My Boss My Secret Husband (Hazel and Logan)

Chapter 0005

Ethan continued his pitch - my pitch, actually - but I couldn’t bear to listen to any more of it. I forced myself to tune him out so I could try and come up with something else before my turn.

I cast a curious eye over at Logan. He had raised an eyebrow and seemed pretty interested in the date Ethan was pitching. I furrowed my brows and crossed my arms. I knew I had stumbled onto a good date idea. I couldn’t believe the nerve of Ethan, stealing my idea when I was trying to help him.

Gary stood next to give his date idea proposal. He had everything one needed for the perfect pitch: slideshow, one of those fancy pointer sticks, trifold display board with photographs, he even dropped rose petals on the ground in front of him and turned on some soft romantic music to set the mood. Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Damn it, Gary was good. I felt like I should excuse myself from the running as Logan’s assistant right then and there. These pitches were so over the top and I had absolutely nothing.

Gary started his slideshow. “Picture it: you, your wife, and your private jet.” He clicked to the next slide. “You take her for a romantic flight, and at the end you can both watch a drone show from the comfort of your jet.” The slideshow ended with a demonstration of what the drone show would look like.

Logan didn’t say a word. He looked at Joan.

“Oh, but I’m not done…” Gary started.

Logan just raised a brow at him and pointed to Gary’s empty seat. He hung his head and began packing up his display.

Man Logan was just as cold as his demeanor indicated. If he didn’t even like that well-planned pitch, I didn’t stand a chance.

Joan took Gary’s place at the front of the room. She set up her display board on the stand and set up props around it: a jar of sand, seashells, candles. “What is more romantic than an evening at the beach?” She pointed to a photo of the beach on her board. “My idea is for you to rent out the entire nearby Lake Kent beachfront. You throw your wife a lavish party to celebrate your first official date, then you whisk her away to another part of the beach, where the two of you enjoy a nice, candlelit dinner.”

Logan’s brows furrowed at that suggestion. He discreetly glanced at his watch. He was hard to read, with his permanent cold demeanor, but I got the feeling he was not too interested in either of those ideas.

Joan smiled at Logan at the end of her pitch. He ignored her.

“Ethan,” he said, turning to him. “Your art museum idea. Is there anything else it entails?”

Joan’s shoulders slumped forward, disappointed that she didn’t get any sort of reaction from Logan.

“Oh! Uh…” Ethan looked at me, but I shot him a “don’t even” glare and shook my head. His face turned beet red, and he floundered and stammered for a moment. “Perhaps also the museum director could give you a personal tour?”

Logan’s face fell at that suggestion. It was clear that he was not into any of the extravagant, over- the-top date ideas my colleagues had presented.

“Hazel?” Logan turned to me.

My heart pounded in my chest. I slowly moved to stand in front of the room. Joan was still in the process of removing her props and board. “You’ll have to forgive me sir, I did not prepare a formal

pitch like everyone else. But I do have some ideas.”

“The floor is yours,” Logan said.

“Well sir, I did quite a bit of research on you last night,” I was stalling, hoping that my rambling would help me come up with an amazing date idea. “What I read lead me to believe that you would prefer a more private, cozy date setting.”

He gave a small nod, and that was all the encouragement I needed to ramble on.

“I also read that you love to listen to and play ‘The Streets of Dublin,’ a song that is often played in small taverns, and that you draw strength from the melody of this song.”

A lightbulb finally turned on in my brain. “I believe the perfect first date with your wife would be to take her to your favorite local tavern, Flannigan’s. Since you frequent it, according to the article I read in The Business of Business magazine, the bartender already knows you and exactly what you like.

Logan’s face began to soften, giving me the courage to go on. “You wouldn’t even have to exchange a word. He would bring you and your lovely wife drinks and you would feel like you had the whole place to yourselves.”

As I described the date, I found myself imagining that I was the woman in the scenario. Was I describing his perfect date or mine?

I continued, suddenly remembering another pastime he said he loved but rarely got to do: play piano for others while they dance and sing. “Then, after a few drinks, you could get on the piano and play that song you love, to introduce your wife to it. Perhaps she could even dance along while you play.”

I paused, searching for the perfect words to sum up who I imagined Logan might be underneath that cold, playboy exterior. “Because, sir, the most important thing about the first date isn’t the formality, it’s the ‘heart’ of it.”

Everyone in the room became so silent and still, you could hear a pin drop. All eyes were frozen on me.

Logan’s cold expression disappeared, and in its place was one that was teasing and flirty. My heart leapt and my cheeks flushed - a reaction that completely took me by surprise.

But before he could respond to my pitch, Logan’s cell phone rang.

“Jeffrey, hi,” he answered. Then he lowered his voice to a whisper as he crossed to a corner of the room. I strained to eavesdrop, as I’m sure everyone in the room was doing. “Do you have a lead on Vegas?” Logan asked. My heart skipped a beat at the word Vegas.

“Yes, we found the ring,” the voice was faint, but I could still make out what was being said on the other end of the phone call from where I stood. “It’s exactly the same. Looks like we found her.”

Found her? Who was “her?” Everything I learned about Logan was a really strange mystery to me.

“Great work,” Logan said. “I’ll come confirm it with you in a moment.” He smiled and hung up the phone. An actual smile. I wished he hadn’t, it made him a million times more attractive.

He walked over and stood close to me, staring hard into my eyes. He clutched my shoulders with his hands and gave me that smiley, flirty look again. My heart began to beat fast and hard and my palms began to sweat.

Why did I suddenly feel like a shy, nerdy high schooler who was being hit on by the out-of-my- league prom king?