An Heir For Her Enemy (Bossy Bachelors #3)

11. Delaney

CHAPTER 11

DELANEY

“ Y ou are not attracted to Logan Banks,” Delaney told herself firmly in the bathroom mirror. “He is your colleague. Maybe your friend. That’s it. You’ve both been very clear about that.”

Even her reflection seemed not to believe her, though. Delaney was starting to have feelings for Logan all over again. Yet these feelings were stronger than the attraction and interest she’d felt on the first night, simply because she knew him better now. Even if he was a typical rich, entitled jerk, he had his moments. A lot of moments.

Delaney gave her reflection another stern look, then turned to go. She was in the bathroom at another spectacular art museum that Logan had suggested. They’d spent the day exploring the city once again, this time with Logan in the lead. He’d shown her Rome’s most beautiful sights, joked with her, and avoided answering his phone all day even though he had it with him.

Delaney needed to be strong. She needed to focus on her job here, not on Logan’s piercing gray eyes and chiseled muscles and the way it had felt when he’d held her hands and told her that their night together meant a lot to him.

Logan was waiting for her on a bench outside the restrooms. As she emerged, he put his phone away and got to his feet.

“Are you ready for dinner?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“Right this way.” Logan gestured towards the museum exit. “I managed to rebook our reservation at the restaurant I wanted to visit the first day, Basilico e Formaggio.”

“The one that overlooks the Colosseum?”

“The very same.”

Delaney grinned. “I can’t wait. The Colosseum is the one Roman landmark I really wanted to see but haven’t had the chance to visit yet.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve saved the best for last, as it were.”

The car was waiting for them outside, along with the same driver as before. It wasn’t a long drive to the restaurant, but, as always, Delaney was transfixed by the scenery outside.

“Are you excited to get back to New York?” Logan asked. She tore her gaze away from the view to look at him.

“Kind of. It’ll be nice to be home. But I love Rome and I don’t feel like I’ve seen all of it yet.” She grinned at Logan. “Not that I’ve seen all of New York, either.”

“I don’t think anyone has. Cities like New York or Rome always have hidden corners and mysterious quarters to explore.”

Delaney nodded. “It’s true. Cities are like people, I think. Most of the time, when you think you have them figured out, they manage to surprise you.”

“We’ve arrived,” the driver informed them.

“Thank you,” Delaney said. They got out and Delaney stopped to admire the restaurant’s old and beautiful building. Inside, Logan ushered them to an elevator, which ferried them to the top floor. There, they were met by a ma?tre d’ in a black-and-white uniform.

“ Benvenuto, hai una prenotazione ?” she asked in quick Italian.

“ Sì, certo. Il nome è Banks ,” Logan replied without missing a beat. Delaney had to work hard to keep her mouth from dropping open.

“ Da questa parte, per favore .” The ma?tre d’ led them to a small round table by a window. The table was decorated with candles and a flower in a vase, but Delaney barely noticed it. She was looking outside, where the Colosseum was lit against the deep-blue sky. Delaney had seen pictures of the Colosseum countless times before, but nothing had prepared her for how enormous it really was, or how magical it felt to see something that had stood in this very place for longer than anyone she knew had been alive.

“It takes my breath away every time,” Logan said. Delaney turned to him.

“Thank you for bringing me here.”

“Of course. Would you like to sit?” He pulled out her chair for her and Delaney sat, then turned to Logan.

“I didn’t know that you could speak Italian.”

“I only know a few basic phrases, but it’s enough to get around. Sometimes.” He took a sip of water.

“You’re full of surprises.” Delaney reached for her own glass. “Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

“Let’s see. As a child, I was an avid collector of interestingly shaped leaves.”

Delaney giggled. “Really?”

“Really. I would press them in books to dry them, then put them in a special scrapbook.”

“Okay, I love that. Tell me something else.”

“I think it’s your turn.” Logan raised his eyebrows. “You tell me something.”

“All right.” Delaney looked out the window at the Colosseum, considering what she could tell him. “When I was a child, I won my county’s spelling bee.”

“Impressive, but hardly surprising.”

“ I was surprised when it happened, because I didn’t consider myself a great speller, but all right.”

They smiled at each other.

“So.” Delaney looked around the table. “Should we ask for a menu?”

“There isn’t one. Everyone has the chef’s choice of food, which is different every day. I hope that’s all right.”

“Of course. I just hope we get some good pasta.”

As if on cue, a waiter arrived with a starter of watermelon and mozzarella. Delaney was skeptical about the pairing but fell in love with the unique combination after the first bite.

“It’s your turn to tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Okay. No one knows this about me, or not many people, at least, but I didn’t grow up with money. At all. My family actually struggled a lot to put food on the table and keep the lights on.”

“Really?” Delaney leaned forward. “I had no idea.”

“Like I said, I don’t exactly publicize it, but that’s why it’s so important to me that I fit in with these wealthy types. I want to prove that, even though I didn’t inherit my money, I deserve it as much as they do.”

“And let me guess — that’s also why you’re chasing the first billion.”

“Right in one.” Logan took a bite of watermelon.

“You know, I didn’t grow up with money, either. My parents worked hard to feed us kids and make sure we always had enough, but they weren’t always successful. We all relied on free school lunches and donated clothes. It wasn’t easy, but it taught me something about working hard.”

“Me too. I think some of these rich people don’t understand what it means to really earn something. That’s part of what makes it so hard to be around them.”

“For me too. And they’re rarely grateful. Sometimes I want to just shout at my clients that they need to appreciate everything they have.”

Logan nodded. “I’ve felt the same way. How did you manage to go from free school lunches to art consultant to New York’s wealthiest?”

Delaney shrugged. “I got a scholarship for college, which helped a lot. I still worked all the way through, but at least some expenses were covered. I imagine you did the same?”

“No, actually.” Logan chuckled, though it was a bitter sound. “I began investing as a teenager, with money I had earned doing side jobs before and after school. But it still wasn’t nearly enough to pay for college and, even though I applied for scholarships, my writing skills weren’t what they needed to be. So, I didn’t go to college. Instead, I read every book I could get my hands on about investing and growing wealth, and I focused on that.”

“Wow.” Delaney shook her head. “I had no idea.”

“No one does.” Logan smiled at her. “Early in my career, when people asked why I was nineteen or twenty and not in college, I told them the truth. They could never take me seriously after they found out that I don’t have a college education, though, so I stopped telling people.”

“Have you thought about going to college now?” Delaney asked. “Surely, you could pay for it if you wanted to.”

“I could. But I’ve spent so much time learning by myself, through books and videos and conversation, that I don’t think I need college now. Although I suppose an art history degree might do me good for trips like this.”

“Right. Then you wouldn’t need to hire someone like me.” Delaney nodded, but her stomach twisted. Was this trip so terrible for Logan that he wanted that?

“No, but then we’d have more to talk about.”

“We have plenty to talk about. Anyway, you know more about art than you thought. Don’t you remember?”

“I do. What you told me the night we met changed how I look at art. I still don’t know if it’s technically good or not, but at least I know how I feel about it.”

They smiled at each other.

“And Delaney — I wanted to apologize for calling you a hypocrite before. I understand now that we’re more similar than I thought. We’re both just trying to make our ways in a world that isn’t set up to help us.”

“True.” Delaney nodded. “Thank you.” She bit her lip. “I’m not going to apologize for what I said, though, about how you’ll never be happy if you’re always chasing the next billion. I stand by that. I understand why money is important to you, and I respect that, but I still think that always looking to the next goal blinds you to a lot of life.”

“You’re guilty of that sometimes, too,” Logan said. “After all, you agreed to go on this trip with me, even though you despised me. That must have been because you cared about a goal over momentary happiness.” He raised his eyebrows in a challenge, and Delaney nodded.

“True. But I’m enjoying this trip as best I can, despite being here with someone who I wasn’t happy to spend a few days with. It turns out that I was wrong, though. This has been nicer than I expected.”

“To a trip that’s nicer than expected.” Logan raised his glass, and Delaney did the same. They smiled at each other across the table.

“And to a possible Botticelli tomorrow,” Delaney added.

“I suppose that’s another point of contention between us, isn’t it?” Logan rested his glass on the table.

“Are you still planning to lock the painting away where only you and your rich friends can see it?” Delaney raised her eyebrows. “Because if so, yes. That is a point of contention.”

“I have to ask, though. When my family didn’t have a lot of money, we rarely visited museums. I remember going a few times on free days, and my parents had some prints in our house, but it wasn’t like we saw a lot of art. Even if the Botticelli was in a museum, not many people would see it. It isn’t so different for me to have it at home, if you think about it like that.”

“That’s why I want to start a gallery.” Delaney leaned forward, excited, but Logan held up a hand.

“Wait. You want to start a gallery? That’s the dream that you’ve been saving for?”

“Yes.” Delaney nodded. “I know it might not sound as exciting as some multinational investment firm?—”

Logan cut her off. “No, it’s amazing. You should absolutely open a gallery. You’d be great at it. You made me actually feel excited about art, and if you can do that for me , you can do that for anyone.”

“Really?” Delaney bit her lip. “Sometimes it feels like such a silly dream, when all my siblings are off in such solid jobs.”

“Don’t feel that way. Do you think anyone was supportive of me when I decided to skip college and turn down a job at my uncle’s auto-repair shop so that I could become an investor?” Logan shook his head. “They weren’t. But I knew what I wanted to do, and I made it happen. Which is clearly exactly what you’re doing, too.”

“Thanks.” Delaney tilted her head. “I… Thanks.” Logan’s words meant a lot to her, more than she was willing to let on. She believed in herself, and she believed in her dream, but there had been many times she’d felt so far from ever owning a gallery that she’d almost wanted to give up. And there had been many other times when she’d wondered if she was even the kind of person who could open a gallery — after all, most gallery owners she knew came from a very different background. The fact that Logan believed in her without a flicker of hesitation meant something. For all that they might have very different perspectives on life, Logan was very successful, and if he believed in her, that made Delaney believe in herself more, too.

“So, tell me, what kind of gallery do you want to open?”

“I think you can guess. I’ll sell paintings, of course, including to wealthy investors such as yourself. But what I really want to do is create a space where people can learn to tell their own stories about art — and not just the kind of people who’d usually go to a gallery. I want schoolchildren and low-income families and all kinds of people to feel welcome. I want people to learn that they have something to say about art. I want people to experience a story as they walk through my gallery, and I want them to leave with a new perspective.”

“Such a low bar,” Logan joked, his eyes dancing. “But truly, Delaney, I’ll come to your gallery in a heartbeat. If there’s anyone who can make all those things happen, it’s you.”

“It’s not just a dream, either. I have plans — how to advertise to people who usually wouldn’t come to an art gallery, how to set things up nicely, things like that. I have a list of artists I’ve worked with before who’ve agreed to work with me. I even have a few spaces lined up — although I can’t quite afford any of them yet.”

“Will you be able to now, after you get your payment for evaluating The Cherished Infant ?”

“Yes.” Delaney bit her lip again. “I will.”

“Good.” Logan sat back, a light smile on his lips. “I’m glad. I can’t wait to see your gallery.”

“It’ll take a while to get it up and running, but I promise you’ll get an invitation to the opening. Assuming you leave your phone at home.”

“Scout’s honor.” Logan held up three fingers. “No phones.”

“Good. And how about you? What are you planning once we get back to New York?”

“My plans are a little different.” Logan grinned. “I’m going to hold an event for potential investors. Ideally, I’ll show The Cherished Infant, but even if that’s a bust, I have a few other nice pieces lined up. The event should have the feel of a private and exclusive evening, but, of course, it’s a lot of work to set up.”

“How fun.”

“Not really. As you know, events like that aren’t my cup of tea…”

“But you need to fit in so that people will trust you with their money,” Delaney finished.

“Exactly.” Logan pointed at her. “Hey, you should come.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d fit in with that crowd.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll have a few nice pieces, and it could be a good way for you to look for investors for your gallery.”

“I don’t need investors right now. I’ll already have the money I need to get started.”

“You always need investors.” Logan took a sip of wine. “You don’t have to come, but promise you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The waiter arrived with the next course, a plate of spaghetti with fresh seafood, and took away their plates of watermelon salad. Delaney and Logan thanked him in Italian, Logan speaking confidently and Delaney blushing her way through.

The rest of dinner passed easily in a blur of delicious food and good conversation. Delaney was reminded of the first night they met, when everything had felt so easy, before so many things got between them.

After a delicious dessert of pastries so delicate they looked more like art than food, Logan insisted on paying the bill and they left the restaurant.

“Shall we walk a little, or do you want to get back?” Logan asked.

“Let’s walk.” The air was cool but fresh, and it was a welcome change after the warm restaurant. Plus, Delaney wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end.

They strolled along the sidewalk, admiring historic buildings and discussing the trip.

“It feels a little strange that we’ll be going back home tomorrow,” Delaney mused. “It’s been so nice seeing some of Rome.”

“It has. Hey, we should celebrate after the authentication tomorrow.” Logan nudged her with his shoulder, just as he’d done that first night.

“What if the painting isn’t authentic?”

“Well, whether it’s a Botticelli or not, we can celebrate a nice trip together and being on good terms again.” Logan glanced down at Delaney, who was very aware of how closely together they were walking. “Even though a relationship isn’t on the cards for us, I would very much like us to be friends.”

Friends. Delaney wasn’t sure she could be friends with a man who both annoyed her and made her smile, who thought about things in such a unique way and who believed in her, but who also thought art should be used as a stepping stone on the path to wealth and success. A man who made her heart race and her knees weak. A man whose kiss was burned into her memory indelibly.

“I’d like that,” she said.

“Good. So, how should we celebrate?”

“More pizza,” Delaney suggested. “I think we need to take advantage of all the pizza we can eat here.”

“What, you don’t like New York pizza?” Logan winked and Delaney laughed.

“Of course, New York pizza is amazing, but it’s nothing like the pizza here. It’s like comparing… I don’t know, homemade cookies with store-bought ones.”

Logan chuckled now. “I don’t think I want to know how New York pizza fares in that comparison.”

“As a New Yorker, you probably already know.” Delaney nudged him playfully with her shoulder.

“I do. I remember when I first came to New York. I was staying in a little room in a boarding house, and the very first thing I saw when I arrived was a rat running by on the street outside. And not a little rat. This must have been the size of a small dog.”

“Oh, I know the rats well. There used to be one that lived near my first place, which was a room in a shared apartment in Brooklyn. I saw it so often that I named it George the Rat.”

“How did you know it was the same one?”

“It had a tear in its ear and huge red eyes.”

“That describes literally every rat I’ve ever seen in New York.” Logan raised his eyebrows at Delaney, and she laughed again.

“Okay, okay, it may not have been the same rat. But it was nicer to imagine that George and I were friends than that New York was just infested with rodents.”

“That makes sense.” Logan paused in front of a bakery, which displayed a row of miniature cakes. “I love New York, though. No matter where else I travel, I’m always happy to go home. There’s just something special about the city.”

“I feel the same way. Sometimes, when you find the place where you’re meant to live, you just know.”

“You just know.”

They walked more, wandering down narrow alleys or along the sidewalks of busy thoroughfares, just talking. After the discovery of their shared upbringings, it seemed that they couldn’t stop finding things in common, from a mutual love of chocolate gelato to both having had rescue dogs as children.

Eventually, they meandered back to their hotel. Logan and Delaney both paused outside as if by unspoken agreement, even though they’d be going up to the same floor together.

“I’m sorry for thinking you were just a rich jerk.” Delaney bit her lip. “I may have been a little harsh on you at times.”

“I deserved it. I can be a rich jerk at times — but I’m trying to be more.”

“You are more.”

They were standing in a pool of golden light under a streetlight high above. It felt like they were the only two people in the world — the streets of Rome were quiet at this time of night and only a few cars still passed. Delaney’s chest hurt. She wanted to tell Logan that she’d had a nice time on the trip. She wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t take the Botticelli home and hide it in a dusty closet somewhere — did he even know how to store paintings? She wanted to kiss him.

“Delaney.” Logan was very close to her. There was the smell of his aftershave that Delaney remembered so well from their night together. There were those gray eyes that always seemed to see right into her. There was the ripple of muscles under his perfectly tailored button-down.

“Yes?” Delaney’s answer came out higher-pitched than she’d intended.

“We should go inside. We have an early morning tomorrow.”

“Yes, we do, and yes, we should.”

But neither of them moved. They stayed rooted to the spot, just looking at each other in the warm glow of the streetlight. When they went inside, the night would end, and they’d go back to being just colleagues on a rather strange business trip.

“I think?—”

And then they weren’t standing there anymore. In one quick movement, Logan closed the gap between them, threaded a hand around Delaney’s waist and slid another into her hair, then brought his lips down on hers in a tender yet deep and insistent kiss.