Finding Him: Second Chance Billionaire Romance (Finding Love Book 1), page 11
The first thing I notice when the lift doors open, is her bag sitting on the floor in the foyer. The sight of it makes me anxious. As much as I don’t want her to go, I can’t force her to stay. If I’ve learnt anything in my short time with her, it’s that she’s fiercely independent. It’s a trait I admire.
Stepping out of the lift, I hear music. The piano. My first thought is Lara, but she can’t play that well yet. She can’t play much at all, to be honest. I regretted buying that thing for her almost immediately. I’m pretty sure my ears were bleeding by the time she left that first day. But it made her happy, so it was worth the sacrifice.
Placing my briefcase down and pausing at the opening to the main room, I see Brooke’s eyes are closed and there’s a smile on her face as she gets lost in the melody. I’m mesmerised by her passion and blown away by her talent. She plays beautifully, and I can only hope one day my niece will be half as good.
A contented sigh falls from her lips when she strikes the last note, and I have the urge to applaud, but I don’t. “That was beautiful,” I say, stepping further into the room.
Her eyes spring open the moment I speak. “Logan. I’m sorry.” She quickly stands. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
“I’ve never played anything so grand before.”
“You’re very talented,” I say. “How long have you been playing?”
“Since I was a little girl, the lady who looked after me while my mother worked taught me.”
“Miss Jones?”
Brooke gives me an inquisitive look; does she think I’ve been researching her? “Yes, how did you know that?”
“You told me about her. She was the one who taught you how to cook.”
“Oh.” Her face lights up as she speaks. “I’m impressed you remembered that.” Doesn’t she realise I hang on her every word? I want to know everything about her.
“And I’m impressed with your playing skills.”
“Thank you.”
“I should hire you to give my niece lessons.” She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She may think I’m joking, but I’m dead serious. Not only does Lara need the lessons, but it may also be a way of keeping Brooke in my life. I get the impression she’s pushing me away, and that’s the last thing I want. “How was your day?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t do much.” Of course, she was stuck here.
“Yours?”
“Busy. I would’ve come earlier if I could’ve.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “You’re here now. I cancelled my classes at the dance school, and my shift at the restaurant tonight, but I have to work tomorrow. I need the money.”
“I admire you for working two jobs?” I don’t like that she has to, but I respect her for it nevertheless.
“I have three, actually. I teach piano lessons in my spare time.”
“Wow. I bet that keeps you busy.”
“It keeps my head above water.”
“Let me help you.”
Her face drops, and it’s only then I realise what I’ve said. “I’m not looking for a handout, Mr. Cavanagh. I manage just fine on my own.”
“It’s Logan, and I’m sorry,” I say, running my hand through my hair. “That came out wrong.” It’s commendable that she wants to do this on her own. A lot of the women I’ve dated in the past were always looking for handouts or a free ride. Brooke is nothing like them.
“Look.” Her face softens as she speaks. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me, truly I am, and as much as I’ve enjoyed spending time in your spectacular apartment with that killer view, I have a place of my own, and commitments. I need to get back to my life.”
“I understand that,” I say. “But I’m concerned about you going back there.”
“And I appreciate that more than you know, but I’m not your problem.”
I want her to be my problem, but I don’t voice that out loud. She steps forward and grabs a hold of my hand. “You are one of the kindest people I’ve ever met, and I’m glad I stuck around long enough to say a proper goodbye, but I need to get back to my life now.”
“So, are you saying you don’t want to see me anymore?”
Her grip tightens on my hand. “It’s more like I can’t.”
“Is the thought of being around me so terrible?” I ask. My words come out more abruptly than expected, but what she just said hurts.
She lets go of my hand as her eyes move down to the floor. “No.”
I place my finger on the base of her chin, moving her gaze back to mine. “Then what?”
“It’s not you, personally,” she says. “It’s more what you do for a living.”
My eyebrows pinch into a frown. Am I hearing this right? “I can’t be in your life because I’m a lawyer?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s a little unfair.”
She blows out a long breath. “Can we just drop it?”
“No!” I cross my arms over my chest, letting her know I intend to get to the bottom of this. There’s nothing wrong with what I do for a living. I’m a lawyer, for fuck’s sake, not a serial killer.
Ignoring what I said, she steps around me, heading towards the lift. I stand there in complete shock as she picks up her bag. I’m not used to being dismissed.
“Thank you again for everything.”
If she thinks I’m letting her just walk away she’s mistaken.
Chapter 19
Brooke
I only make it as far as the lift before Logan corners me. “Brooke, wait. I’m not letting you go back there alone.”
“Fine.”
I was more than willing to catch public transport, but I have no clue where the bus stops are around here. Truthfully, I’m kind of glad. The last thing I want is to leave things like this. What I’ve just said would sound incredibly shallow to him, but he has no idea my insecurities with men span a lot further than just Jake. Hopefully, I can smooth things out on the drive back to my place.
“Let me grab my keys.” He walks towards the long hall table in the foyer, it sits below a large mirror that expands the entire wall. I can see the deep frown lines etched on his forehead through the reflection and I feel awful. How do I tell him it’s me and not him, without it sounding like a copout?
He insists on carrying my bag. Instead of getting out on the ground floor, we head to the basement level, which I presume is the car park. Fishing in the pocket of his suit pants when the doors open, he pulls out his keys as we cross the polished cement floor. Extending his arm out in front of him, he presses a button.
The lights on a black sports car ahead flash. His car is almost as sexy as him. “Nice car,” I say as he opens the passenger-side door for me.
“Thanks.” The tension between us is clearly visible.
“What kind of car is it?” I ask once we’re both seated inside.
“An Audi convertible R8 Spyder.” That means absolutely nothing to me; I don’t know a damn thing about cars.
“It suits you,” I say, looking over at him and smiling.
“Why, because I’m a lawyer?” There’s sarcasm in his tone, and although I choose to ignore his comment, it still stings.
As the automatic garage door to the car park opens—allowing the light from outdoors to flood in—Logan flicks a button on the centre console, opening the roof of the convertible as we drive up a steep driveway. Never in my life have I been in a flashy car like this. Jake and I owned a regular, everyday vehicle. It was all we could afford. And now that I’m on my own, I don’t even have one. Our lifestyles couldn’t be any further apart if we tried.
We travel in silence all the way to my place, and the closer we get, the more knotted up my stomach becomes. I’m not sure if it’s because this is the end of the road for us, or because I’m anxious about being back here.
He pulls up outside my house, and I remove my seatbelt. “Thank you again for everything,” I say, reaching for the door handle.
“Let me get that for you.” Before I have a chance to protest, he exits the car. I find his gentlemanly ways very sweet, just like him. He opens my door and extends his hand to me. “Would you mind if I at least came inside and checked that everything is okay?”
“I’d like that, thank you.”
There’s a small smile on his face as he grabs my bag out of the boot, the last thing I want to do is hurt him. I wish I could find the words to help him understand, but my past is not something I’ve ever liked to talk about.
When we reach the front porch, he places my bag down as I rummage around inside my handbag for the keys. As I go to place the key in the lock, I notice the door is slightly ajar. “I remember locking this before I left,” I say.
“I do too. Step aside.”
“Hold on,” I say, grabbing hold of his arm. “What if someone’s still in there?”
“Wait out here!”
“Shouldn’t we call the police first?” Ignoring my question, he opens the door and enters the house. My heart is beating out of my chest. I can’t let him face this alone, so despite what he said, I follow him in. He only makes it a few steps inside before he stills. I’m not expecting it, so I crash straight into his back.
He spins around to face me. “I told you to wait outside.”
Stepping around him, I gasp when I see the state of my living room. The furniture is upturned, and the picture frames that were hanging on the wall now lay broken on the floor. But what makes my blood run cold is the word ‘WHORE’ that’s spray-painted in large red bold letters on the wall. Before I even realise what’s happening, I’m being ushered towards the front door. The moment we’re outside, Logan gathers me in his arms. Tears sting my eyes, and I can feel my body trembling as he holds me tight.
When he finally lets me go, he cradles my face in his hands. “Are you okay?” I just nod, because I’m unable to speak. “I’m going to call the police.” He takes a few steps away from me, and although I can still hear him talking, nothing he says registers. My mind is spinning, and my gaze keeps flicking back to the front door. When he ends the call, he slides his phone back into his pocket. “They’re on their way. I’m going to look around inside while we wait.”
I reach for him as he takes a step towards the door. “Don’t,” I say, suddenly feeling terrified. “What if they’re still in there?”
“I can handle myself.” He grips my upper arms and kisses my forehead. “Don’t move from this spot.”
“But—”
“I mean it, Brooke.”
“Here, drink this,” Logan says, handing me a glass containing a small amount of amber liquid. “It will help calm your nerves.”
“Thank you.” He sits beside me at the breakfast bar in the kitchen of his penthouse.
After the police took photos and fingerprints from the scene, Logan brought me back here. This time I didn’t even mention a hotel. It’s one thing having a rock thrown through your window, or a threatening text sent, but knowing someone invaded my personal space, my sanctuary, is on a whole new level.
It was obvious I could no longer stay there, so the police allowed me to gather a few things from my bedroom, but even that wasn’t spared. The contents of my drawers and wardrobe were strewn everywhere, but the most troubling part was seeing my now-unmade bed and the dent that sat in the middle of the pillow from where a head had clearly been. It wasn’t mine. Whoever was in my house was also in my bed. It both spooked and disgusted me.
I’m so grateful Logan insisted on driving me home, I would’ve hated to face all that on my own.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, placing his hand on my leg. He’s been so kind and gentle with me. “Jill left some food in the fridge for us, I can heat it up if you’d like.”
“Okay.” The last thing I want is food, but I know he won’t eat unless I do.
He doesn’t say much during dinner, but I can feel his eyes on me as I push the food around on the plate. “Try and eat something,” he pleads. “You need to keep up your strength.” For his sake, I force a small amount down, but when I eventually slide my plate away, he doesn’t protest. “I’ll clean up if you want to go and have a shower or lie down.”
“I’ll help.” He eyes me as I pick up the plates and walk into the kitchen. Can he sense my unwillingness to leave his side?
“I have a bit of work to do in the office,” he says once the plates are rinsed and packed in the dishwasher.
“You’re leaving?” My question comes out more panicked than planned.
“Hey.” He pulls me into his arms. “I’m not leaving you,” he says. “I have a home office on the other side of that door.” He points across the room. I wondered what was behind that door earlier today when I was here on my own. “Do you want me to walk you upstairs to your bedroom?”
“Please.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight back the tears as I bury my face in his chest. I’m trying my best to keep it together. I don’t want him to see me cry; he’ll think I’m weak.
He picks up my bag before reaching for my hand. “Come.” Once there, he places my things on the bed. “Are you going to be okay?”
I shrug. “Eventually. I’m just a little spooked at the moment.”
“That’s totally understandable, but you know you’re safe here, right?”
I wrap my arms around my torso. “I don’t feel safe anywhere right now.”
He gives me a sympathetic look. “How about I work on my laptop in my bedroom, that way I’m just next door.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Of course not.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll run downstairs and grab my briefcase.”
“Okay.” I lock the bedroom door when he leaves, and sit on the side of the mattress until I hear him return. Once I know he’s nearby, I gather what I need for my shower. I lock the bathroom door also. I hate how rattled this has gotten me.
The warm shower doesn’t have the relaxing effect I was hoping for. My mind is racing as I struggle to understand the reasons behind what’s happening. My heart tells me the Jake I fell in love with isn’t the one behind this, but my gut is conflicted. Who else would harbour such hatred towards me? The detective we spoke to earlier said they’re still trying to track Jake down. Apparently, the house we bought together has been repossessed by the bank, and there is no record of a forwarding address.
Walking over to the bedroom door, I make sure it’s still locked before climbing into bed. I leave the light on because I don’t feel safe in the dark right now. Even though Logan lives on the top floor in a secure building, I’m still feeling uneasy. Pulling the covers up around my chin, I stare up at the ceiling. Sleep won’t come easy tonight.
I lie there for the longest time—possibly hours—listening and internally freaking out with each sound. I jump when I hear a soft knock on the bedroom door. “Brooke, it’s me. Is everything okay?”
Throwing back the covers, I leap out of bed and rush towards the door. “Hey,” I say the moment I open it. He’s changed out of his suit into a t-shirt and sweats. Even casually dressed, he looks good enough to eat.
“I thought you might still be awake. I saw the light under the door.”
His eyes move down my body, and even though I’m dressed in the least flattering thing I own—an oversized pink t-shirt—I’m suddenly feeling exposed. My skin prickles under the weight of his stare. The way he’s eyeing me is almost predatory, so when I reach for the hem of my top and tug it down, his gaze immediately snaps back to my face.
I move my focus to the floor. “I can’t sleep,” I admit.
“Do you want to come and sit with me for a while? I’m still working, but I have a TV in my room.
I don’t hesitate with my answer. “Please.”
“I was just heading downstairs to grab a bottle of water; would you like one?”
“Sure.”
“Great. Make yourself comfortable,” he says, gesturing towards his bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll come downstairs with you,” I blurt out, and he’s either oblivious to my eagerness or sympathetic to my plight because he doesn’t bat an eyelid.
“Wow,” is the only word out of my mouth when I enter his bedroom.
My eyes are everywhere because I don’t know where to look first. On the far-right wall, the rich mahogany door to the large walk-in robe is partly open, and I catch a glimpse of his suits meticulously hung in a neat row along the back wall.
My gaze moves over the thick wooden posts of his king-sized bed. The chunky bedside tables and huge dresser match perfectly. Unlike the bright and airy room I’ve been staying in, this one is darker—moodier, even—and way more masculine. Like everything he owns, it reeks of money and it suits him.
My eyes are drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows to the left. There appears to be a balcony set off the glass sliding doors, the idyllic place for morning coffees. He wasn’t lying, the view from here is just as spectacular as the one in his main room.
He picks up a remote next to the bed and presses a button. I watch in awe as a large flat-screen television rises out of the foot of the bed. “You can watch TV, or come sit with me over there.” He points to the long, chocolate brown, leather-winged back sofa.
As much as I feel the need to be as close to him as possible, I’m happy just to be in the same room. “I don’t want to disturb you any more than I have. I’ll watch TV.”
“Watch whatever you like,” he says, handing me the remote.
I’m so thankful for him at this moment.
Chapter 20
Logan
Standing beside my bed, I stare down at Brooke. She looks so fragile and vulnerable, lost amongst the sea of pillows. It’s just after midnight, and she’s finally fallen asleep. A number of times throughout the evening I caught her watching me. She’d quickly turn away and focus on the television every time I noticed. It had me constantly fighting back a smile.
