Beg for Me(6)

By: Natalie Anderson

Min sighed as she dealt with the mess she’d discovered. How had she not noticed she’d left the freezer door ajar? Sure, she’d been in a hurry to get back to her scheduling with half a quart of ice-cream for breakfast and once at the computer, she’d been locked in position the rest of the day, snacking from the box of crackers she always had at her desk. Meantime her remaining two cartons of ice-cream had melted along with the one—unfortunately open—bag of frozen berries, leaving that corner of the kitchen looking like there’d been some horrific decapitation. Purple bloody-looking liquid slithered down the fridge door. Still, that was the kind of thing that happened when you rented a tiny furnished apartment—you got crap mismatched chairs and whiteware that barely worked.

But it was only for the medium-term. She had her business plan and she was on task to do better than she’d forecast. She was going to succeed, no matter the negative talk from her doubting mom. All her mom wanted, was for her to return home and get hitched. So not happening.

She tossed the messy containers and wiped up the worst with an under-sized cloth. She needed to get back to her screen. But leaving Blake’s tweet unanswered for half an hour wouldn’t be all bad. His silence would only get people more excited. Throw out a little teaser, get the masses talking—asking for more. That was the way.

She washed her hands but couldn’t get rid of the berry stains from the tips of her fingers. No matter. She wasn’t seeing anyone tonight anyway. She never went out at night, too busy tweaking her clients’ sites.

Back at her workstation her phone was lit up. Two messages. Three missed calls. She didn’t recognize one number. The other two were Tyler—Logan Hughes’ ultra efficient assistant. Min paused, drawing in a calming breath. She should call Ty back right away. But as she held the phone in her hand, it rang again. The number she didn’t recognize. The calming breath bubbled and blocked Min’s throat. Her lungs tightened. So did her grip on the phone. She swallowed.

Inhale. Exhale. Relax.

It was just a phone call. She could do this. She’d answered many calls before and she had her standard issue, much practiced replies. Except those few missed calls sent anxiety trickling down her spine like melted drops from an Arctic iceberg.

Anxiety wasn’t good. But she took another deep breath and touched the screen.

“Min Jones.” She sounded like she’d been running a marathon, but at least she didn’t stutter over her own name.

“This is Logan Hughes.”

Logan Hughes? All Min’s internal organs froze. Then heat swept over her skin—cooking her from the outside in. She waited—couldn’t speak if she tried. Most people filled a conversational space, needless to say Min wasn’t one of them.

But Logan Hughes was.

“You have a problem,” he said sharply.

She’d kinda gotten that from the way he’d said his name, all ice-cold and spiky.

“Oh?” She closed her eyes and winced at how rude she sounded. But she was thrown. Her throat tightened. She knew a total block wasn’t far away. Silence reigned.

“The last tweet from my account,” he said even more curtly.

She paused before replying, swallowing, trying to relax the knots twisting up her windpipe. “The picture,” she managed a whisper. Whispers tended to work.

“It’s not the picture.”

It wasn’t? She had posted the picture, hadn’t she? She’d been in his Twitter account. She’d attached the file and then...

Quickly she tapped the space bar so the screensaver vanished. She checked her posting. And froze.

Oh no.

Iced-up blood sluiced through her system, chilling her back to sub-zero temps in less than a second. Yet sweat swept over her body. This time the temperature fluctuations were extreme—like she had some virulent flu and it was only a matter of minutes before it took her out.

Death by mortification.

She’d sent Blake’s tweet from the wrong account. She’d sent ‘she said yes’ as the text along with Logan’s photo. With him looking so fiercely sexy and commanding and master of his damn destiny. The guy who would never settle for just one woman.

How could she have been so stupid? She who was so careful about everything she wrote?

“Ms Jones?”

She jumped. She’d forgotten he was on the freaking phone. He didn’t sound like he was going to see the funny side anytime soon.

“I’ve sent a car. It should be there in ten minutes.”

What? He’d sent a car to collect her? He expected her to go and see him?

“N-now?” She pressed her lips together. It was after six. It was getting dark and cold and she so didn’t want to have to see him. She avoided face to face as much as possible. But there was no avoiding this. This was her business—and a bad report card from Logan Hughes?