“The guy is probably avoiding this,” Logan thought.

And then, he realized he’d said it out loud.

The woman spun around to pin him with an icy look, and Logan shut his mouth real quick, but that was more due to the glare Cole was throwing his way than pissing her off.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, anything but.

As the woman turned away from him, Logan let his focus shift to her ass, and he took a good, long look at it. Maybe he just needed to let go of his pursuit of Tate. The guy was obviously conflicted, not to mention furious at him. And this woman? Logan knew if he worked it right, he could have her within the hour, and in turn, satiate the ache that had been building in him for the last several days.

He had come to a final decision to do just that when a knock sounded, and the conference door opened. In walked a harried-looking, short, bald man. His suit was slightly crumpled, and he was shaking his head as he held the door open for, presumably, his client, the defendant.

“So sorry we’re late. Mr. Morrison got held up on his way here.”

“Big surprise there,” Logan heard their client mutter.

The fifth person finally walked through the door, and Logan found himself staring at none other than—

Tate. Tate Morrison apparently.

* * *

Tate raised a hand and pushed his fingers back through his hair as he stepped into the conference room. Situated in the center was a large oval table was surrounded by at least, Tate would guess, fifteen to twenty chairs, and the back wall was made up of large windows covered by thin blinds letting in the muted morning sunlight.

Holding his helmet by his leg, he scanned to room, and he was shocked when they landed on the blond man from a couple of nights ago.

What the—

 Before he could say anything though, Mr. Branson, his lawyer, indicated a seat opposite from—ugh—his pissed-off and soon-to-be ex-wife.

“What did you do? Walk here?” Diana accused from across the table.

Tate resisted the urge to flip her off as he placed his helmet on the floor beside his leg. “There was an accident, okay?”

“You couldn’t call?”

Tate shook his head and glared at the woman he’d stupidly wasted three years of his life on. “Sure, Diana, when would I have done that on my bike?” Turning to face his lawyer, Tate sighed. “Can we just begin and get this over with?”

Mr. Branson nodded and opened his briefcase with two clicks of the locks. “Of course, of course.” He fished his glasses out of the case and pushed them on. “Well, first, this is Mr. Madison, the plaintiff’s lawyer. He’ll ask you a few questions today, and then we’ll go over some paperwork. Do you have any questions about that?”

Tate glanced at the blond man sitting opposite him. Um, no, but I do have a question about him. How does he know Logan?

He was considering asking the question when something in the corner caught his eye. From where he was sitting, his view was obstructed, but it was obvious that someone else was also in the room with them.

Great, she needs two lawyers? Nice to know that Daddy’s money bought her good representation, and she still took twelve months to sign.

Right now, as a final hurrah, she was after his Kawasaki Ninja 650, and he would be damned if she took it. He loved that thing—probably more than he’d ever loved her.

“Do you really need two lawyers, Diana? How many times do I have to tell you? I am not selling my bike. Bringing me to a fancy lawyer’s office for a little over seven grand is ridiculous, even for you, but I suppose you actually need me here this time to sign the papers I filed over a year ago.”

“And you being a pigheaded ass about a bike is nothing new either. It’s a toy, one you don’t need, and we bought it together.”

“Bullshit, we’ve already split everything, and I—”

“Mr. Morrison,” the blond guy finally spoke up.

Tate pinned him with a fuck-you look. He was surprised when the big guy glanced over his shoulder, obviously looking toward the second lawyer, who was still silent.

“Yes, Mr. Madison?” Tate snapped, bringing the man’s attention back to him.

“If we could keep this civil, it would probably work out much better for all involved.”

“Is that right?”

Mr. Madison nodded once as the look in his eyes changed from serious to one of—

Is that sympathy? Fuck that.

“Fine,” Tate conceded, slumping back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Okay then, if you could have your lawyer read over these terms and either agree or disagree—”

Tate glared stubbornly at the blond, “I don’t need to read it. I disagree. She’s just being spiteful.”

“She is sitting right here.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that,” Tate replied caustically. I am so sick of this shit. It’s not my job to listen to her petty crap anymore.

At his comment, Tate heard a sound from the far corner that he could have sworn was a laugh, but in the end, it was disguised as a cough.

“You’re such an ass, Tate.”

Tate shrugged. “Well, good thing you found a replacement for me then, huh?”

That seemed to be her breaking point.

Placing her perfectly manicured hands on the table, she pushed up from her chair and looked at her lawyer, who stood slowly beside her, dwarfing her by several inches. “I don’t have to sit here and listen to this anymore, do I?”

Tate watched Mr. Madison button his suit jacket as he shook his head.

“No, we can contact you if we need anything else. Have a good day, Mrs. Morrison.”

Diana swung her gaze to Tate’s and sneered at him. “I’m going back to Ms. Cline now.”

Tate uncrossed his arms and showed his palms. “Oh stop, you’re hurting my feelings.”

She aimed daggers his way before turning on her heel, marching around the table, and heading straight out the door, slamming it behind her. The noise didn’t even bother Tate. He’d become used to slamming doors a long time ago.

“Well, that went well,” Mr. Madison announced.

Tate looked to his silent lawyer, wondering what exactly he was paying him for. He was about to stand and leave the suffocating room, when a person clearing their throat had him turning his head. Tate felt his mouth fall open as the second lawyer finally stood, and he was face-to-face with Logan.

* * *

Logan had been trying to decide at what point it would have been smart to announce his presence, but really, there hadn’t been one. Had there? Except now, as he stood, staring across the silent and volatile space shared by all four men, he knew that he probably should have said something sooner.

Tate’s lawyer was oblivious to everything that was going on as he removed his glasses and threw them into his briefcase. Logan wondered where the hell Tate had found the guy, as Cole turned in Logan’s direction and his eyebrows rose as if to say, what now?

Yeah, well, I’d love to answer you brother, but I have no clue.

That was quickly cleared up though.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Tate stood and slammed his hands onto the conference table, much like his ex just had.

Cole had the good sense to look uncomfortable as he glanced back at Logan, searching for an answer.

Tate’s lawyer looked up and connected gazes with Logan. Then, he told his livid client as calmly as he could, “Oh, this is Mr. Mitchell. He’s Mr. Madison’s partner. They own the practice. He sat in because Mr. Madison is going to be out of town. It’s just a small technicality. Nothing to be upset over.”

Somehow, Logan didn’t think that was going to cut it, and from the death stare Tate was aiming his way, he knew this was far from over.

Tate muttered, “Unfuckingbelievable.”