Her stomach growled, ruining the moment.
Logan chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Why don’t you jump in the shower, and I’ll order the food?”
“You know how to sweet-talk a girl.”
They stayed in the rest of the evening. Brontë borrowed one of Logan’s T-shirts to wear. The Chinese food was excellent, and they ended up watching a movie in the media room with their takeout. She wanted to cuddle next to him on the couch, but the media room had only big, overstuffed recliners, so she was thwarted. He promised to put a couch in for her, though, and she simply rolled her eyes.
After dinner, they made love again, and she curled into his arms to sleep. All in all, not a bad day. When she was in Logan’s arms, she forgot about everything else.
***
The next morning, she woke up to see Logan off for the day. He kissed her at the door for several minutes, then sighed. “I have meetings all day, but I’ll be back in time to pick you up tonight.”
“Gotcha. Is there a bookstore nearby I can hit up once I find some pants?”
Logan chuckled. “You have all of New York at your disposal, and you want a bookstore?”
“Pretty much.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. “But it comes second to pants.”
He leaned in and kissed her again. “Tell you what. I’ll send my assistant over in about an hour with some clothes for you. She can escort you around town.”
She wasn’t sure that she needed a chaperone, but it might be wise until she got her feet under her. “All right.” She wrapped her leg around his and clung to him in a way that left nothing to the imagination. “You’re going to think about me today, right?”
Logan groaned, his hands moving to cup her naked ass under his shirt. “I couldn’t stop if I tried.”
“A wise man once said, ‘We strive after the forbidden.’”
“More Plato?”
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone’s Plato to you. That was Ovid.”
“If you find a bookstore, buy me some Plato. I hear he’s interesting.” Logan leaned in and kissed her one more time, then reluctantly pulled away. “I’ll call when I’m on my way home.”
That felt . . . domestic. But she nodded, a hint of a smile on her face as she closed the door behind him. They were clicking so well it was almost scary. Scary, but enjoyable. Was it too good to be true? She supposed she’d see when she met his friends.
Just the thought of it made her stomach knot up. She was a waitress. He was a billionaire. They were going to think she was after his money, when the truth was his money just made her downright uncomfortable. Money was nice, but it wasn’t the reason to have a relationship.
Of course, she doubted anyone would believe her if she said that.
Brontë took a quick shower and had just combed her hair into a damp ponytail when the doorbell rang. She bounded to the door, pulling on her dirty jeans. “Coming.”
When she opened the door, a woman about her age stood on the other side holding a Saks Fifth Avenue bag. She was about the same height as Brontë, but her figure was radically different. Where Brontë was lean everywhere except her behind, the woman in the doorway seemed to be all softness and curves bundled up into a stuffy brown suit and tight bun. Her makeup was minimal, her skin pale, and she wore a pair of oversized sunglasses that she removed as Brontë opened the door.
She gave Brontë a friendly, efficient smile and stepped inside. “You must be Brontë Dawson.” She held out her hand. “My name is Audrey Petty, and I’m Logan’s assistant. He asked me to come by and see if I could help out today.”
Brontë shook her hand enthusiastically. “Hi there. Yes. I’m Logan’s girlfriend.”
The look on Audrey’s face remained professional. Her smile could have been painted on. “Well, Logan told me to come by with some clothes so you could go shopping today. It seems he didn’t give you time to pack?”
“That’s right.” Brontë crossed her arms over her chest, feeling a little awkward. “Sorry to be such trouble.”
She gave Brontë an odd look. “Trouble? Logan once asked me to drive to Pennsylvania to pick up floor plans because he didn’t like the way they looked faxed. Taking someone shopping? That is not trouble in the slightest.”
Brontë relaxed a little at that, even as Audrey moved past her and began to unpack the contents of the bag she’d brought. “Does Logan often make you run strange errands?”
“I don’t know if they’re strange,” Audrey said. “But he does sometimes ask me to run favors for him. It’s my job as his assistant, of course. He has a secretary for other business needs.”
Brontë stared. “So wait. He has an assistant and a secretary?”
Audrey turned and gave her a puzzled look. “Of course. Now, Logan told me that he had no idea what your size was, so I bought a sweater and some pants in every size. We can just return the ones that don’t fit. I also brought some panties and bras in some common sizes. If you don’t have shoes, I can go back out and get some.”
“This is fine,” Brontë said, reaching out to touch one of the sweaters. It was plain black, cashmere, and extremely soft. “This is nicer than what I normally wear, actually. You could have brought me a T-shirt and jeans.”
“Not if I wanted to keep my job,” Audrey said cheerfully. “I know Logan, and if he thought I was cheaping out on you, he’d have my head.”
He’d never seemed to mind what Brontë had worn before, though. She picked up the sweater in the right size and grabbed the closest slacks and panties. “These’ll work.”
“Super. You go change and I’ll pack everything else up, and then we can get started. We’ve got a lot of shopping ahead of us.”
She gave Audrey a dismayed look. “We do?”
“Logan’s instructions are, and I quote,” she said, pulling out her BlackBerry and reading from the screen, “‘Make sure that she gets a few weeks’ worth of clothing, along with some evening wear. You know my events calendar.’” She looked up from the screen. “I do, and it’s a doozy.” She looked back down again and continued to read. “‘Also, take her to the best bookstore in Manhattan. My library needs restocking.’” She looked up at Brontë in surprise. “He has a library?”