Chandler thrived on the nighttime activity in Manhattan, enjoying the atmosphere without getting drawn into the tension and stress of everyday life. Taxis hurtled down the streets; brakes screeched when the traffic lights had the nerve to turn red. Swarms of people walked in unison and ignored DON'T WALK signs, jumping around buses and screaming drivers without a glance back. Vendors urged pedestrians to stop and buy their wares, from Coach purses to 14 karat gold necklaces, all at fifty percent off and so hot the merchandise burned the fingers immediately. Vagrants begged to wash the windshields on passing motorists, and called out for spare change. Chandler threw quarters and dollar bills into the cups of the homeless who held signs from I AM BLIND to I HAVE NO LEGS, and never wondered about the truth of the statements.
She knew Harry shook his head at her gullibility. Native bred New Yorkers were supposed to be more hardened to people who lived in the streets, but she slept better at night believing the money helped. Every winter she bought a number of coats and gave them out to the homeless. She volunteered for soup kitchen duties around the holidays, especially since her rift with her father. Her community may be filled with a variety of con artists, but it was her home, and she needed to give back something to one of the most diverse melting pots in the US.
Harry stopped beside her ancient red Chevy and waited for her to unlock the door. "Well, I wish you luck. You are now exactly one hour late for Grant's call."
Chandler glowered at him as she fished around in her purse for her car keys. "Thanks for the support. Tonight was a real blast."
He laughed. "I hope it was worth it. What's the matter?"
She dug frantically through the leather compartments. "Dammit, I can't find my keys."
"Did you leave them in the restaurant?"
"No, I clearly remember getting out of the car, reaching for my purse, and--uh, oh." He followed her pointed stare. The car keys dangled neatly from the ignition. The car was locked up, safe and sound.
"You have an extra key, don't you?"
She closed her eyes in despair. "You know, I always told myself I should get an extra key made. I never seemed to get around to it."
"This car is older than dirt. The new ones make it impossible to lock your keys inside."
"I don't have money for a new car, Harry."
"Why'd you buy American? You can't lock yourself out of the imported cars."
Chandler glowered. They stood together and looked through the closed window. "Well, we have a couple of options," Harry said.
"Do tell."
"We can call the police and wait for the next couple of hours, and hope they come amidst the calls for robbery, rape and murder."
"Next option."
"We can break your window to get to the keys."
"Keep going."
"Are you a member of any auto club?" he asked hopefully. Chandler shook her head. "Then I'll take you home and we'll call a locksmith in the morning."
"I won't be able to get into my apartment."
"Wait, let me guess. You never did get around to making an extra set of keys for your apartment."
"Give the man a gold star."
"Then you'll have to come home with me and crash at my place."
Chandler bit her lip. "Sounds like a logical solution. There's just one teeny, tiny glitch."
"Logan Grant."
She groaned and leaned her forehead against the roof of the car. "He's going to kill me, Harry. Besides not being there when he calls, I'm going to be at your place all night. I left my cell in my locked up apartment. He'll never trust me again."
"Hmm, mine's dead, we're a pair. Savvy New Yorkers with no cells. Just call him from my place and explain the situation. If he freaks out, he can pick you up at my apartment."
She picked up her head. "That could work."
"Right now it's our only choice." He tugged at her hand and led her over to his car.
It was a half hour ride to his place. Harry lived in one of the fancy condo duplexes Logan passed on, complete with health club, cafe, swimming pool, and other amenities. Harry made a pot of coffee while she rang Logan's home phone. This time she'd apologize to him. Four rings. Five rings. Six. Seven. Eight.
Where was he?
She heard the click of the answering machine. Logan's deep voice instructing the person to leave a message at the beep. She stared at the phone in her hand as if it held all the answers. Then she replaced the receiver.
"What's the matter?"
"He's not home." She stared at him in amazement. "Logan isn't even home."
"Maybe he's in the shower. Or screening his calls. Leave a message on the machine and maybe he'll pick up. Or call his blackberry, he's attached to it twenty four seven."
"Maybe. But he specifically wanted me home for his call. I assume he's not working a deal this late." She frowned. "You don't think he purposefully left the house because he knew I'd be home waiting for his call?"
"Hell, I don't know. Are you two playing these games with each other for a reason?"
She didn't answer. She kicked off her shoes and relaxed on the sofa for the next ten minutes, then picked up the phone again.
No answer.
She spoke into the machine and told him to pick up if he was there.
No answer.
Her temper surged. She forced herself to take long deep breaths. It was after ten o'clock and Logan Grant wasn't home. Which probably meant he hadn't been home when he was supposed to have called. He could be out at this very moment, satisfied he'd taught her a lesson, laughing at the idea that she had hurried home to wait for a call which would never come.
She was going to kill him.
He was going to strangle her.
Logan sat in his car and gripped the steering wheel as he fought to control the rage coursing through his body. It was after ten and she wasn't home. Hadn't been home for his call. He'd called and texted her twice and still no response. So after patiently waiting another half hour and only getting her cheery voice telling him to leave a message, he'd decided to drive to her apartment and wait.
And she still wasn't home.
He took a deep breath and tried to think the situation over. He'd been nice enough to allow her to go to dinner with a man who may be trying to coax her into bed at this very moment. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt when she asked for his trust, knowing how important that was to her in a relationship. He decided to try to be the man she wanted him to be: patient and understanding, kind and generous, trusting and open-minded. A man like Richard Thorne pretended to be. He played by her rules, thinking with enough time she'd come to him on her own. Admit she loved him. Then he could finally drag her into his bed where she belonged.
Now she could be doing that with another man she insisted was only a friend.
His stomach coiled at the thought. He stared out the windshield at the deserted parking lot and listened to the eerie silence. His fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel as he went over his options. He'd made a mistake. He allowed his feelings to get in the way, and now she was taking advantage of the situation. He almost laughed out loud when he suddenly realized the sad picture he made. The mighty "man of steel" was really a poor chump sitting in the parking lot of a woman's apartment building, waiting for her to show up from a date with another man.
Shards of ice ripped at his heart as he reigned in his emotions and took control. This was the last time his lady would make a fool out of him. He'd been going easy on her. Allowed her to play the game by a different set of rules so she felt safe.
Now they'd play by his rules.
He pushed the uneasy thought out of his mind that she was really in cahoots with her father. Could she be using him? Could she be so clever that even he had been fooled? As he gunned the engine and pulled out of the lot in a roar of screeching tires, he realized how much he wanted to believe in her innocence.
His first action was to find out where Harrison Edward Weston III lived.
And God
help the man if Chandler was there.
Chapter 10
*
Chandler's eyes flew open when she heard the pounding on the door.
She groaned and buried her head deeper into the cushions on the sofa. The tired springs creaked under her shifting weight and warned her that accommodating strangers for the night was something it was usually not required to do. She'd already fallen off the couch twice, finally discovering a comfortable position around dawn, and felt like she only grabbed fifteen minutes of precious sleep before the pounding had begun. Or maybe it was her head.
For a moment there was silence. She breathed a sigh of relief and tried to drift back, but the door suddenly vibrated under the insistent pounding of a fist. She struggled to open her eyes and glanced at the clock on the mantle. 6:00 AM. Saturday morning.
Someone was insane.
She muttered under her breath about Harry's rude friends and fell off the couch for the third time. Tugging down the hem of the Giants T-shirt she borrowed, she padded barefoot to the door. The banging grew more intense, and she saw the wildly shaking door trying to withstand the power of the person behind it. She unlocked the chain and threw the door open, glaring behind tousled waves of hair.
And collided with a pair of icy gray eyes.
His gaze roamed over her figure, taking in her shirt and bare feet, her sleep rumbled hair and the surprise on her face. He stepped inside and shut the door gently behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the silence. Fighting the urge to run like hell and not look back, she blurted out, "How did you find me?"
She hadn't thought it was possible but he managed to look even more terrifying after her question. His voice was soft when he spoke, contradicting the hardness in his eyes. "I called in a few favors to get Weston's address. I'm sure you thought you were safe since his number is unlisted. Then again, you don't know me as well as you thought, do you, Chandler?"
Her response was never heard. At that moment a door banged open and Harry stepped in the hallway dressed in a pair of boxer shorts. One hand rubbed his head as he stared at them through sleepy eyes. He looked from Logan's tightly coiled figure to Chandler's defensively crossed arms, then made his way towards the kitchen. "Oh, good, you're finally here." He reached for the coffee pot. "I see you found me earlier than I expected. Now maybe I can get some sleep."
Chandler nervously glanced at her tower of testosterone and winced. He was going to attack Harry and it was all her fault for playing games. "Logan." She laid her hand on his arm. His muscles jumped beneath her touch. "Please listen to me. Nothing happened here last night. In fact, the whole story is really bizarre if you'd just listen to me for a few moments."
She heard the splash of water as Harry filled the coffee pot. His cheerful voice echoed through the hallway. "I love Chandler to death, but I have to admit she can be a handful at times. She was so upset last night we didn't get to bed until after one."
Logan took a step toward him. Chandler threw herself in front of his towering figure in order to save the life of her friend. Harry's cheerful words continued drifting in the air amidst the sound of bubbling coffee. "She's never spent hours analyzing another man's actions before. When she found out you weren't home last night, I thought she would have your head on a platter."
Harry ignored Chandler's strangled words of protest at his discussing her private feelings in front of the cause of her distress. "Now, my guess is you showed up at her apartment to wait for her and therefore missed her call. Of course, she didn't believe me, and chose to rant and rave about the games you insist on playing in this relationship. A call on your Blackberry may have saved the situation, but she needed to prove a point. She only called your home number."
Logan's brow shot up.
Hot color rushed to her cheeks as she glared at the spot where Harry's voice drifted from the kitchen.
Harry continued. "So, I surmise you assumed she tried to con you while she had an affair with me. I assure you, this is not true. She gives me enough trouble as a friend, let alone a lover."
Chandler opened her mouth to yell, then promptly closed it at Logan's threatening stare.
"She spent the night on the sofa and I slept in the bedroom. She locked her keys in the car at the restaurant last night, so she bunked here. When she called and found you weren't home, she assumed you were trying to teach her a lesson by making her wait for a call that would never come. Of course, she wouldn't have made it home by nine thirty anyway. She pushed our reservations back by an hour."
Chandler closed her eyes in defeat. Her best friend had sold her out. She was going to kill him.
The cabinet door banged. Mugs clunked on the table. "You're welcome to join me for a cup of coffee before I get myself together, but I'd probably advise you to go somewhere and talk. I'm sure both of you learned your lesson about challenging each other, and I really hope I never have to find myself in this situation again; awaiting the arrival of a man whose only ambition is to tear me limb from limb."
Harry stepped from the kitchen so he was in full view. The two men studied each other for a while. Harry waited. Logan assessed. Chandler held her breath and berated herself for getting involved in such a primitive male encounter. She felt like a prey between two predators.
"I can firmly assure you, Weston, that you'll never be put in this kind of position again."
Harry nodded. A twinkle of amusement lit brown eyes. "I'm glad to hear it."
Chandler looked from one to the other and shook her head in disgust. "The two of you are acting ridiculous," she said. "You're both speaking as if I'm not in the room and I resent it."
"Go get dressed," Logan ordered. His eyes narrowed at her current attire.
"But I want to explain--"
"You have exactly two minutes to get some clothes on. Any time after that I will consider an invitation to dress you myself."
Her mouth fell open. Then quickly shut at his expression. She turned and left the room, cursing her meekness as she tugged on the black jeans she had worn the night before, and the gold silk blouse. She used mouthwash, splashed some water on her face, ran her fingers through her long wild waves, and was back out the door with seconds to spare. When she re-entered the living room, Logan firmly took her hand and pulled her out the door, barely giving her time to call her goodbye to Harry.
She settled herself in the seat and fastened her seat belt. "Do you know where my car is parked?"
"We're not going to pick up your car." He threw the clutch into gear and shot away from the curb. "I'm taking you to my house."
She digested the statement, then nodded. "I think that's a good idea. We need to talk. One of the most important parts of a relationship is communication, and we need to make sure our signals won't get crossed again."
Logan didn't answer. She tried to say something else, then thought better of it. She couldn't seem to judge his mood, and didn't want to set off his temper. She decided to wait until they reached his house.
She leaned back and watched him through heavy lidded eyes, intrigued by his appearance. He wore faded old Levis that clung to his muscular thighs, a white t-shirt, and a black leather bomber jacket. With his dark hair blowing in the wind, the easy way he threw the clutch into gear, and the hard, sensual lines of his face, he looked less like an executive and more like he should ride a Harley Davidson and charm young girls out of their clothes. She hid a smile at the thought.
He finally swung up to the house and got out of the car. In silence, he escorted her inside, turning to shut the door behind him and lock it. Once again, the click of the latch made shivers run down her spine.
She pushed away her silly thoughts and faced him. "Logan, I think last night proved that ultimatums do not work in a relationship. When you told me to be home by a certain hour I felt threatened, so I tried to do something to reassert my independence. But my plan backfired, and only ended up getting us confused and dragged poor Harry into our mess. I think this whole episode showed we're having problems fa
cing our emotions."
She stopped for a moment to judge his reaction. He shrugged out of his leather jacket and stood before her in his t-shirt and jeans, hands on hips. The thin cotton material stretched lovingly over his muscular chest. He seemed to listen to what she said, even though he had an oddly determined expression on his face. Knowing she had a bad habit of chattering when she was nervous, she paced the room and tried to find the right words.
"Perhaps this is a sign for us to slow things down. Trust and communication are the basics for a successful relationship. Maybe we need to get to know each other a little better. Maybe we should get used to the idea of compromise."
She pushed back her heavy mane of hair and sighed. "I admit to my fault in this, and I'm sure you're sorry for the way you barged into Harry's apartment to assume the worst. Maybe we can turn this episode into something of a learning experience. What do you think?"