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Logan glanced up at her sharply. 'Who wanted to know?' he rasped.
But he already knew! The white silk shirt, well...with this particular label,
that could have been an expensively extravagant present from any woman.
But not the laundered white handkerchief. That could only have come from
one woman—Darcy!
A quick glance before he folded back the tissue paper and put the lid back on
the box showed him there was no accompanying letter inside. But there
didn't need to be one; he was in no doubt whatsoever who had sent him these
things. While he accepted that the handkerchief was his, and it was very
kind of Darcy to launder it and return it to him, he had no intention of
accepting the replacement white silk shirt. The girl was a waitress for
goodness' sake, and he knew exactly how much a silk shirt of that particular
label would have cost her.
His expression was grim as he glanced at his wrist- watch: two-thirty. The
restaurant would still be open. He glanced up at Karen. 'Could you get me
the Chef Simon restaurant on the telephone, please?' he requested tautly.
'Of course.' Karen nodded, moving towards the door. She paused as she
opened it. 'Be gentle with her, hmm?' she encouraged. 'She seemed terribly
sweet, and—'
'Just get me the number, Karen,' Logan bit out impatiently. The last thing he
needed was for his secretary to think Darcy had some sort of crush on him,
and to react accordingly.
He knew exactly what this replacement shirt was about, and it had nothing
to do with having a crush on him, but was more likely to be because the silly
woman had a crush on Darnel Simon, and didn't want to risk losing her job
working for him!
He snatched up the receiver as Karen buzzed through to him.
'Good afternoon. Chef Simon. How may I help you?' chanted the cheerful
voice on the other end of the line.
Logan tightly gripped the receiver; he was angry at Darcy's actions, but
there was no point in losing his temper with someone else over it! 'I would
like to speak to Darcy, please,' he answered smoothly, realising that he
hadn't even bothered to learn the girl's surname.
'Darcy?' came back the puzzled reply. 'I'm not sure if we have a customer in
by that name, sir, but I'll check for you. If you—'
She isn't a customer, she works there,' he cut in, his resolve to remain polite
rapidly evaporating.
'I'm not sure... Just a moment, sir.' The receiver was put down, although
Logan could hear a murmur of voices in the background.
Logan drummed his fingers impatiently on his desktop as he waited, a
glance at the box containing the silk shirt only succeeding in firing his
feelings of annoyance.
'Sorry about that, sir,' the cheerful voice came back on the other end of the
line. 'It seems that Darcy will be at the restaurant this evening.'
'At what time?' he rasped.
'We usually arrive about seven o'clock—'
'Book me a table for eight o'clock,' Logan interrupted shortly. 'McKenzie.
For one,' he added grimly.
'Certainly, sir. Shall I tell Darcy—?'
'No!' Logan interrupted harshly. 'I—I would like to surprise her,' he bit out
through gritted teeth. Surprise wasn't all he would like to do to Darcy!
'Certainly, sir,' the woman accepted. 'That's a table for this evening, for one,
in the name of McKenzie,' she confirmed. 'We look forward to seeing you
then,' she added brightly before ringing off.
Logan sat back in his chair, his expression set in grim lines. He very much
doubted Darcy would share that sentiment if she were aware he was to be at
the restaurant this evening—not when his greatest urge was to wring her
slender neck for her!
This evening already promised to be a sight more interesting than
yesterday's had turned out to be!
In fact, as he showered and dressed at his apartment later that evening in
preparation of leaving for the restaurant, he actually found himself
humming tunelessly to himself as he tied his bow-tie.
Because he was going to see Darcy again? he questioned himself
incredulously.
Hardly, he admitted ruefully—not unless you counted—
He turned as the telephone on the bedside table began to ring. It was already
seven-thirty, and if he was going to make the restaurant for eight o'clock he
should be leaving in the next few minutes. But instead of the caller ringing
off when he didn't answer, the telephone just kept on ringing. Persistent, or
what?
Logan grabbed up the receiver. 'Yes?' he rasped his impatience.
'And a good evening to you too, cuz,' Fergus returned.
'Where are you?' Logan demanded. 'I have some contracts I need you to
look at. You're never around when—'
'Logan, as you are well aware, I am no longer a full- time lawyer. I only
continue to act for the family as a favour to all of you,' Fergus cut in
smoothly. 'Grandfather needed me in Scotland to discuss a few things with
