“Be right there.” He hit the button for two and tapped his foot impatiently. Even as he did, his phone buzzed with an incoming text.
Where are you? Marjorie sent. Did you get lost?
Christ. She’d sent another smiley face at the end of her sentence. He felt like such a dick. The door opened to floor two and he hesitated.
He could go downstairs and admit everything to Marjorie in front of Logan’s judging face. Tell her that he was the jerk behind Tits or GTFO and she’d probably hate everything he was ever associated with, and know that her friends loathed him because they thought he was a scummy businessman. Which he kinda was. And then he could watch her expressive eyes fill with tears and he’d ruin the rest of the time she had at her best friend’s wedding.
Or he could be a dick tonight and pretend sickness. Or that business came up. Something. She would be hurt, but he’d make it up to her with a little smooth talking, a little romance, and then they could cuddle their way back into a good mood.
Immediately, he knew which one he was going to pick. Rob stepped off the elevator, paused, and texted.
Something came up with work. Sorry.
***
“I don’t understand,” Marjorie said, her brows furrowing. “I talked with him earlier today and he said he was looking forward to dinner.” Maybe if she dated more, she’d be used to cancellations and blow-offs. This one felt like it was ripping a hole in her heart, though, and she didn’t know what to do.
His message wasn’t even personal. It was cold, succinct. His normal messages were filled with crass flirting and attempts to make her blush. This . . . this wasn’t even trying.
“I wonder if I said something to make him upset?”
“I’m sure that’s not it,” Brontë exclaimed. “You’re looking for problems that aren’t there, Marj. I bet he just had a meeting come up that he couldn’t miss. Logan knows how that is, isn’t that right?” She looked up at her handsome fiancé with an adoring expression.
Marjorie’s heart hurt all over again. “But if it’s work, he didn’t say when he was going to get out of there.” And Rob had told her that work was taking a backseat this week so he could spend more time with her. Hadn’t he said his assistant had it handled? “I don’t understand.”
Oh, no . . . what if it was something she’d said or done last night? What if she’d somehow come across as terribly unsexy and he’d woken up this morning and realized he didn’t want to be with her? She felt stricken at the thought.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Brontë reiterated. “I can tell from the look on your face that you’re worried, but these things happen all the time.”
“What business did you say he was in?” Logan asked, his mouth a firm line.
Marjorie felt a twinge of nervousness, as if her aborted date with Rob had somehow messed up Logan’s evening as well. “I uh . . . well, he said business. I never really pried too much because Rob said he was on vacation.”
Logan’s cool gaze continued to assess her. “I see.”
“M-maybe I should have asked him?” Gosh, how was Brontë marrying this icy man? He was scaring the pants off of her tonight. It was odd how he could be so very warm to his fiancée and so controlled to the rest of the world. “It just never really came up. I—”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” Logan said, cutting her off. “And I have an idea,” he said, turning to Brontë. “Since it’s both of you ladies, why don’t you see if Violet and Maylee are free tonight and take them with you to the restaurant? I’m sure they’d love to join you. You know they probably feel as if Gretchen is monopolizing your time.”
“Oh, no. Do you think so?” Brontë looked concerned. “They’re all my friends. I don’t want anyone to feel left out.”
“I’m sure they’re not,” Marjorie reassured her, pushing back her own concerns. “And we don’t have to make it a girls’ night out just because my date canceled. It’s really not necessary.”
“I insist,” Logan said, and he gave them both a smile that was both charming and predatory at once. “I have unfinished business to attend to myself, and should probably beg off.” He leaned in and whispered into Brontë’s ear for a long moment.
Eventually, she nodded. “Well, if you’re sure,” Brontë said. “We’ll miss you.”
Logan pulled her against him and gave her a tender kiss. “I’m sure, love. Call the girls. Go enjoy yourselves.” His eyes gleamed. “Business calls.”
***
Tucked away at a desk in Smith’s room, Rob lost himself in work. His inbox was endless. Lawsuits, tabloids, ratings drops, ratings increases, advertisers, unhappy advertisers, people wanting to advertise . . . he should have been able to concentrate on it. To tear through things as he normally did.
But he kept thinking about Marjorie. How she’d been waiting for him, radiant . . . and he’d stood her up like a coward and was now in hiding.
What a fucking chicken he was.
He knew it, and yet, if the other option was hurting her, he’d be a goddamn chicken if he had to. Anything to avoid hurting Marjorie’s feelings and ruining her time on vacation. So maybe it was cowardly of him, but he had a reason, and a purpose.
“Sir?” Smith asked, interrupting him from his work-slash-mooning.
Rob looked up, removing his headphones and closing his laptop. “What is it?”
“Gortham is staked out on the fourth floor, and he says that Logan Hawkings is hovering at the doorstep to your old suite. He’s making calls trying to locate you.”
Ah, so Logan had come sniffing after him after all. Figured. The asshole just couldn’t resist, could he? “I’ll go up and say hello.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, sir?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s not, but it needs to be done.” Plus, he wasn’t a coward. Logan wasn’t the one he was hiding from, not really. It was Marjorie, and the knowledge that he really, really wasn’t good enough for her and wanted her anyway.
So he headed up the elevator, back toward his old room—the one Logan had kicked him out of so politely—and strolled down the hall.
Logan was still there, phone to his ear. He turned, spotted Rob, and hung up his phone. He stalked down the hall toward Rob, a contrast from his own strolling, forced casual steps. “I might have known you were still here, you piece of shit.”
“Hawkings,” he said broadly, extending his arms in a fake hug. “Come on. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I thought I told you to leave,” Logan snarled. “But no, you decided to play like a dirty dick when you didn’t get your way.”
Irritation sparked, even though Rob knew it shouldn’t have bothered him. He’d been called worse. “Actually, not at all—”
“Going after a sweet, innocent girl just to worm your way into a meeting with me? Don’t you think you’ve gone a little far with that?”
“Now wait just a goddamn minute—”
Logan threw his hands up, just as furious as Rob. “You want a meeting with me? Fine. I’ll meet with you, but you need to leave Marjorie Ivarsson alone.”
Rob clenched his jaw, rage blinding him. “You fucking leave her out of this. She’s mine.”
“You’re the one that needs to leave her out of this,” Logan roared. “She’s an innocent woman and you’re fucking trash to use her like this.”
“‘Use her’?” Now Rob was yelling. “Fuck you, Hawkings. I’m not using anyone.”
“Bullshit,” Logan said. “You win. You get your meeting, but you leave that girl alone.” He clenched a fist. “We won’t tell her about any of this. She’s a sweet, sheltered girl, and it’d break her heart. I’m not about to stomp on her feelings. I happen to give a shit about them.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Like I said. You win. We can meet tomorrow.”
“I don’t want your goddamn meeting. So you can tell me no? Go fuck yourself.”