Trust (Temptation #3)(35)

“Look, I’m sorry,” he started, but before he could continue, Tate was walking away.

Fuck…fuck, he thought as Tate shoved through the revolving door with a little more force than necessary.

Irritated at his own churlish behavior, Logan followed him inside and through the elegant lobby area. He didn’t bother taking the time to observe. He wanted the night over with as fast as possible, which in turn meant no time for sight-seeing.

Once he’d spotted both Tate and his mother waiting for him by the elevator banks, Logan made his way over. When he stopped by the two of them, Evelyn ran a hand down the lapel of his black sports jacket.

“Give me a smile, Hot Wheels.”

Logan saw Tate trying to bite back a grin, and he decided to try to loosen the fuck up.

“If you want to live,” he told Tate in a most serious manner, “don’t ever think about repeating that.”

Tate pushed his hands into his pockets and gave a smug look, and Logan knew that his tease would definitely not heed that particular warning.

When the elevator doors opened, Logan turned back to his mother and asked, “Where are we going? Please don’t say your room.”

“No, silly. We have a table up on the Shanghai Terrace.”

As they followed her inside, Logan mumbled, “Of course we do.”

“What was that?” she asked as she walked over to stand by his side.

Logan looked down at her and let his eyes search her face. He was hoping to see something that would indicate she’d changed, but so far, there was nothing.

“I said, ‘Of course we do.’”

“Well, yes. Only the best for the Mitchells.”

Logan leaned back against the wall of the elevator and felt Tate step beside him. He recognized the move for what it was—a silent show of support should he need it. Not that he really deserved it with the way he was acting.

As they were ushered out of the elevator and into the dimly lit waiting area, Logan scanned the dark, wooden furniture, stunning oriental silkscreens and paintings, and the large wall of windows letting in the lights of Chicago’s skyline.

It was stunning. He had to give his mother that. Her taste, as usual, was impeccable.

“Good evening,” the beautiful, young hostess greeted them. “Welcome to the Shanghai Terrace. Do you have a dinner reservation?”

“Good evening, dear. Yes, I booked a table under Evelyn Mitchell for two. However, there’ll be an extra person dining with us. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“No, certainly not, Mrs. Mitchell.”

They then followed her past several full dining tables to a nice corner one by large double doors that led out onto a terrace.

“Will this work for you this evening?”

Logan decided he should probably locate his manners and pulled his mother’s chair out as she told the woman that it was indeed okay. Then he took the chair opposite Tate. Once they’d ordered their drinks, he looked over to where his mother was shaking her hair back behind her shoulders.

As usual, she was immaculate, wearing an elegant A-line dress in crimson, the same color as her coat. It was amazing the way she never seemed to age—or not so amazing when modern medicine was to thank.

She sat forward as if about to ask state secrets and addressed Tate. “All right. Time to start talking. How long have you known this charmer over here?”





* * *



Tate glanced at Logan, who was looking heavenward probably hoping the night would hurry up and end, but he was out of luck. As far as he could tell, Logan’s mother seemed determined to spend time with her son.

Tate had to admit, she was certainly more accepting of them than his mother had been, so that earned her points in his mind straight off the bat.

“That’s a good question,” he answered. “A few months. Right, Logan?”

“Yeah. About five now,” Logan supplied.

“Wow.” Feels like I’ve known him forever.

“You shocked you put up with me for that long?” Logan joked.

“Hardly. I’m just surprised it’s not more. It feels like more.”

Almost as if he’d forgotten his mother was there, Logan sat forward and took his hand where he had it resting on the table. “It does.”

“Aww, you two are adorable,” Evelyn gushed. “It makes me so happy.”

“Oh, God,” Logan said.

“What?” she asked with a romantic gleam in her eyes. “Am I not allowed to be happy that my son’s in love?”

As the waiter appeared with their drinks, Logan immediately picked his own up and took a sip. “This night keeps getting better and better. Keep those coming please.”

The waiter nodded and scurried off, leaving them to get back to their discussion. Tate smiled over at Logan’s mother, who was looking between the two of them.