“There are just a few people we have to bypass first,” he then unexpectedly announces, taking my hand, and leading me through the entrance into the first construction site that I’ve ever stepped foot on.
It’s all much tidier than I presumed it would be, which is comforting for a neat-freak like me. We walk together in the direction of blaring music, which is issuing from a white site-hut.
Bryan Adams
, I recognise the tune. Nice choice.
Inside the hut, four men and a woman are huddled around a desk, looking over a large design plan which is spread out on top of it.
“The whole crazy team,” Logan tells me, announcing our arrival to his employees, who all look up upon hearing their boss’s voice.
It surmises they’re just wrapping up a head-of-departments meeting, which means that right now I’m faced with Leary Constructions’ elite. Guillaume, who stands at least six foot five and has a perfect handlebar moustache, is an engineer. Benjamin, who’s short, stocky, and very muscular, is chief-builder, and I vaguely remember Jerry working with him. Antoine, whose bespectacled face and bow tied shirt convinces me that he’s an architect —
way to stereotype
,
Gem
, I chide myself — until I’m told that that’s exactly what he is. Michel, Logan’s second in command and very good friend, whose spiky platinum-coloured hair stands out strikingly against his dark skin, is filling in for their absent human resources colleague. And Grace, a dark-blonde, salt of the earth type of woman, who true to Logan’s word, is at least seven months pregnant and so large in her belly that her high-vis vest struggles to shut.
I shake hands with each of them, though Grace is by far the most formal.
“Grace DiCenzo,” she says, holding out her hand. “Tête de la gestion des projets.”
The head of project management
. She’s the overseer of all elements of the build, and given how huge this site is, I don’t envy her.
“Gemima,” I say for the fifth time, smiling at her. “It’s wonderful to meet all of you,” I then say to the group at large, automatically taking a step closer to Logan. I wrap my arm around his back, and immediately realise that Michel is the only one who knows that we’re a couple, because his eyes are the only ones that don’t widen at my show of affection.
“Gemima is my girlfriend,” Logan is quick to reveal with an air of smugness, before beaming down at me.
“Quoi?” Grace says.
What
? She sounds so shocked that Logan, I and everyone else start laughing.
“Is that unheard of?” I giggle, playfully pinching Logan’s waist.
“Yes!” they tell me in unison.
“You could have met her last week,” Logan says to Guillaume and Antoine, “if you ever bothered to show up to those topping off parties.”
Ah-ha, so they were meant to be there last Thursday night, I note. I wonder if the animosity between Logan and Jerry would have been any different if they were.
“That’s why he got into a fight with Jerry Cassidy,” Michel mutters, his thoughts similar to mine, and his intention being to fill in all the holes in the industry gossip.
However, when almost everyone looks bemused, Logan admits, “He’s Gemima’s ex.”
“Unfortunately,” I add.
Teasing of Logan commences less than one second later and continues for five minutes straight. They’ve never known him to have a girlfriend, nor to be the type to throw a punch in a woman’s honour, but it seems that both of these new, illuminating sides to him are very appealing.
The sparring back and forth is pure comedy to watch. Logan’s their boss, sure, but they all interact with one another as though they’re on an even keel. They seem more like friends than colleagues, and if, over time, I could build these sorts of working relationships at Pierson House, then off-days like today would surely become a lot more tolerable. I’d have someone to vent with, and laugh with, and talk to about problem clients.
“So, have you brought Gemima here to show off your big playground?” Grace toys with Logan.
“I’m the interior designer for the project,” I announce. “Logan just wants to give me a quick tour,” I say.
And do me on the top floor
, I don’t say.
“Which company are you with?” Michel asks me.
“The Pierson Group,” I tell him proudly. Oh, it’s so nice to finally be at a company that I’m proud to be a part of, instead of embarrassed by.
“I expect we’ll see the bosslady on Saturday night,” he says, referring to Amélie and Logan’s upcoming party.
“I wish I could go,” Grace sighs.
“Why don’t you?” Benjamin and Guillaume ask together.
She gives them a humorously scathing look. “Watch this,” she instructs. She takes a very big, deep breath in and her hig-vis vest bursts open over her large belly, making us all chuckle. “Now imagine me in a ball gown…Yeah, I
don
’
t
think so,” she shakes her head.
“I’m still going to mention you in my speech,” Logan assures her.
“You have to give a speech?” I ask in surprise, and he nods petulantly, clearly unhappy about it.
“I’ve been trying not to think about it,” he tells me, which is probably why he hasn’t mentioned it before.
Out of sight
,
out of mind
. “I haven’t even started it yet. Have you started yours?” he asks Michel, who will be speaking too.
“Already finished.”
Everyone makes an
urgh
sound, and Logan quickly explains it, by laughing, “Michel is a constant overachiever. He makes the rest of us look terrible. I don’t even know where to
start
mine.”
“At the beginning,” Guillaume says unhelpfully.
“Once upon a time,” Michel suggests.
Logan groans, and from the look in his eyes, I can tell that he’s genuinely dreading it. I find his hand and give it a squeeze.
“I’ll write it for you,” I grin at him. If there’s one thing to fear more than writing and reciting a speech, it’s doing those things in conjunction with
my
American Mouth.
Logan grasps that notion exceptionally fast. “I’ll take my chances, baby,” he laughs.Hearing Logan utter the word
baby
, reignites the teasing.
Round two
, I think, and I prop myself on the edge of a desk, watching their repartee with glee.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, once his colleagues have cleared out for the day, Logan locks up the site-hut, and we start walking to the other side of the vast building site, coming across no one on our journey.
It’s eerily deserted, I think, looking around the huge spaces that all too soon, I will be in charge of decorating. But then again, work on construction sites starts early and ends early. I remember that aspect of Jerry’s work — he was always home before me, and elected to spend his afternoons lying on the sofa.
Lazy bastard
. I put up with that for eight fucking years, I remind myself with a shudder. Why, why,
why
, I wonder angrily. Maybe I was in a self-depleting phase?
Tentatively, I reveal to Logan that Jerry was waiting for me outside of work. “And you were right, he
did
lie about his mom. He only told you that because he thought it would make me call him, and when I didn’t, he thought rocking up at my work would be appropriate,” I say sardonically.
Logan’s whole body tenses next to me as we keep on walking. “Why did he want to talk to you?” he asks.
“He wants me back,” I sigh. “I told him, again, that that’s never going to happen. Then I got slight dramatic and told him that if he ever ambushes me again, I’ll take out a restraining order.”
To my immense relief, Logan grins at me. “I’ve never known you to be dramatic when flustered,” he says sarcastically.
I revel in knowing that he’s taking this so lightly. Or at least, I think he is until he speaks again.
“What is the likelihood of him becoming a danger to you?” he says seriously.
“About five percent,” I say, confidently. “Annoying and intolerable, yes, but he’s not the type of man to turn into a crazy stalker.”
Logan considers my words. “OK,” he finally nods, trusting my analysis. “You did the right thing in mentioning a restraining order, baby. I’ll call him again tomorrow, and reiterate your sentiments.”
“Thank you,” I say, giving him permission to play the protective boyfriend.
Let
’
s hammer that sentiment home
, I think, as we turn a sharp corner and Logan leads me to a mesh-cage elevator.
He pulls open the sliding door and I step inside. It’s snug, able to fit four men at most. After joining me inside, shutting and fastening the door, Logan then takes a key out of his pocket. He inserts it into an ignition at the same time as pushing a startup button.
As I stand in the corner, watching him, I can’t keep from quietly giggling to myself.
“What’s the joke?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “Just watching you multitask…I like it when you touch the button and the ignition together,” I say, euphemistically.
Smiling to himself, Logan pulls a huge lever and we jolt as the mechanism comes to life, raising us from the ground. It’s the beginning of a slow ascent.
“Is that what you have planned for the top floor?” I ask.
Joining me in the corner, Logan says, “I haven’t got anything planned, but it’s going to take us awhile to get there, so I’m open to hearing your suggestions.”
Awhile
? “How long?” I look at him mischievously.
“We’ve got time,” he lets me know seductively, leaning into me, his face burying into my neck which he kisses.
Good
, I think, and then I peer out of our mesh-cage, scouting for people, double checking that we are entirely alone. We are.
“And when we’re up there we’ll be able to watch the sun going down,” he murmurs against my skin.
I am gratifyingly reminded of a past encounter of ours, as I say, “It’s not the sun you’re going to watch going down.”
I push Logan backwards, so that his back now rests against the opposite side of the elevator, giving me some room to kneel before him. I look up at him as I do and his eyes grow wide. He may have planned to do me on the top floor, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to receive a blow job on our way up there.
My hands work hastily to undo his pants. I pull them and his boxers down just far enough to release his semi-erect penis. I toy with him in my hands for a few moments, provoking him to harden fully, as Logan gazes at me in rapture. Then after giving him a cheeky, lustful grin, I drop my hardhat onto the mesh floor, and I take his tip into my mouth and suck him hard.
He quivers against me, groaning loudly, his hands gripping the side of my head. Enjoying his reaction so much, I repeat my action, before drawing him all the way into my mouth as far as I can take him.
“Oh,
baby
,” he breathes. “This is…this is not…what I thought…would happen,” he manages to say, as I drive him wilder and wilder.
Logan’s arousal climbs in time with the elevator, each floor we pass bringing him closer to his release. I suck him hard, then I lick him gently, I take him in, then I let him go, winding him up amid a chorus of his encouragement.
“
Ah
,
yes
,” he groans, the sound and the feel of him jerking sensitively makes me wetter by the second.
Despite my own growing desire, I don’t stop. I continue until he’s on the brink, his hands gripping me tightly, his voice deliciously loud. With my lips over his tip, I piston him a few quick times with my hand and he falls apart, orgasming, and releasing himself into my mouth.
I swallow and then release him from my clutches, reveling in the look of unbridled satisfaction that is plastered all over his face. His whole body looks loose and relaxed despite his rapid breathing.
As I get to my feet, I become aware that the elevator has stopped moving, though I’ve no idea how long we’ve been stationary for. As Logan slumps back against the side of our mesh-cage, I lean against him and kiss his neck, like he did to me earlier. His pulse is quick under my lips as I pull his boxers and pants back up, though I don’t bother fastening them.
“Can you talk?” I ask him gleefully, immensely enjoying how overcome he is.
“Words fail me,” he pants, making my smile broaden. He kisses me deeply, letting that do the talking for him. When we eventually break apart, he mutters, “Amazing, Gemima.”
Good
, I think again.
Logan’s attention then turns to the elevator door, which he unfastens and slides open. I stride out, intent on walking up to the very edge of the building to peer over the safety railings, but Logan’s arm catches me around my waist, preventing me from going any further.
“Where do you think you’re going? You need to be harnessed,” he says, pointing to the safety harnesses that lie next to the door. Oh! They are the kind of harnesses that you have to step into, which go around your legs as well as your waist, and which usually dig into your crotch. Next to them, attached to a very solid-looking pillar, lie several long safety ropes to attach to the harnesses.
“Mr. Leary, you’re full of surprises this afternoon,” I tease him.
“Me? Gemima, you just blew me on my own construction site, do you have any idea how fucking hot that is?”
I shake my head, grinning at him. “Tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how hot was it?”
“A million,” he counters quickly.
“Perfect,” I laugh happily, watching him step into his safety harness. “But, uh, baby…how are we going to have sex if we’re both wearing harnesses?” I will flat-out refuse to wear a harness that close to my crotch if I’m not wearing anything under it.
“Yours is only going to go around your waist,” he tells me, now fiddling with my harshness, his brow furrowed as he works out the logistics of it. “And
I
can easily get my penis out while wearing it,” he says absentmindedly.
There’s a story hidden in his last sentence, I’m instantly sure of it. Taking full advantage of his absentmindedness, I ask, “And how do you know that?”
“Well, this one time I—” he stops himself.
I try not to smile as he looks at me with wide eyes. “Yes?” I press.
“It’s kind of gross,” he warns me.