She gave Brontë an assessing up-and-down glance. “I was wondering if I’d get a chance to talk to you. They’re keeping you well guarded, aren’t they?”
Brontë smiled politely. “What do you mean, well guarded?”
The woman waved a hand. “His little friends. The band of billionaires or whatever they call themselves. Logan wants to make sure that you avoid people like me at this party, so he’s assigned his buddies to shadow you.”
Realization hit. Brontë kept the smile on her face with effort. “You must be Danica. I was told you’d be here.”
The woman looked impressed for a moment. “Not told by Logan, I imagine.” Her gaze dropped to Brontë’s diamond-encrusted throat. “Nice necklace. Present?”
Brontë said nothing.
Danica cocked her head. “Did he tell you that we were engaged? My guess is no. He’s very closed off emotionally. I suppose you can blame his father for that. The elder Mr. Hawkings was a real ass**le, but at some point, Logan has to take responsibility for himself. Not everything in life is a business transaction. Of course, Logan hasn’t learned that lesson yet. He thinks everything has a price. The old man taught him that.”
That sounded uncomfortably close to Brontë’s experiences with Logan. Hadn’t he bought the diner just so she’d have to talk to him? He used his money like it was power, and by using it, he got what he wanted. She studied Danica for a long moment, not responding. The woman was gorgeous, elegant, everything that Brontë was not. “I take it that you and Logan are not on friendly terms?”
Danica looked sad. “I wanted to be on friendly terms. Our breaking up was not my choice, you know. He dumped me.”
“Why?” As soon as the word escaped her lips, she wanted to bite it back, but the damage was done.
Danica’s beautiful smile turned hard. “Logan likes for everyone to stay in the neat little box he’s created for them. If you try to escape the box, he’ll try to push you back into it. And if that doesn’t work, he’s done with you. He’s ruthless.” She stared out into the night sky, then glanced over at Brontë again. “He wanted me to be the perfect little stay-at-home wifey. My schedule didn’t matter as long as I was available for him. And when I tried to have a life outside of him, or to assert my freedom, he cut me off at the knees.” She shrugged. “The next thing I knew, I was being removed from the apartment we shared and all of my belongings were put into storage. He didn’t even give me a warning before tossing me into the trash.”
Brontë’s stomach clenched painfully. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Logan wasn’t like that. Danica was just trying to crawl under her skin. “Why are you telling me this?”
Danica touched her arm, a pitying look on her face. “Because you look like a nice girl. And you’re out of your depth with Logan. You’re just his type.”
“I am?”
“Of course. You look soft and just a little bit shy. Intimidated. That’s the kind Logan likes, you know. He plucks a girl out of nowhere and molds her into the woman he wants at his side. If you don’t have a life, that makes it perfect for him, because he needs you available at his beck and call. He’s a great guy . . . for a time. He’ll make you the happiest woman on earth until you cross him. And if you try to be independent, be ready for him to send you packing. I don’t want you to be caught off guard like I was. I thought I loved him and he loved me. It turns out that he doesn’t know how to love. He just knows how to succeed at business.”
Brontë stared at the other woman, saying nothing. What could she say? Could this possibly be true? It didn’t sound like Logan—cold, emotionless. And yet . . .
He was ruthless.
Not everything in life is a business transaction. Of course, Logan hasn’t learned that lesson yet.
“Logan’s not like that,” Brontë protested.
“Isn’t he? Have you told him you love him?”
Brontë said nothing.
“Try it. See how he responds. That’ll tell you everything you need to know.” She nodded as if agreeing with her own words. “I did, and he totally ignored me. Logan doesn’t know how to love. All he knows is how to make money.”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said softly.
“I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad news. But it’s best if you’re prepared for the eventual heartbreak.” Danica glanced at the door of the balcony. “And if anyone asks, we didn’t have this conversation, understand?” She gave Brontë’s hand a little pat and returned to the party.
Her head swimming with Danica’s bitter words, Brontë turned back stared at the skyline before her. Millions of lights dotted the nearby buildings and crawled through the streets below. Yet it was surprisingly quiet out here compared to the party inside, and she found it peaceful.
Perfect for gathering her thoughts.
Danica had to be lying. She’d been so incredibly vague about why she and Logan had broken up that her word couldn’t be trusted. And yet some of what she’d said had a ring of truth to it. When Brontë’d left Logan, he’d followed her and taken ownership of the diner simply because he’d wanted to talk to her. That wasn’t a man who was used to being told no.
And yet . . . Brontë liked him. She tried to picture him as the brutal tyrant that Danica had painted, as a man determined to push her into a box and mold her into what he wanted. Instead, all she could think about was Logan bringing her flowers when he’d come home late. Logan curled up against her, spooning in bed. Logan naked on the beach with her.
She didn’t want to believe it. She was already in love with the man, and she didn’t want to think that he wasn’t who she’d made him out him to be. Sick at the thought, Brontë clung to the railing and stared up at the black sky overhead.
That’s the kind Logan likes, you know. He plucks a girl out of nowhere and molds her into the woman he wants at his side.
Is that what he was doing with her? Had he done the same with Danica? Made her into the woman he wanted, and when Danica had tired of being his plaything, he’d gotten rid of her?
Logan doesn’t know how to love.
If that was the case, Brontë had fallen in love with the wrong man.
Big, warm hands cupped her shoulders, and she smelled Logan’s aftershave a moment before he pressed against her back. “It’s cold out here.”