An Heir For Her Enemy (Bossy Bachelors #3)

15. Logan

CHAPTER 15

LOGAN

T o say that Logan was speechless would have been a drastic understatement. He barely even understood his own thoughts. He just stared at the pregnancy test on the counter, then at Delaney, then back at the test. It had a plus sign on it. That had to mean that it was positive. Didn’t it?

Maybe the test wasn’t positive. Maybe it wasn’t Delaney’s. Maybe this was all some elaborate practical joke — though Delaney didn’t seem like quite the type to play inappropriate practical jokes on the morning of an important work event. There was also the fact that she hadn’t come to breakfast and that she looked pale and worried. No, this was definitely her pregnancy test.

“Logan—”

Logan held up a hand to cut her off. He simply couldn’t deal with this, not right now. Preferably not ever. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, so how could he say the right thing to Delaney?

“We need to go.”

“Oh.” Her blue eyes widened. “Right! Um, I’ll just get dressed.”

“I’ll wait outside.” Logan brushed past her into the bedroom, then into the hallway. He leaned against the wall, thoughts swirling through his mind. It didn’t seem possible that Delaney was pregnant, but the proof had been on the counter, as clear as day. They’d used protection during the night they’d spent together, but maybe something had gone wrong.

If the baby was even his.

No, Logan knew that it was. He and Delaney hadn’t been in a relationship, but he was sure she hadn’t been seeing anyone else in the last few weeks.

A few minutes later, Delaney emerged from her room. Her outfit looked professional and she had arranged her hair, but her face was still pale. As soon as she came out, Logan started down the hallway, and Delaney hurried to catch up with him.

“Logan, can we please talk?” She was breathless and Logan slowed his pace. They were running late, but Marco Vassallo would certainly understand. He’d rescheduled the appointment once before, after all.

Anyway, the painting was the least of Logan’s worries now.

“I think it would be better to stay focused on the task at hand,” Logan said. He knew that his tone was brisk and that his words were unkind, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. If Delaney was pregnant and the baby was his, he was going to be a father.

Just last night, he’d reminded himself that he didn’t have enough time to be a good boyfriend. He had even less time to be a good father — and even less interest. Logan hadn’t spent much time around babies, but he knew that they were far harder to understand than the numbers and analyses he worked with on a day-to-day basis. He’d spent years building an empire and was closer to his financial goals than ever. A baby would put an end to all of that.

“Okay.” Delaney looked hurt, but Logan couldn’t reassure her. They rode the elevator to the ground floor in silence and hurried out to the car. Out of habit, Logan opened Delaney’s door for her before circling to his own side.

“We’re running a little behind,” Logan told the driver. “I’ll sort out an extra tip if you can get us there as quickly and as safely as possible.”

“Yes, sir.” The driver steered onto the main road and punched the gas. Logan turned away from Delaney and looked out the window. A young couple were walking by on the sidewalk, the man pushing a stroller, and Logan held back a shudder. Babies were cute, but Logan had never wanted one.

He glanced at Delaney, who was staring down at her clasped hands. Her face was closed. She seemed just as worried and confused as Logan himself was, and part of him wanted to reach out and take her hand. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay and that they would sort this out, together.

But Logan knew that would be nothing more than empty words. He didn’t know if things would be okay. He wasn’t able to sort things out together, not when his highest priority was, and always would be, his company.

So, he stayed quiet. It was better not to say anything than to give her false promises. When he was young, his parents had always promised him the world, but they’d never been able to follow through. It hadn’t been their fault. Every penny either of his parents earned went to food and housing, not to the remote-controlled airplane that Logan had wanted for Christmas or the textbook he’d needed for high school statistics. Logan didn’t blame his parents, but living with them had shown him that promises didn’t mean anything.

The drive to Marco’s house seemed to take hours, although it must have been much less, since the driver managed to get them there almost on time. Logan handed him a generous tip and got out of the car. Just as before, he looked up at the mansion where Marco lived and the rolling grounds, but Delaney was looking down still.

“When we get in there?—”

“I can be professional.” Delaney gave him a hard look. “Can you?”

“Let’s go.” They climbed the small flight of stairs to the door and rang the bell. This time, though, a gentleman in a pressed uniform opened the door and greeted them with a pleasant smile. “Mr. Banks, Ms. Cohen. Welcome. Mr. Vassallo is expecting you.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.”

The man led them through an entryway with twin staircases, gleaming marble floors, and shining golden furniture. Logan had a comfortable, sophisticated penthouse in New York City, but this place made his home look like a cramped one-bedroom. Even Delaney looked impressed, despite her disinterest in the scenery this morning.

They passed through a large doorway into a cavernous hall. It looked just like an art museum. A few low, backless benches were the only items of furniture in the room. The walls were lined with art, none of which Logan recognized, though that was hardly surprising.

“Welcome!” A handsome man with dark hair and olive skin strode across the room towards them. He was dressed in a suit, just as Logan was, but he looked somehow more casual and at ease. He spoke with just a hint of an Italian accent. “I’m Marco Vassallo. It’s lovely to meet you.”

He held out his hand and Logan shook it. “Logan Banks. The pleasure is mine.”

“Marco Vassallo.” Marco held out his hand to Delaney next. She shook it, a pleasant smile having now replaced the worry on her face.

“Delaney Cohen. It’s quite a collection you have here!”

“Thank you.” Marco glanced around the room. “I inherited this house, and all the art, from my grandfather, who inherited it from his father. None of us know much about art, but when I became the man of the house, I decided it was time to learn something.”

“Very wise.” Delaney smiled.

“You’re an art consultant, yes?” Marco asked.

“I am.”

“I’d be interested to hear your thoughts on my other pieces. I know you’re here for one job only, though. Shall we look at The Cherished Infant ?”

“Please, lead the way,” Logan said. They walked down the length of the room. Delaney stopped to admire a few pieces, but Logan was focused on nothing but seeing this painting, making sure it was authentic, and getting out of here. He needed time to think.

Marco came to a halt in front of a large painting in a gold frame. Logan had to stifle a gasp at the sight of it. He should have known what the painting depicted, yet somehow, it still came as a surprise to see a golden-haired woman cradling a baby in her arms on the canvas. She wore a white dress, as did the baby, and sat in a field of green grass under a wide blue sky. Yet the woman in the painting had no eyes for the natural beauty around her. She was completely transfixed by the tiny child in her arms, who looked up at her with an expression of wonder.

Logan glanced at Delaney and saw that she was staring at the painting, too. Her eyes were wide and one of her hands was resting on her lower stomach. Did she see what Logan saw in the painting — a woman who looked just like her, with a child who could have been theirs?

“Here it is,” Marco said. “ The Cherished Infant. We do not have much in the way of provenance documentation, but I’ve left what we do have on this table here. Let me know if you need any assistance.”

“I will. The painting is gorgeous.” Delaney glanced at Logan, then returned to the artwork. “I’ll need about an hour to evaluate the painting and the documentation, possibly a little more.”

“I have a little work to do,” Logan said. It was always true that he had work to do, but this particular work wasn’t very urgent. He just didn’t want to stand next to Delaney, looking at a picture of a mother and baby, any longer than he needed to.

“Of course,” Marco said. “Would you like me to set you up in the study?”

“If you don’t mind. Delaney, are you all right here?”

“Uh-huh.” Delaney was already unpacking a small bag of supplies, her attention completely focused on the painting. Logan might as well have been a stranger for all the attention she paid him.

“Okay. Come get me if you need anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

Marco led Logan to a nearby room with an ornate wooden desk.

“Do you need anything?” he asked.

“No, thank you. This is very generous.”

“It is not a problem. To be honest, this house sometimes feels too big and empty without my grandfather.” Marco looked around the room. “Family is the most important thing. I miss him.”

Logan nodded at Marco and gave a pleasant smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. It felt like the universe was hitting him over the head with a single message: that he should be happy about Delaney’s pregnancy. It just wasn’t possible, though. Even if Logan had wanted to be a father, the timing was terrible. He simply couldn’t allow his work to slip by the wayside because of a child.

“I will leave you to it.” Marco ducked out, and Logan got his laptop out of his briefcase and opened his email. He read a few messages about potential investment opportunities and some emails about the event he was planning to hold for investors. It was hard to focus, though. His thoughts kept drifting back to Delaney. What was she thinking right now? Was she anywhere near as overwhelmed as he was?

She shouldn’t be. Delaney would be a wonderful mother; Logan was sure of that. She was thoughtful and patient and funny and caring. Any child would be lucky to have her — even if she had to raise that child alone.

Logan opened another email and tried to read it, but it took several minutes for him to realize that it was an advertisement about a new TV show and not anything he needed to understand for work. This was hopeless. He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair. His thoughts were still whirling.

He was still sitting there, staring up at the ceiling and trying to figure out what he was going to say to Delaney, when Marco appeared at the doorway.

“Your consultant is finished,” he said.

“Oh, thank you.” Logan grabbed his briefcase and followed Marco out of the room.

“Speaking of which, is she looking for more work? I am in need of a good art consultant to help me sort out the rest of the paintings I inherited.”

Logan’s heart skipped a beat. The thought of Delaney working for Marco, in Rome, was very unpleasant. Yet he knew that he didn’t have any claim on her. She could do whatever she wanted — and she did love Rome.

“I’m not sure. You’d have to ask her.”

“Thank you.” Marco opened the doors to the gallery room. “Please, take some time to discuss the painting. I will be here.”

“I appreciate that.” Logan nodded his thanks, then turned to Delaney as Marco closed the door behind him. Delaney was packing up her tools, her back to him. Logan gathered his nerves.

“Delaney—”

“It’s a good painting,” Delaney said. Her voice was neutral and professional. “You should buy it. Marco is asking a lot for it, but it’ll pay off. It’s a beautiful piece with a very rich history — and it does align with Botticelli’s work, so although it’s impossible to give a one hundred percent guarantee, it’s very likely that he did paint it.”

“You’re sure?” Logan came to stand beside her, and they both looked at the painting.

“I’m sure about the authenticity. But you have to be sure, too. It’s an expensive painting, so buying it isn’t a decision to make lightly — even though it is real.”

“It’s just what my collection needs. I’ll buy it.”

“Okay, then. I’ll let you and Marco sort out the details.” She turned to go, then stopped and looked up at Logan. Her blue eyes were wide. She didn’t say anything, just looked at him for several moments. Logan looked back down at her. His heart began to ache. He wanted to reach for her, but he didn’t. Then Delaney turned and left, her footsteps loud against the marble floor.

Logan spent another hour with Marco and his lawyer, hammering out the details of the painting’s delivery and looking over the purchase contract. Logan sent a copy to his own lawyer, who reviewed it quickly and gave it his okay. When Logan left the mansion, he was the proud owner of a historic painting with more significance than he would ever fully grasp as someone who didn’t know much about art.

Delaney was waiting outside on a wooden bench, her back to him. Her long hair was loose around her shoulders now, the clip that had held it up in her hand, and her head was tilted back. She wore the cream-colored sweater and slacks she’d had on the first day. It was cool outside, but not cold, and she looked peaceful, somehow. Logan didn’t want to disturb the moment, but it was time to leave.

“Are you ready to go?”

She stood and turned to him. Her expression was neutral again. “Yes.”

“I know we were planning a celebratory meal, but it might be best to head straight to the airport.” Logan’s heart twisted as he said the words. This was it for the two of them. “I have some urgent business in New York.”

“So do I.” Delaney stood and brushed down her slacks. “Let’s go.”

They got back in the car and Logan instructed the driver to take them to the hotel. The car rolled out, down the lane from Marco’s newly inherited estate and onto the highway. At the hotel, they picked up their bags and checked out, and it wasn’t long before they were back on the road on the way to the airport.

Logan looked out the window as they went. He wasn’t usually a nostalgic person, but the memories of the time he’d spent in Rome with Delaney flooded him as they drove. He wanted one more day with her, without the specter of pregnancy hanging over their heads. He wanted one more meal, one more hour — he’d take anything he could get. He just wanted a little more time with her before all this was over.

They arrived at the airport a few hours earlier than originally planned and the pilot asked them to wait in the airport’s small building while he prepared the plane. Delaney sat in an armchair, her legs crossed and her e-reader open. Logan sat across from her, answering emails. There were several other people in the lounge, so they couldn’t have talked — even if Logan had known what he wanted to say. Which he still didn’t.

Finally, the plane was ready. They got settled and soon were barreling down the runway towards lift-off. Rome, and the time they’d shared there, shrank below them into a tiny toy town, then disappeared. When they broke the cloud cover, Delaney turned away from the window and fixed Logan with those blue eyes.

“It’s time to talk.” Her tone left no room for argument.