“Oh, wow,” I breathe. Then I blurt out, “That must’ve sucked!”

Logan bursts into laughter. “Oh, I love you so much,” he laughs. “You have the greatest reactions to things.”

I grin back at him. “So, what did you say?” I want to know.

Still smiling, Logan reveals, “I said that I was sorry for punching him, that it was beneath me, which it was, and that’s all.”

“And what did he say?”

“He asked a bunch of questions about you…about how I’m treating you…about whether or not you’re happy. Then he said that he was sorry for calling you everything that he did, and for starting the fight. And he, uh, told me to tell you goodbye.”

“Goodbye?”

“Yes,” Logan says tentatively, “it seems that his mother is very sick, and so he’s flying back to Florida soon.”

I’m instantly torn: gratified to know that Jerry is leaving Paris, but certainly not gratified to know his reason why. I look at Logan impassively, and from his expression, I suddenly realise, “You don’t believe him, though, do you?”

“No,” he confesses slowly, “I don’t believe him.”

Maybe my glee at a Jerry-free Paris was premature, I wonder. Moving along, I ask, “What did you tell him about me?”

“I told him that you are the best thing in my life, and that I will look after you, to the best of my ability, until the day I die.” He smiles a little as I gaze up at him besottedly. “That shut him up,” he adds

“Finally,” I giggle. “And now you’re here to look after me?” I grin.

“I’m here to take you home and uncover those curvatures we’ve been talking about. Then I have to go to a late meeting with Buddy,” he tells me. “You know that job he won last Friday?” he asks and I nod. “Well, he is bringing me on as a subcontractor and he wants to meet ASAP.”

“How late?”

“Nine PM.”

I whistle. “He’s busy until then?” Hmm, maybe he found a woman on that Tinder-thing to occupy his evening? “I spoke to him earlier,” I say.

“Yes, he reluctantly passed your message along,” Logan tells me, looking amused.

“Good,” I giggle again. “Did he, uh, tell you about my whoopsie?”

“No, what whoopsie?”

“Uh, well, in the space of this morning both he and Amélie found out that I know about them,” I confess sheepishly.

“Oh… How did they react?” he asks.

“Buddy laughed,” I tell him quickly. “Amélie was a little more terse, but honestly, she didn’t seem that surprised, embarrassed, or perturbed by it,” I recall. I wrap my arms around his waist, adding, “I am sorry, though. I don’t want to get you into anymore trouble,” I tease.

Logan grins at me. “It’s OK,” he lets me off of the hook.

The simmering desire between us climbs rapidly as we stand and gaze at each other in silence for a few moments. Oh, how I’d love to jump his bones right here and now, if only we were somewhere a little more private. But the door can be locked, I tell myself, so…

Get a grip, Gem! The meeting room table was not designed to accommodate me flat on my back, with the weight of my adorable, gorgeous, sexy boyfriend on top of me, his hips thrusting against mine as I cry out in ecstasy that the whole building can hear, climbing higher and higher as he takes me faster and faster, until…

Logan smiles at me. I pounce, gripping the front of his jacket and pulling him towards me as I kiss him greedily. His hands take a tight hold of my hips, before swiftly cupping my backside and forcing my crotch against his. I can feel him getting harder; he’s ready, and I know I am too. We can get away with this, I know we can.

“You’ll never guess the images that just went through my mind,” Logan smiles, walking us over to the edge of the large and I hope sturdy table.

I grin into his mouth. “Oh, I think I can!”

A second later I’m sitting on the edge of the table, Logan looming erotically over me. Ah, I want him so badly.

“Lock the door,” I beg him.

He does so, and is back with me in a quick moment. He stares down at my skirt, “What are we going to do about this interfering piece of fabric?”

I stand up before him. “I believe you know where the zip is,” I say, eagerly.

Logan’s arms wrap around me and meet at the zip at the back of my skirt. My breath hitches, my mind reels. Are we really going to do this? He has the zip halfway down when his phone starts rings loudly, interrupting our amorous moment, and making us both jump in surprise. We stare at one another. To answer or not to answer, I think for the second time today.

Logan groans, and I sigh in defeat.

“Answer it,” I tell him petulantly. While he’s on the phone, I’ll gather my things together, we’ll go back to mine, and continue our sexploits there, in private and uninterrupted.

Similar thoughts are running through Logan’s head. “The very second we get to yours,” he says, giving me one final kiss before pulling out his phone once more. He looks quizzical. “It’s my dad.” He hits Answer Call and taps the Speaker button. “Hi, dad.”

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Logan’s father yells down the line at him.

My eyes widen in horror — that text message, it must’ve sent to his mom! How am I ever going to face his parents now?

Logan’s brow furrows. “Dad, I—” Logan begins, but his father is in a tirade.

“If this dickweed presses charges, you’re going to be in serious trouble, son,” he shouts.

Oh! He’s talking about Jerry, not the message. Logan’s troubled past comes to the forefront of my mind, and that he was warned if he had one more arrest he’d be put in jail. But that was sixteen years ago, at least! Surely his father isn’t still monitoring Logan’s behaviour? He’s been impeccably behaved until last Thursday when he encountered my ex and got into a scrap because of me. Dammit!

“He’s not going to press charges,” Logan reassures his father quickly. “I’ve already spoken to him. In fact, he was apologising to me. He was in the wrong, dad, but it’s all fine,” he says calmly.

“Are you sure? Are you absolutely fucking sure? For shit’s sake, Logan, what could he have possibly done to provoke you to hit him?”

Logan is silent, deciding what to say, though I doubt any excuse will be good enough for his furious father. “He’s Gemima’s ex-boyfriend, he was incredibly rude to her. His behaviour was unacceptable.”

Mr. George lets out an angry hiss. “You are a juvenile!”

Logan’s eyes grow dark. I can see that his father’s words are taking him back in time to a period in his life that he’d rather not revisit. “Stop talking,” he snaps at his father. He looks at me apologetically and requests, “Could you give us a minute?” Not only does he seem pissed off at his father, but regretful to have hit the Speaker button and to have allowed me to hear everything.

“Of course,” I say. I give his arm a squeeze and head for the door, my erotic feelings all but gone, and my mind now full of worry, not only about Logan getting into trouble, but (selfishly, I scold) about his parents blaming me for being the impetus of Logan’s outburst. I so wanted to make a good first impression. Shit, shit, shit! I unlock the door, open it, and lean against the frame waiting for Logan to finish his conversation.

Margaret, my cubicle neighbour, walks past. “Did I hear the door unlock?” She stops in front of me, smiles knowingly, a little too knowingly, and peers into the room behind me. “Ah, so that’s Logan Leary.”

“You haven’t seen him in person before?” I ask.

“Nope, I’ve only seen him on your computer screen, when I caught you doing research,” she laughs. Oh, yeah, she totally busted me! She gives my boyfriend a cheeky once-over.

“I charge for ogling,” I tell her, and we both laugh, though my mind thinks: that would be a nice little earner. My worry feels a little lighter.