“I work in the restaurant now,” I tell him.
Fuck, it’s still there.
That feeling in my chest.
“It’s nice to see you, Chase.”
“I almost went up to your room last night,” I admit.
His eyes dance across my face. “It wouldn’t have been a good time. I had a phone meeting with a casting director. The call lasted two hours, then I had a dinner meeting on 5th Avenue, and then I came back and crashed into bed.”
“Busy busy.”
“Always.”
A silence hangs between us for a moment. This short corridor that leads from the hotel lobby to the bar is empty right now, but the sound of high heels clicking echoes down from the lobby.
The moment stretches until it feels like it could snap. Even on a good day, my filter is almost nonexistent, but withLogan right in front of me again, I feel it crumble away into nothing.
“Why did you come here, Logan?”
The words exit my mouth too quickly.
“I can explain why I chose this hotel. Don’t read into it too deeply,” he says. “The Bellwood is the best hotel in the city, and everyone on my team wanted to stay here.”
I stare at him. “So you had to stay in this hotel? It wasn’t your choice, and you hadnopart in the decision-making process?”
“I wanted to do what was best for my team, and for myself. Should I have told them no?”
I shake my head fast. “No. I’m glad you’re here. It doesn’t bother me at all.”
Something like relief washes over his face. “Good. I’m going to be filming here for two months, and I need to know that we’re both on the same page.”
“Which is?”
“That I’m sorry for the way things ended,” Logan says. “We were bad for each other.”
My heart thuds in my chest. “Bad. But good in other ways, too.”
“Bad,” Logan repeats.
I hate the look on his face. I remember it from the last time I saw him, because it’s the look he always had on his face when he was putting up his walls with me.
Walls that went up the moment I told him we should do the right thing, and be mature, and all the shit I said because I was trying to protect him from my chaos.
Those walls seem pretty ironclad right now.
He shifts on his feet and I catch his scent in the air, and I hate how it pulls me right back to last year. If pheromones are a real thing, Logan radiates them. The scent of his skin, the back of his hair, even the way his fancy suit smells.
I pull in a long breath and shut my eyes for a moment.
And I think of a world in neon.
The cityscapes I paint, with sunsets shot through with bold pink and nightscapes where the windows glitter with blue and green.
The raven I painted last week with electric purple eyes, and the hissing mountain lion I painted in electric orange, with fangs bared,unafraid.
Fuck it.
