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studying; the legalese in these things became more complicated by the day.
His legal team could obviously deal with it, but he would have liked his
cousin Fergus's opinion too before anything was signed.
But his cousin's housekeeper had informed Logan that Fergus had gone to
Scotland, to the home of their shared maternal grandfather. No doubt Hugh
McDonald had a good reason for appropriating the services of the family
lawyer, but, at this precise moment, Logan had little patience for those
reasons!
He laid down the gold pen he had been using to mark his way down the
pages, running one of his hands over the tiredness of his brow. Yesterday
evening, spent with the blonde from Saturday night, had not been the
success he had hoped it would be.
In fact, after only half an hour spent alone in the beautiful Andrea's
company, he had already discovered that she giggled like a schoolgirl,
talked incessantly, mostly about her modelling career, ate almost nothing,
because of her figure—whatever that might mean!—and drank even less,
for the same reason.
The evening had dragged on interminably for Logan, and he had breathed a
sigh of relief when he'd finally been able to drop Andrea off at her apartment
shortly before midnight. Without asking to see her again!
'What is it?' he prompted Karen now, glancing uninterestedly at the parcel
she had put on his desk.
'I have no idea,' his competent secretary told him truthfully. 'I haven't
opened it; it's marked "Private and Personal",' she pointed out, with a
speculative rise of blonde brows.
Logan's mouth twisted wryly as he surveyed the paper- wrapped parcel.
'Have you checked it isn't a bomb? Or worse,' he drawled dryly, Gloria's
shouted threats of 'you'll regret this' still ringing in his ears even after the
passing of over two weeks.
Karen grinned, well aware, Logan was sure, that the telephone calls from
Miss Granger had ceased two weeks ago. And was obviously totally
unsympathetic to Logan's discomfort. Although that wasn't so surprising,
Logan accepted ruefully; Karen had worked for him for almost ten years
now, had seen several Glorias come and go in his life—and knew that he
had remained unaffected by any of them.
'It was hand-delivered by a very reputable courier company,' she assured
him teasingly.
He grimaced. 'That's no guarantee!'
Karen laughed softly. 'Go on, Logan, live dangerously for once, and open it.'
He frowned slightly at that 'for once' Karen had tacked onto her teasing
statement. Perhaps his life did seem rather predictable to someone outside
looking in, but that was the way he liked it. The way he deliberately
organised it. Basically because he could remember far too many upsets and
emotional scenes when he was a child to tolerate them in his own adult life...
He eyed the parcel once again before picking it up and turning it over; no
return address written on the back. 'Did the courier say who the parcel was
from?' He frowned. It wasn't a very heavy parcel; in fact it felt so light it
didn't seem as if there was anything inside the box...
'Nope,' Karen answered with a grimace. 'But if you really think it might be a
bomb, do you want me to get Gerard to take it down to the basement and—?'
'No, I don't,' Logan assured her dryly. 'To both suggestions,' he added.
'Well, aren't you going to open it?' Karen prompted after several more long
seconds had passed.
Logan sat back in his chair, the box still held in his hand as he looked across
at her with narrowed blue eyes. 'I bet you were one of those little girls who
crept down in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve and opened all her
presents before anyone else had even thought of waking up!' he taunted
softly.
'And I bet you were one of those infuriating little boys who opened each
present slowly, barely ripping the paper, playing with each new toy before
moving on to the next parcel!' Karen obviously felt stung into snapping
back.
Logan gave an inclination of his head, smiling slightly. 'It seems we would
both win our bets,' he said softly. 'You know, Karen, you aren't painting a
very impulsive picture of me, either in the past or now!'
An embarrassed flush darkened her cheeks. 'I'm sorry, Logan.' She shook
her head. 'I realise it's your parcel—' 'And I'm going to open it. Right now.'
He grinned across at her. 'I was only teasing you, Karen,' he told her, even as
he methodically unwrapped the brown paper from the parcel, opening up the
box beneath to fold back the tissue paper. 'What the—?' He stared
uncomprehendingly at the white handkerchief and white silk shirt that lay in
the box.
Karen, looking over his shoulder at the contents, whistled softly between her
teeth. 'So that's why she wanted to know your shirt size...' she mused.
