Black Light: Charmed (Black Light Series Book 15), page 17
“Oh, honey, you could have told me! I mean, shit, I even asked you where Logan was!” Groaning, Vanessa sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Fuck that, it’s not okay at all! I can hear it in your voice, Cass, you’re not okay with this.”
“You’re right,” she said, her voice cracking as another wave of tears hit her. Sniffling, she dragged the tissue box onto the bed and tried to bite down on the urge to start sobbing again. She’d barely slept since she’d come home from the ballet, and she felt like hell.
“Cass… talk to me. Are you sure it’s over? Maybe you guys just had your signals cross and—”
“He basically called me an idiot, Vanessa,” she said as she swiped at her eyes again. Stupid tears wouldn’t stop.
“He didn’t!” Vanessa growled. “I’m gonna fucking kill him! HE’S the idiot! What the fuck did he say?”
“Something about me not being able to understand his work shit because I’m ‘just a fucking model.’ I’ve been trying to get him to talk to me about it… but at least now I know why he wouldn’t.” Sniffling, she felt the ache in her chest like a physical pain, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
“That sonuvabitch…” Muttering more curses and threats, Vanessa eventually came back to the phone. “This doesn’t make any sense! The way he looked at you at Black Light was… fuck, this makes no sense at all. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, he said it to my face,” Cassandra replied, laughing bitterly as another cry slipped past her lips.
“Sweetheart… God, I’m so sorry. He’s a fucking idiot.”
“Maybe it’s for the best?” Cassandra said, trying to look on the bright side, but her voice broke again as she continued. “I mean… it’s not like it would have worked out between us anyway. I always thought that once I started traveling this would just fall apart, and I thought I was prepared for that. I… I just didn’t expect it to hurt this much.”
“He shouldn’t have told you that he’d make it work if he wasn’t really in this for the long haul,” Vanessa added, trying to be a good friend, but it just didn’t matter. She’d let herself believe that they could make it work, that they could figure out a way to keep their relationship going once she started traveling again — and apparently Logan was just trying to figure out how to cut ties with her.
“Well, he made it pretty clear last night that I’m not right for him,” Cassandra whispered, tearing the tissue in her hands into tiny pieces.
“And, like I said, he’s a fucking idiot.”
“Yeah…” Cassandra shrugged, unable to forget the way he’d spoken to her. The empty look in his eyes. It kept replaying over and over in her head. “At least I won’t be able to sit here and sulk about it for long. I fly out to do Christmas at my parents’ house in a few days, and I’ll be so busy there with my family and all my nieces and nephews that I should be pretty distracted.”
“That will be good. Being distracted will be helpful.” Vanessa sighed. “Look, I have to be at the Dudorov soon for practice for tonight, but after they let us go, I’m going to come by and see you. Okay?”
“Okay,” Cassandra said, sniffling. “Thanks, girl.”
“Of course. I’ve always got your back. See you later today.”
“See you then.” Ending the call, Cassandra let her phone drop onto the sheets that were twisted into knots around her. She’d tried to sleep, but it hadn’t worked. Whatever little bits of sleep she might have grabbed weren’t restful, and she could feel how puffy her face was from crying.
Good thing all my shoots are done.
Turning the little TV in her room back on, she tried to zone out on the screen. It was some movie with people fighting, and no romance to be seen… just what she needed right now.
An hour later, the good guys and the bad guys were having a massive shoot-out on the TV. Explosions and racing vehicles and big men carrying big guns, but the sound of Abelita’s scream was more than loud enough to be heard over the latest pyrotechnics.
“Abelita?” Cassandra shouted, sitting up in bed, but her roommate burst through her door a second later with a huge grin on her face.
“THEY CALLED MY AGENT!” Abelita screamed, dancing in place as she twirled in a quick circle.
“WHO?” Cassandra asked, trying to calm her racing heart.
“Victoria’s Secret!” This time when Abelita let out a joyous scream, Cassandra joined her, jumping out of bed to grab her roommate in a big hug.
“This is amazing! What did they say?”
“Just that I’m going to their next call in January, but I’ve never made it this far in the process before! Oh my God, what if they pick me? What if I get to model for their Spring Catalog?” Abelita was practically bouncing on her toes, and Cassandra just yanked her into another hug, squeezing her tight.
“I am so fucking happy for you! You deserve this so much!”
“You told me not to give up on it, to keep believing in it, and— AHH! I just can’t believe it!” Abelita pulled back, staring at the phone she held as she pushed a hand through her hair. “It doesn’t feel real. It totally doesn’t feel real.”
“Well, I don’t think your agent would fuck with you over something like this. She knows how important it is to you.” Smiling, Cassandra held on to her friend’s excitement like a life raft, but as Abelita’s gaze swept the room the joy drained from her face slowly, a crease forming between her brows.
“Have you been crying?” Leaning in, Abelita scanned her face, then stood up straight. “You have! What the fuck happened?”
“Nothing,” Cassandra said, fighting the tears that wanted to surface again as her friend stared at her. “Let’s just focus on your good news, okay?”
“Screw that, we won’t know anything about that until January.” Moving past her, Abelita picked up the almost empty tissue box and shook it. “Talk to me, Cass.”
Chewing on her lip, Cassandra tried to keep the tears in, but they overflowed anyway, and she melted back onto the bed as she started crying again. Abelita listened while she explained what had happened, how Logan had ended things between them so harshly, and unlike her usual reaction… she didn’t go off. Didn’t shout or interrupt. Abelita just offered a new tissue occasionally, listening, and it was what Cassandra needed as she tried to process the heartbreak — because that was exactly what this was. Heartbreak.
She wasn’t sure when it had happened, when Logan had shifted from a sexy guy she could have fun with at Black Light to something more… but he had. The emotional connection had snuck up on her, creeping in every time he joked with her, every time he smiled, every time he did something so unexpectedly sweet. Strengthened by the way he’d pushed her for a date and then took her breath away on the dancefloor. And all of his dominance, his easy sadism, his playful nature in the bedroom — that had just been the cherry on top. Logan Chisholm had done everything he could to make her fall for him, jumped through every hoop she’d put in place trying to avoid breaking his heart… and he’d ended up breaking hers.
“That’s it. I’m making you pancakes,” Abelita said, climbing off the bed. “This needs pancakes.”
“I don’t think we have any mix left,” Cassandra said through another sniffle, blowing her nose in the latest tissue her roommate had pushed into her hand.
“Well, then I’ll order some. Urgent delivery.” Lifting her phone, Abelita started tapping away as she moved to the doorway. “And I’m going to get another box of tissues. Then we’re going to veg out today.”
“That sounds nice,” Cassandra admitted, looking up at her friend as she paused at the edge of her room.
“I just need to say this, and then I won’t say another word. I promise.”
“Go ahead.” Cassandra dropped her hands into her lap, smiling at the serious expression on Abelita’s face.
“Fuck him. Fuck him up the ass with a baseball bat. That fancy-suited asshole didn’t deserve you anyway.” Abelita pointed at her. “You were too good for him. Way too good for him, and when he finally pulls his head out of his ass and realizes that, I hope he gets a major case of permanent limp dick from the serious depression his dumb ass falls into.”
“You done?” Cassandra asked, unable to not smile at the serious tone in her friend’s voice.
“Almost. I hope his impotent, stupid fucking face loses all that money he’s so damn proud of and ends up on the streets, wearing thrift store shit, where the only chance he has to see your gorgeous self is on a billboard, hundreds of feet above him.”
Even though her chest hurt, and her eyes burned from crying for so long, Cassandra still felt a small laugh roll up, and she let it out. Shaking her head, she smiled through the tears as she looked at her friend. “Thanks, Abelita.”
“Anytime, and now I’m done. Maybe.” Waving her phone back and forth, Abelita spoke over her shoulder as she headed into the kitchen. “I reserve the right to continue this rant if I need to!”
“Deal!” Cassandra called back, and then she slumped back into her pillows. Her bed was covered in crumpled tissues, an empty water bottle, and another half-full one, along with the remnants of the cereal bowl she’d had sometime around three in the morning. The clothes she’d worn for their ‘date’ the night before were still crumpled on the floor by her closet, and part of her wanted to clean up, to wash her face and brush her teeth… but she just slid deeper under the covers instead.
She could let herself sulk for a few days.
Get it all out of her system so she wouldn’t taint her family’s Christmas.
Then she’d be on the road again. Traveling for all the new shoots Roberta had her scheduled for, and in time she’d forget about Logan Chisholm.
It sounded good in her head, but the dull ache behind her ribs disagreed. After all, they’d spent ten months without seeing each other, four months without talking, and he’d still been on her mind. Lurking there whenever she found herself even slightly interested in some random guy… but that was before she’d known what he really thought about her.
This time she’d just go out with the random guy. She wouldn’t think about him anymore.
Nope, I won’t think about him at all. Curling up around one of her pillows, Cassandra turned her face into it, wiping the tears away as they started falling again, because as much as she wanted that to be true… it felt like a lie. And she knew she didn’t want some random one-night stand.
She wanted that spark she’d felt with Logan. That electric hum that buzzed through her nerves every time he kissed her. She wanted the connection she’d thought they had… because she’d never felt it with anyone else. And if she were being honest with herself, she didn’t think anything else could feel like this did. For a short while she thought she’d found someone who accepted her, wholly and completely. All of her nuances, all of her sass, all of her kinks… her life, her world, her career… all of her.
But it had been a lie.
And her heart was definitely broken.
And that just wasn’t something you walked off in a few weeks, or months.
Another wave of tears hit her, and she muffled herself with the pillow, hating the pain in her chest and the weak sounds that left her lips. Sniffling hard, she dug out the last tissue from the box and blew her nose, staring down at the tear-stained pillowcase. At the pathetic nest she’d built for herself to wallow in her sadness.
“Damn you, Logan,” she mumbled, biting down on another broken sound. “Why did you make me fall for you?”
Chapter 21
Logan
He was dying.
That was the only explanation for the blinding pain behind his right eye, and the wave of nausea that knocked him flat when he tried to sit up.
“Fuck…” he groaned, trying to open his eyes, but everything was too bright, blindingly painful. With a stomach-churning shift, Logan rolled onto his side where the light mercifully faded. Blinking, he squinted at the leather in front of his face and tried to figure out where the fuck he was.
His brain felt like someone had run it through a blender filled with knives, but eventually two brain cells managed to bump together to give him a single word. Couch. He was on the couch. His couch. In his living room.
That was better than the alternatives. Like a hospital bed, which he probably needed, or a jail cell, which he should be in if he’d driven last night.
What the fuck happened last night?
Grunting, he tried to sit up again, but only succeeded in shifting his body a few inches closer to the armrest before he gave up and draped his arm over his eyes. Lying on his back, fighting the urge to empty his stomach on the carpet beside him, he tried to remember getting home the night before.
Everything had fallen apart at the office. That he remembered clearly.
Not just two clients leaving for Berringer Holdings, but seven. Big accounts. One after another, and the whole building had been panicking. Tens of millions of dollars and several long-term accounts that his father had never had trouble holding onto. It had been chaos, and no one seemed to have a good answer for how the fuck it had happened.
He’d started drinking at the office, and then he’d left because—
Cassandra.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
Rolling off the couch, he caught himself on his hands and knees, and even though the room seemed to slant dangerously to one side, he sat up enough to look over the coffee table. Blinking through the blinding sunlight, Logan found his phone and groaned when it didn’t light up at his touch.
Dead.
“Goddammit,” he growled under his breath, dragging himself upright with more help from the couch than should have been necessary. Stumbling, he went for the kitchen, hip-checking a table on the way, which only added to the various aches and pains rolling through him. Leaning against the slightly dimmer kitchen counter, he plugged the phone in, then rested his cheek on the cool granite.
He couldn’t tell if he was still drunk, or completely hungover, or somewhere in-between — but no matter what, it was hell.
What the fuck did I do last night?
They’d had their date planned. The ballet. He remembered leaving work so he could get ready, but he’d spent the whole drive home on the phone. More excuses, more bullshit, and he’d opened his laptop again to review the emails flying around, and then…
“Oh God.” Logan shoved himself upright, bracing his hands on the counter to stare at the dead battery symbol on his phone. “Come on, come on, come on.”
Cassandra had come over, all dressed up for their date, and he’d been shitfaced. Yelling at people on the phone… and then he’d yelled at her.
And she’d left.
She left.
Groaning, he flipped open several cabinets until he found the one with the glasses. Quickly filling it with water, he drank it down. Refilled and did it again.
Cassandra left.
He’d said something terrible to her. He could remember the look on her face. Angry and hurt. But he couldn’t remember what he’d said, because he’d been too fucking drunk.
“Idiot,” he growled, rubbing his face, trying to make his brain work right, but everything was misfiring. Hell, he could barely stand upright.
He hadn’t done something like this in years. Not since Yale. When the pressure was insane, and his father wouldn’t stop reminding him of everything on the line if he fucked up in school.
His father.
That was exactly who he was acting like. Drunk, shouting, alienating everyone around him, and in general being a complete asshole. He used to hate coming home from school or lacrosse practice, trying to sneak to his room before his dad noticed him, because if he did it always ended in a shouting match. How stupid he was, how useless, how he’d never live up to the family name.
And, apparently, he’d been right.
He wasn’t just fucking up at work, he’d messed up the only good thing in his life.
The screen lit up on his phone, and he grabbed for it, cursing under his breath as it took its sweet time turning on. As soon as he could, he swiped to his contacts and called Cassandra.
It rang, and rang, and rang… voicemail.
“Shit,” he growled, hanging up to try again. And again. And again. Finally, the phone went straight to voicemail when he dialed, and he slammed his hand down on the counter, trying to compose himself as her voicemail greeting came across the line. Her sweet voice asked him to leave a message, but he was sure that she wouldn’t sound like that if she’d actually answered. The beep had him opening his mouth to speak, but he froze. “Hey,” he started lamely. “I… I don’t really… Look, I’m sorry about last night. Just call me back. Please.”
Leaning on the counter, he sent a few texts to follow up.
I’m sorry for last night.
Please call me back.
Or just text me.
His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, wanting to figure out the right words to say that would make her respond… but he could barely think straight. Sighing, he dropped the phone back to the counter and went in search of ibuprofen and coffee.
When he opened the fridge for the half-and-half a while later, he saw the lonely carton of eggs he’d bought for her to have breakfast in the mornings. The bread on the counter was meant to go with it, and he decided that toast would have to work for his hangover because he didn’t think he could stomach anything else.
Taking a seat at the island in the kitchen, he stared at the phone charging on the counter, willing it to ring, or buzz, or… anything. Anything that would show he still had a chance, but thirty minutes later when he forced down the last bite of toast, she still hadn’t reached out.
“Because you fucked it up,” he muttered.
Moving to the phone, he scrolled through his texts from her. She’d been looking forward to seeing him, said she had something exciting to tell him — and now he’d probably never know what it was.
The night was coming back to him in pieces. An argument he’d had with one of his VPs over the phone, the rage-filled email he’d drafted, re-written, and then re-written again before he’d hit send.
