Trust (Temptation #3)(38)
All morning, he’d been looking at the two, undecided of when the right time to bring them up with Logan was, and it was starting to make him antsy. He’d thought that Logan would eventually bring up what had happened with his mother, maybe want to discuss it and get it off his chest, but instead of doing that, he’d moved right along as if it had never happened. Something that was not working.
Feeling frustrated, Tate picked up his phone and typed: We need to talk.
He stared at the text and waited impatiently for a response. When all he got was—Logan: Okay—he felt like hurling the phone across the room.
This was exactly the kind of thing that was driving him crazy. Logan would never send him some bullshit one-word answer, and if he thought he would let him get away with it for much longer, he had another thing coming.
You told me once that one-word answers don’t work for you. They don’t work for me either.
He put his cell back on the table and spun it around until it buzzed again.
Logan: Sorry. Just busy.
Busy, are you? Well, we’ll see about that.
Tate shoved his phone in his back pocket.
If Logan was too busy to talk to him over the phone, then he’d wait in his lobby until he had two free minutes to work him into his busy day.
* * *
Logan lifted his eyes from what he was reading when a knock sounded on the door. He had a killer headache and wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone, but when Sherry poked her head in his office, he mustered up a smile.
“You have a call on line one. Did you want to take it, or…”
Logan looked at the flashing light on his phone and gave a nod. “I’ll take it. Just give me a minute and I’ll pick up.”
She smiled timidly as she left and shut the door behind her. She’d been a real trooper, considering his foul mood over the last few days—which, Logan noted, was still lingering like a dark cloud waiting to burst.
Every night this week, he’d gone home and tried to put on an “I’m okay” mood for Tate, but no matter how much he tried to run his feelings out of his system until he was so exhausted that he could barely move, he couldn’t get his fucking head to cooperate, and it was obvious Tate was onto him.
Leaning back in his chair, he checked his cell to see if Tate had responded after the last text he’d sent, but no, it sat there blank.
What did you expect him to say, asshole? You told him you were busy.
Hating his inability to brush shit off and get over it, he sighed and picked the phone up, hitting the flashing button. “This is Logan.”
“Oh, so you’re not too busy to answer your phone.”
Tate’s voice at the other end of the line made his heart thump. Usually, Logan would have some kind of smartass retort on the tip of his tongue, but instead, the annoyed voice he heard provoked the temper he’d been squashing for the past couple of days.
“I have to answer my work phone.” Then he waited, wondering if Tate was going to call him out for being an ass.
“Invite me up to your office, Logan.”
Yep, seems as if he is.
Logan closed his eyes and rested his head against his leather chair. “Tate—”
“Do you have time or not?”
Logan heard the bossy undertone in the question and replied in much the same way. “I do. There’s nothing on the schedule this afternoon.”
“So you lied to me.”
“No. I’m busy doing paperwork,” he was quick to clarify.
“Ask me up, Logan.”
He reached for his tie and loosened it, remembering once again the pity in Tate’s eyes on Monday night after the shitstorm with his wonderful mother. The mother who had cost him a fucking fortune, he might add.
“Where are you?”
“Standing in front of the elevator to your office.”
Knowing there was no way out of it, Logan told him, “Fine. Come to me.” Then he heard the chime of the elevator.
“Try to fucking stop me.”
Well, shit. Guess the last text was a little too much. Tate was pissed. He could tell by the clipped words he was barking through the line.
“Oh, and, Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Tell Sherry to take her lunch.”
* * *
Tate was silent in the elevator as it climbed several floors before stopping on Mitchell & Madison’s. When he stepped into the lobby, the woman behind the front desk smiled and greeted him by name.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Morrison.”
Okay, that’s new. “Hi. I’m here to see—”
“Mr. Mitchell? Yes, he’s expecting you. He said to go straight back.”
Tate wandered on past, but when he felt her eyes following him, he glanced over his shoulder and found her looking his way.