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LOGAN
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“WANT TO TEST THAT THEORY?” he asked.
He should stop now while he was ahead, but Marti was in a position to help him reach his goals. Her column could launch his foundation nationwide. It’s what he had wanted since he started Hidden Heartbeat to help underinsured patients, but shifting a charity, especially one like his, from the state level to national was a huge feat. It required massive funding, notoriety, promotion, and the kind of celebrity he didn’t have.
But as he stepped forward, leaning closer to her—so close, he could smell the floral scent of her perfume—he felt a stirring in his gut. He wondered if maybe there was a part of him, albeit a small part, that wanted more than what Marti could offer his charity. He was drawn to her, despite her cynical view of men, and for reasons he couldn’t explain.
Still, he wasn’t a complete fool. Marti had made it perfectly clear she didn’t want a relationship. So he wasn’t interested in her, not really. This was merely professional—strategic—but teasing her was too much fun to resist.
Marti nailed him with a sharp gaze, her apparent loathing of him so strong, he felt it in his bones.
“Come on.” He tipped his head. “I can’t promise it’ll be that exciting, but I can promise good food, music, and it’s for a good cause. I need a date. Why not go? You can even write about it in your column, put whatever spin you want on it.”
Marti huffed. “And why would I want to do that?”
“You wrote about me once already.”
A blush colored her milky skin crimson. How cute.
“Don’t flatter yourself. I write about my personal life all the time. And you had more entertainment value than Tim, but that’s not saying much, so . . .”
“Sure, whatever you say.”
Her jaw tightened. “Fine.” She stepped forward, poking him in the chest and forcing him back. “But just so you know, I won’t enjoy it. I’m only going because you’re forcing my hand, and anything that happens on the date is fair game to write about. Even if I find out you wear a toupee or have some kind of secret fetish. And after Friday night, I’ll have fulfilled my obligation and owe you nothing. Got it?”
Logan reached out and wrapped a hand around the delicate finger stabbing his ribs. His pulse raced. “Got it.”
Just then, the door behind Marti busted open, and Mel stepped into the hall.
Marti jumped away from him and cleared her throat. Her eyes widened, and she averted her gaze like she was a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
Mel’s gaze shifted between them before her lips twisted into a knowing grin.
Logan motioned down the hall. “As I said, take a left and you’ll see a sign for the waiting room.”
“Thanks, Doc.”
He bit the inside of his cheek, and his amusement mounted as Marti sent him a look that could skin the hide off a grizzly bear. Then she grabbed Mel’s arm and all but dragged her outside.
He laughed to himself, even though he realized he should probably feel sorry. He was using her, and he just blackmailed her. Yet the only thing he felt was satisfaction, because aside from the coppery locks, eyes the color of his favorite navy suit, and those long, lean legs, she was entertaining. She made him laugh, which was more than he could say about anyone in a long time.
But Marti was a one-time treat, like a decadent dessert you know is bad for you, but you just can’t resist. One bite and you’re addicted. One bite might take you to heaven or hell.
So he’d take her to the gala. He’d have his treat, this one bite. He earned it. He’d just have to find the willpower to refuse the rest.