Private Confessions. Lori Borrill

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      “I appreciate that, but Devon and I are fine.”

      He raised an eyebrow.

      “Really,” she insisted. “If I feel it’s too much, I’ll tell you, but for now, I’m fine.”

      “Uh-huh. And I assume your boyfriend would agree?”

      She opened her mouth, but any attempt at words would have only resulted in a low gurgle in her throat. Logan had never made reference to her personal life before. He’d always remained strictly business, and being that he was the reason she had no boyfriend, she wasn’t sure how to answer.

      His smile turned to reluctance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry into your personal life.”

      “No, please.” She couldn’t let her silence make him feel like a cad. “It’s just…I don’t have a boyfriend, that’s all.”

      Logan’s eyes darkened. She couldn’t tell if it was disbelief, or suspicion, but something inside him turned, and for the life of her, she didn’t understand why.

      Why would Logan care that she was unattached? And why would he react with such obvious distaste? Plenty of people in the office were single. Logan himself was single, uninvolved in a serious relationship.

      What did it matter to him?

      And without a doubt, it mattered.

      It was written all over his face.

      She opened her mouth to inquire, but he cut her off.

      “There’s more to life than work. You’re already doing a great job, you don’t need to do more and I need to know that you can delegate responsibility.”

      Well, there it was. The hint that Adrienne’s VP rumor might actually be true.

      “I’m just giving extra attention to Tyndale. I know how important this particular account is to you.”

      A faint smile crossed his face. “It is important, but I won’t sacrifice my staff to get it. Besides, I need you rested for the sales pitch next week.”

      A lump formed in Trisha’s throat. This was exactly the glimpse inside Logan Moore that snatched her heart and twisted it in knots. It was this caring, supportive side of Logan that he didn’t often show, but when he did, it made her want to unpeel those layers of stoic professionalism to see what was truly inside.

      “I appreciate that,” she said. “And I promise, once these go to print, I’ll take some time off.”

      He cleared his throat and took the folder in his hands. “I suppose that’s a reasonable deal. So let’s get the ball rolling.”

      “SORRY I’m late.”

      Trisha dropped her purse on the kitchen counter of her parents’ Tiburon home, pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek and took a seat at the bar next to her brother Mark.

      “Devon’s been out of town and I’ve had to handle everything,” she added.

      “No worries,” her father said. “I’m just putting on the potatoes. We won’t be eating for at least a half hour.”

      “How is the Tyndale campaign coming?” her mother asked.

      “Good. Logan seems pleased and I think we’ve got a solid shot at the account.”

      She grabbed a wineglass from the counter and poured herself a glass of Bordeaux, ready to put the day behind her and relax in the company of her family. Despite their busy schedules, everyone still gathered twice a month for dinner with the folks. It was a ritual they’d shared since childhood.

      Her parents both had hectic careers, her father, Phillip, an economics professor at U.C. Berkeley, and her mother, Monica, an executive for Sunwest Bank. But no matter how demanding their careers, her parents had always made sure the family sat down to a meal together at least once a week. The tradition had lasted through Trisha’s childhood, and even though the kids had grown and moved out, they all kept returning for the weekly meal that only recently had dropped back to twice a month.

      Her parents had never insisted they make it, the dinners were simply an open invitation to whoever could come. But they always did. Her older sister, Cheryl, was a stay-at-home mom of two young toddlers and these dinners were her opportunity to get off her feet and let someone else do the cooking for a change.

      Trisha’s younger brother, Mark, was still in college working toward a doctorate in psychology and he never turned down the chance to come home, laundry in tow.

      For Trisha, the visits were her way of staying grounded, the frequent reminder of what she wanted from life. Watching her parents work together was her way of staying real, the scene before her reflecting everything she hoped to find in a marriage someday. Her mother and father loved cooking together and had perfected the task to an art. They bustled around the kitchen like two lovers in a dance and it was a symbol of how they shared their lives. Juggling careers and three children wasn’t an easy task, but Phillip and Monica Bain had always made it look easy, their deep respect for each other and unyielding camaraderie working together to make a success of their lives and their family.

      They had become the litmus test Trisha used when evaluating a current lover. If a man didn’t treat her like her father treated her mother, he wasn’t long in the arms of Trisha Bain. Though she admitted her parents were a hard act to follow, she always believed she could find that special someone who could work with her through life like her parents worked together.

      Like she and Logan did at the office.

      She blinked away the errant thought, insisting on keeping that subject on the shelf while she enjoyed dinner with her family.

      “So, you’re just in time to help me,” Mark said as Cheryl took a seat at the bar.

      “Help with what?” she asked.

      “Valentine’s Day is coming up and I need some ideas on what to get Grace.”

      “Getting serious about Grace, are we?” Monica asked as she snapped peas into a large glass bowl.

      “Maybe. I’m not ready for the altar, but I think a woman who can handle me through finals deserves something nice.”

      Cheryl chuckled. “She deserves sainthood.”

      “Okay, so short of that, what should I get her?”

      “That’s easy. Diamonds and gold.”

      “I said I’m not ready for the altar.”

      “I was thinking necklace, idiot.”

      Mark mulled over the suggestion. “What do you think, Mom?”

      “A necklace would be nice, or maybe a bracelet.”

      He turned to Trisha. “Anyone give you jewelry for Valentine’s Day?”

      Trisha tried to remember getting anything on Valentine’s Day, but none of her relationships СКАЧАТЬ