“First, though,” he says, “let me introduce you to Lisa.”
My lips part in surprise. This woman isnotLisa—or at least the person I met years ago. Unless she’s decided to color her raven hair and has somehow shaved off several inches of height.
“Bree, hello,” she says from the reception desk, and flashes a too-wide smile. “Give me a moment and I’ll be right with you.”
Clearly, I’ve been confused all this time, assuming some other woman who once worked for Logan—and whose name started with anL—had reentered his life as his latest girlfriend. I take a breath, trying to center myself and manage a smile, but by the time I do, she’s already redirected her attention back to Shelly.
I don’t want to seem like a bitch, but I also have no intention of standing around the lobby waiting for her to put in a food order. I move past Logan into the parlor, and he follows right behind me. He knows this is slightly uncomfortable, and since he’s Logan, the master finesser, I assume he’ll make every attempt to smooth things over.
“Sorry this is all happening in public,” he says, keeping his voice low.
“Not a problem.”
“I did text you this morning and ask you to call me.” His tone is apologetic, not accusatory. “I was going to let you know Lisa was here.”
“Isaidit’s not a problem, Logan. What happened with Halligan?”
“I told him which way we were leaning, and though he seemed receptive, he was noncommittal. Said he’s still waiting to hear back from the analyst.”
“Did you tell him about Jack?” I ask, dropping my own voice now.
“Yup, and I let him know he’d be in the area this week and worth talking to. All he said to that wasthanks.”
A sense of dismay begins to creep over me.
“Like they’re not interested in taking another look at him?” I ask.
Logan shakes his head. “More like he’s not going to tell us one way or the other. I think he was being more candid than usual yesterday, and going forward, we’re probably going to be on a need-to-know ba—”
“Sorry for the delay.” It’s Lisa, striding from the lobby in a stylish beige coat and high brown boots, with the Louis Vuitton bag hooked over her left arm. I’m surprised she doesn’t have it handcuffed to her wrist.
I warn myself to stop the snide inner critique of her, and more importantly not to be rude. I swivel fully in her direction. Now that I’m closer, I see that her skin is nearly wrinkle-free.
“We were just catching up,” Logan overexplains.
“Of course,” Lisa says. She thrusts a hand out to me. “Bree, how nice to finally meet you.”
I’m still disconcerted by the sight of her. Not only because she isn’t the woman I dug from my memory bank, but she’s also so different from what I consider to be Logan’s type. From what I knew of the women he dated before me, he seemed to favor fairly laid-back, natural-seeming females, a category I thought I fell into myself. Was he always secretly yearning for someone super chic, a woman who wore pricey designer clothes and whose lips were artificially buoyant enough to save her if she found herself shipwrecked on the high seas one day?
I accept the handshake and almost wince at the strength of her grip. It feels like she’s trying to crack a lobster claw.
“Thank you, nice to meet you, too,” I reply.
“My God, you must beexhausted.”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“But Logan told me how long the trip is door to door. Like almost twenty-four hours, right?”
“I’ve made a bunch of trips back and forth, so I’m pretty used to it.”
“Well, that’s good, then.” She rakes a manicured hand through her hair. “I’m hopeless on overnight flights myself. You’re in that ridiculously narrow flat bed with people moving up and down the aisle, and I’m lucky if I get an hour’s sleep.”
“How was your drive from the city?” I say, deciding I need to lob at least one question her way.
“Easy-peasy, thank goodness. As I guess you know, we’re in Tribeca, so I just hopped on the West Side Highway and headed north.”
Relax, Lisa. There’s nothing left between Logan and me, so you don’t need to get all territorial.
