His company has four offices scattered around Paris, but the one in Place de Papier is the largest and where Logan spends most of his time. The eye-catching, geometrically-shaped building is situated in a square that looks similar to the one where cafe Genévrier is. However this square is surrounded by offices, rather than eateries, and is more placid and infinitely quieter. Throughout the large open space several prominent trees have been planted, whose buds are only now starting to reappear as Paris moves into springtime. Underneath each of the trees are wooden benches, most likely intended for lunchers.
I gaze, slightly awed, as I walk towards Logan’s building. It’s modern and stylish, but also has a classic elegance to it, a combination of design elements that I know from experience are not always easy to get right, but he has. A mix of appreciation and pride courses through me as I realise that Logan,
my
Logan, has created this masterpiece, this empire from scratch.
I’m five metres from the entrance when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I pull it out, and automatically smile when I see the caller ID.
“Hey, baby,” I say to Logan.
“Hi, where are you?” he asks eagerly.
“I’m outside,” I grin into my phone.
Oh
,
this is going to be fun
!
He’s silent for a moment. “I can’t see you anywhere.”
Oh
? I look around the big, empty square, unable to see him either. “Uh…”
Then it dawns on Logan, and he enquires, “Outside
where
?”
“Leary Constructions’ main office,” I tell him quickly.
“
Damn
,” he laughs down the line, before telling me, “I’m outside of Pierson House.”
I face palm myself. We must’ve taken alternative routes. “Oh, dear,” I sigh.
I should’ve checked with him
, I tell myself what I already know.
“I wanted to surprise you. Apparently you had the same idea,” he correctly guesses, his voice laced with mirth.
It’s with similar humour that I say to him, “You know, they say that the key to a long-lasting marriage is communication. We
really
might want to work on that,” I laugh.
“Stay where you are,” he says, and I can hear that he’s smiling. “I’ll be with you soon.”
* * *
I take a seat on one of the benches and wait. I barely have enough time to start idly flicking through my phone, when movement ahead of me catches my attention. A woman is walking from Logan’s office in my direction. She stares at her feet as she approaches, affording me the time to quickly scan our surrounds to see if she could be headed towards somebody or something else, but there is no one and nothing in the vicinity. Suddenly, I realise that she must recognise me from Saturday night.
What
’
s her name
, I think desperately.
Eventually she looks up and seeing me watching her, she waves a hand in greeting. “Bonjour, mademoiselle quarante-neuf,” she calls out, smiling at me, and referencing Logan’s hotel in Tokyo.
Hello
,
Miss. Forty
-
nine
.
Ah-ha! There’s only one person who could know about
that
! This woman must be Cheryl, Logan’s personal assistant. She looks to be around Amélie’s age, late forties, and has curly strawberry-blonde hair which bounces buoyantly as she walks, and a kind, freckly face. She’s likeable, based on first impressions.
“Hello, Cheryl,” I smile back, standing up to greet her, doing the customary two kisses thing.
“It’s nice to meet you, Gemima,” she tells me sincerely, with a very heavy French accent.
“Likewise.”
“Congratulations on your engagement,” she says, beaming as we take a seat on the bench, side-by-side. “Your shock announcement took most of the company by surprise. No one, not even I, knew that Logan was seeing anyone,” she shares.
That’s because it’s been so fast, I think. Without telling her
how
fast, I say, “It’s been a wonderful whirlwind.”
“You’ve put a lot of rumours to bed,” she reveals.
“What rumours?” I ask with a grin.
It
’
s gossip
-
time
.
“That Logan’s asexual,” she says, so matter-of-factly that I erupt into laughter.
It takes every ounce of my strength to stop my inappropriate mouth from saying something that it shouldn’t. The image of Logan’s lathered up erection from this morning comes to the forefront of my mind.
Don
’
t say a word
, I order myself.
Fortunately, I don’t have to. Cheryl speaks again, “Clearly, he’s not. I’m thrilled for both of you.”
“Thank you,” I say sincerely.
I
’
m thrilled for us too
. Then moving the conversation out of dangerous territory, I ask, “Did you have a good night on Saturday?” Now that I see her up close, I recognise her more, and can vaguely remember catching glimpses of her throughout the course of the evening, though her hair was up then, making her look quite different.
“Oh, c’était merveilleux!” she exclaims in her native tongue.
Oh
,
it was marvellous
! “Everybody in the company works so hard — especially Logan — so to have a night to relax and drink my weight in alcohol,”
you and me both
, I think, “was a brilliant treat.”
I nod in agreement.
“And the speeches were wonderful,” she continues. “I especially loved the bit where
I
was singled out,” she grins. “The company wouldn’t function without me and my girls,” she tells me with a cheeky wink.
Uh…
her girls? Is Logan running a brothel within the company, I think sarcastically.
Seeing the perplexed look on my face, Cheryl admits, “I should probably figure out how to say that without making it sound like I’m the madam of a whorehouse.” She explains herself further, “My girls are the other PA’s…Michel’s, Guillaume’s, Grace’s…they all report back to me.”
“Oh, I see,” I grin, finally understanding.
“We make the big shots look good,” she jests.
“And then they get all of the credit?” I ask, playing along.
“Exactly,” she laughs, enjoying our repartee.
I smile at her, warming to her more by the second. She’s clearly got a sense of humour which no doubt makes Logan’s long work hours more tolerable.
“It was your friend who called here last week, wasn’t it? American woman, erratic voice,” she says.
“Oh, yes!” I laugh. “My best friend, Amber,” I tell her. “She was trying to get in contact with Logan.”
“Yes,” Cheryl remembers. “For one wild moment I thought that she was a deranged one night stand of his,” she confesses, making me laugh even harder. “That would have been unprecedented. I was already mentally preparing a press release to avoid a scandal.”
I snort in laughter at the thought.
Oh
,
Amber
! She’ll be thrilled to know that she’s made such a strong impression.
We continue talking back and forth for five highly comical minutes before Cheryl leaves to get lunch. On exiting the square she passes Logan; they’re stationary, chatting for a few seconds, before he makes a speedy beeline for me, carrying what looks like our lunch in a takeout bag.
“Yum,” I say when he’s in earshot.
“Me, or this?” he asks, holding up the bag of fragrant food.
“Both,” I grin.
He smiles and speeds up his walk. He does it without noticing his own eagerness, but I notice it, and it thrills me. When he reaches me I’m greeted with a one-armed hug and a kiss. “Thank you for surprising me,” he grins against my lips.
“Ditto, baby,” I laugh. My hand lingering on his lower back, I run it south slightly, just breaching the top his pants, where I feel his boxers. “Just checking what you’re wearing down there,” I say. “That last message of yours had me intrigued,” I tease.
“And
your
last message nearly made me spit my coffee out,” he informs me, making me laugh again.
“Thanks for picking this up,” I peer into the bag, hungrily. It looks and smells like a North African cuisine, though I can’t put my finger on which one.
Whatever it is, it tastes amazing, and we eat it with gusto, sitting cross-legged at either end of the wooden bench with our lunch spread out in between us, while we swap stories about our productive mornings.
“So, I’ll have to get the proper qualifications first, but Amélie knows that I’m all in,” I inform Logan, feeling giddy about it all over again.
“That’s amazing, baby,” he gushes. “Grace did the same thing with us about seven years ago. She was an engineer at the time, and pestered Michel for a solid six months to let her switch. It’s probably one of the best moves that the company’s ever made, and I’m sure Amélie’s thinking the same thing about you,” he says kindly.
I smile back at him, and then I ask him inquisitively, “Does, uh, Leary Constructions ever hire landscape designers for work?”
“Yes,” he chuckles.
“So, this time next year we could be getting down and dirty in a flowerbed somewhere in Paris,” I giggle. Assuming, of course, that I am able to secure the jobs that Logan’s company is hiring for.
Grinning at me with a playful gleam in his eyes, Logan agrees, “That does sound like something we’d get up to.” Then he tells me, “I bumped into Amélie outside of Pierson House.”
Oh
,
shit
! “Did she pry into whether it was you who told me about Madeleine?” I ask hurriedly.
Logan shakes his head. “She didn’t have the chance. I did all the talking,” he reveals, piquing my interest. “She agreed to give you a longer lunch break tomorrow so that I can enact my little plan,” he says intriguingly.
My curiosity soars. “And what plan might that be, Mr. Leary?”
He studies me for a moment, deciding how much to tell me, before saying, “What with my parents leaving tomorrow night, I thought it would be good to take the opportunity to host a little engagement party while they’re still here. So, we’re going to lunch,” he tells me, and a split second later a broad smile spreads across his face.
There
’
s more to it than that
, I know immediately. “Where?” I enquire.
“Top secret. If I tell you, I’ll have to…”
“Yes?”
Logan quickly scans the square. “If I tell you, things might turn amorous,” he says dramatically.
I laugh out loud, and then say, “Where?” again, feeling nothing but encouraged by his warning.
“All will be revealed in twenty-four hours,” he lets me know with a promising smile. “I’m also taking you somewhere this evening.”
I’ve my very own man of mystery, I suddenly think. “Am I allowed to know where we’re going tonight?”
“Something’s happening at Mercy’s,” he says casually, but his attempt at nonchalance doesn’t fool me; my excitement shoots from one to ten in under a second.
“Is
Samuel
going to be there?” I ask, my voice suddenly quiet and expectant.
Slowly Logan nods, and I immediately bounce up and down on the bench in glee.
“Fuck,
yes
!” I exclaim, before getting a well needed grip on myself. “I mean, that will be wonderful,” I beam.
Much more ladylike
.
“Oh, baby,” Logan laughs, “I love watching your mind work.”
“Are you going to pick me up tonight, then?” I press.
He nods. “Though I might be late,” he says, “I have a two week post-surgery checkup.”
“I’m more than happy to give you a thorough physical myself,” I attempt to keep a straight face. “But if you’d prefer a doctor?”
“I’m only going for the lollypop,” Logan responds, and part of me actually believes that that could be true.
His phones message tone beeps loudly from inside his pocket, and while he pulls it out and glances at it, I hoover another few mouthfuls of our delicious lunch. Then Logan offers his phone to me.
“From Bud,” he explains.
Teasing him, I ask, “Do you two message each other everyday?”
He grins and nods in honesty. Giggling, I then peer down at the screen and read the message from Buddy:
*Something to keep you occupied while you wait for your sex swing. If you think you’re up for the challenge.*
At the bottom there’s an internet website address linked. I click on it and squint my eyes, preparing to snap them shut if the link takes me to something distasteful, but almost surprisingly, it doesn’t. I find myself on a page of a prominent French Men’s Health magazine, and it seems to me that Buddy is spending his lunch break reading. The article in question is entitled
How To Give Her A Full Body Orgasm
. Now there’s an attention grabbing title, I think appreciatively.
“You look entranced,” Logan notices.
I quickly show him the engaging name before possessively pulling his phone to my chest, where I peer down and read it attentively. It begins:
A full body orgasm
,
otherwise known as a cervical orgasm
,
is one of the most sacred, intimate
,
and pleasurable experiences that a couple can encounter
.
Men
,
this is not just one for the ladies
.
It may be her body that you
’
re stimulating
,
but if you can get her there
,
she
’
ll take you along for one hell of a ride
!
My eyes grow wide. I rapidly scan down the article until I reach the
How To
part of it, where the article’s author suggests deep penetration of the vagina —
so far
,
so good
, I think slyly — and stimulation of the tip of the cervix — my eyes widen even further — prompting the woman to orgasm intensely, and causing an afterglow that lasts for hours.
I move further down the article, stopping at a section called
For Best Results
, where the first line simultaneously makes me laugh out loud and doubt everything that I’ve just read. Surely this is too good to be true, I think, as I read:
For Best Results
…
1.
Ensure your partner has had at least two orgasms before even attempting this
.
She needs to feel completely relaxed
,
at peace
,
and in total trust with you
.