"I'm sure you can, too, but it's on the way, and you'd pick the wrong room anyway. Let me show you. You'll thank me later."
"Are you always this dismissive of your guests?”
"Only when I have an escape route if anything goes wrong." Logan pointed to the boat tied up at the dock beyond the guesthouse.
Logan's boat was one of those low-slung, old-fashioned wooden motorboats. The sun shone off of its lacquer finish, making the wood glow a deep red. To Callie, it looked like an instrument, like a fine violin or cello. It suited Logan. After all, his main talents seemed to be an effortless style and a certain recklessness. Callie was sure that to him the hum of its engine was like a symphony. "That's how you get around here?"
"If I'm going home or to work, yes. I have two cars and a bike in the garage for fun. I was just coming back from a drive when you got here. My current residence doesn't have much off-street parking."
"Because it's a yacht?"
"Yes," Logan said with a laugh, "because it's a yacht.”
Logan grabbed Callie's suitcase and led her to the side door. She wasn't sure why she had expected the guesthouse to be anything other than charming. While the scale of the main house was overwhelming, the guesthouse looked more like a cozy cottage. Once Logan ushered her inside, though, Callie saw that cozy was a relative term. The side door led into a large and airy kitchen, with white cabinets and butcher-block countertops. Callie took note of the large fridge and stove, and wondered if she'd even bother to cook for herself while in Newport. Her aunt and her sister had a running joke that Callie could burn water if it were possible.
Turning away from the kitchen, Callie saw the breakfast nook and the small living room. The far wall, the one that faced the ocean was almost entirely windowed. Each window was made up of several panes of glass, adding to the character of the space. "Right this way," Logan said, cutting across the living room and pushing open a door. "You'll want to sleep in this bedroom."
Callie looked at the staircase that headed up to the top floor. "What's upstairs?" she asked.
"The master bedroom and another large living space, but trust me, you want this one."
Something in his tone set her off, but she couldn’t place it. He wasn’t exactly condescending and not exactly arrogant. Cocky. That’s what it was. He was cocky. Well, she wasn’t going to roll over just because he said so. Callie reached over to grab her suitcase from Logan. ”The master sounds nice."
"Have it your way," he said. He tossed the suitcase onto the couch and smiled at Callie. “Good to see you. There should be food in the fridge. If you're bored, feel free to stop by the brewery. It’s The Independent, right off of Thames. It was great to meet you, Callie, but I have to run."
"What, do you have a hot date or something?" Callie said, probing for more information.
Logan grinned as he headed to the door. "Yeah, something like that. Maybe we could meet up after,” he said as he headed out.
“I don’t think so,” Callie said. Logan shrugged and headed on his way. Her response had been automatic, a defense mechanism. Guys like Logan were trouble, and normally she’d do whatever she could to keep her distance. She was shooting him down out of habit, but she knew she had to go to the bar and that accepting his invitation would be the easiest way to keep an eye on him. She walked over to the door and leaned out. “I’ll see what I can do though,” she called to him. Logan gave her a thumbs up as he kept walking. He didn’t even stop. The nerve. Callie shouted after him, “Must be a pretty boring date if you’re already looking for something else.”
Logan didn’t acknowledge that last part. He was already climbing into his boat. Callie stood there in the doorway, watching Logan head off across the water. What was she getting herself into? It was her first night in town and she already had to play interference.
Four
As soon as Logan was out of sight, Callie picked up her phone and called Rich. "I need everything you have on Logan Harris: his schedule, his contact list, everything. Also, if I text you a name in the next hour, can you get info to me as soon as possible?"
"Of course," Rich replied. "Amy briefed me on everything, and I'm here when you need me. I assume we have our usual arrangement?"
“Emilio himself will hand deliver the donuts. Do you have any idea how hard it is to even get a seat at his restaurant for dinner? He has a Michelin star, and you want him to make donuts for you.”
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to get all this information for you on the fly? As for Emilio, there’s a reason why his Sunday brunch has a three month waiting list. I have it on authority that the President himself sneaks a few of these donuts whenever the first lady isn’t looking.”