Turning from my view, I move from my sunken living room and into the kitchen to grab a package of Tim Tams from my stockpile in the butler’s pantry. They’ve become one of my biggest weaknesses since I discovered them while on location in Australia a few years back.
“How are you feeling? Mia, we really need to talk about things now that I finally have this plan of mine coming to fruition.”
She lets out a deep sigh. “Yeah, I know. Just not now. When you come back to California, maybe. When you figure out if there is even anything between you and this chick, sure. But no need to rock the boat right now.”
Grabbing one of the Tim Tams, I take a bite, swallowing half of the small cookie. I could polish off a few packages in one sitting. Those damn things are addictive.
“You’re eating those nasty cookie biscuit things, aren’t you?” Mia asks in my ear, letting me know the subject is closed. I don’t like it, but I’ll give her that play. She’s under enough stress; the last thing she needs is for me to add more to it.
“Nasty? You’re insane,” I huff around a mouthful.
“Yeah … they are. They melt in your mouth, Kane. That just isn’t natural.”
“That’s the best part,” I quip, knowing my favorite snack grosses her out.
“Anyway, Logan Agency … the girl—the mystery girl behind this ridiculous quest. You have told me next to nothing about her, Kane. That isn’t like you.”
And there’s a reason for that. “Nothing to tell, Mia. I don’t want to jinx anything.” Which isn’t a complete lie. I don’t want to jinx anything, but I also don’t want Mia to shoot this down before I even have a chance to explore it. I’m not a person driven by lust anymore; I’m a man who knows a real solid connection when it smacks you in the face. “I felt it, Mia.” I sigh. “I felt that zap. That feeling of being kicked right in the chest. All it took was for her eyes to meet mine.”
“Good God, you sound like a Lifetime movie,” she groans.
I laugh but don’t respond. Instead, I think about the last time I saw those beautiful doe eyes.
Willow Tate. Daughter of Dominic Logan.
It took only five minutes of my charm to get her full name out of Stacy on that fateful day, and it’s taken me six months of planning to get where I am now.
Today is the day I put all my wheels in motion and find out if what I felt in her presence was as powerful as I remember and not a figment of my imagination. Surely, my mind didn’t make something like that up.
“As much as I would love to chat, Mia, I have to run if I plan to make that appointment.”
“Just promise me that you won’t do anything foolish that has your PR team running crazy?”
“Not sure that’s a promise I can make in good faith,” I joke with a smile that matches the one I hear in her voice. “I’ll call you later. You make sure and rest, okay?”
“I will. Be good,” she warns.
“Aren’t I always?”
I disconnect the call at her laughter and finish the package of Tim Tams before paging Cam and letting him know I’m ready to hit the road.
Five minutes later, we head out and I’m a few miles away from what will hopefully be the beginning of what I promised all those months before.
The Logan Agency looks just as pompous on the inside as the reputation it has built around its name is. Every overly decorated inch of the fifty-seventh floor screams success. If only they knew what my people had been able to unearth about the company most still think is so powerful in the industry.
The glamor hides its failings.
Failings I’m hoping to capitalize on today with my meeting under the guise of finding extras. I wasn’t completely lying to Mia when I hatched this plan and had her put the wheels in motion—getting a few extras for the movie I’m directing and producing is just the stepping-stone to the office. If I happen to find some, great, but I wouldn’t be losing sleep over not having some extra bodies we don’t really need. We’re in the homestretch of production, the final weeks before I’m finished directing my first film one hundred percent.
But really, the motivation behind today is just about getting back face-to-face with Willow, and hopefully, the rest will fall into place.
“Mr. Masters for an appointment with Mr. Logan, please,” I tell the older woman at the front desk. I’ll give her credit; if she recognizes my name or me, she doesn’t give anything away.
“I’ve got it, Mary. I was headed that way,” I hear and turn to look at the smiling face at the other end of Mary’s desk. Her eyes twinkle with mirth, and I know she recognizes me and has no issues letting me know she knows exactly who I am.
Ah, what is this one up to? Trying to get me alone? I’m sure she’s going to pass her number and a whispered fantasy she has about sex with the Kane Masters. She extends her hand, and I look down to see a substantial rock on her wedding finger. Christ, not another married woman.
“Kirby Evans, makeup artist extraordinaire here at Logan.”
“Kane Masters,” I deadpan and take her outstretched hand in greeting.
I watch in fascination as she closes her other hand around our combined ones and throws her head back with a deep throaty laugh. “Oh, calm down, Kane Masters, Hollywood hotshot, you’re at no risk of exploding these ovaries. They’re spoken for and happily so.”
She lets go of my hand, and I manage to keep a straight face despite the shock I feel from her bizarre outburst. Seems that I pegged this one wrong.
“I’ve been married for ten years to my high school sweetheart, Mr. Masters. It would take a lot more than some big bad actor to knock that down. Come on, I was headed back there anyway to check on a friend, so I’ll show you the way.”
“Call me Kane,” I shock myself by saying. Something about this woman, she could probably cause a monk to open up.
“Right. Well, Kane, follow me.”
She takes off down a hallway I hadn’t noticed, and with a smile to Mary, I trail behind her. Her slow, leisurely stride picks up speed at the yelling that can be heard when we’re about halfway down the long hallway.
“Oh, God. Willow!” she cries out weakly before looking back at me in shock. Without wasting a second, she turns her focus and begins running the rest of the way. My senses pick up at the hostile tones echoing around us, and I hurry to follow behind her. When I walk through the end of the hallway and into what must be the outer seating area to Dominic Logan’s office, I see Kirby standing stock-still in the opening of the office labeled with his name in neat gold script against one of the glass panel walls.