the FAA regulations, but that’s total bull.
I didn’t trust myself not to answer what must be at least a few messages from Logan. I wanted this to be a surprise. Like when Logan thought I might be pregnant, this is a discussion that needs to happen in person.
A few text messages pop up from him immediately, and they’re progressively more ... let’s call it assertive.
MYSEXYMAN: Bruce, call me.
MYSEXYMAN: Seriously, babe. Call me.
MYSEXYMAN:CALL ME.
MYSEXYMANThis radio silence shit will not fly. Call me, Bruce.
MYSEXYMAN:Banner Regent, don’t even try to dodge me. I know where you are, and I will come to you and show you how a real man handles this situation.
A smile spreads over my face. I’ve come to terms with a few things in the last twenty-four hours, and one of them is that I don’t care if I’m the first one to say those words I’ve been holding back. I love Logan Brantley, and I’m not going to let another day go by without telling him. To his face.
After I park, I slide out of the car, careful not to pull a Britney and flash anyone my vag because I’m going commando under this skirt, and strut my ass up to the entrance.
I push on the door that opens into the waiting room, but it doesn’t budge. Locked. Well, dammit, that’s not part of my plan. I bang on it, but no one comes. The beat of whatever rock song he’s listening to is thumping through the walls.