He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought, and her eyes traveled over him. His broad shoulders and strong biceps were easily visible, outlined against his snug, pale blue Henley. The jeans he wore weren’t ripped or dirty, but well broken in. Brown hiking boots were obviously his idea of casual footwear. Such simple tastes in how he dressed . . . the plain clothes belied the complicated man. There was so much going on behind his eyes. She could almost feel the gears working in his mind as he gazed at her.
She opened her mouth to speak, but he said, “Look, yeah, I know about your family. I told you, I looked you guys up when you became my clients. I do that for all my clients. So I know how mind-bendingly rich and connected the Harrisons are. But give me enough credit to be able to separate that lifestyle from who you are.” His large shoulders lifted in a lazy roll, but his gaze didn’t waver. “I know you run a big company in Manhattan. That you work, you make your own way. You’re not like one of those . . . what I mean is . . .” He sighed, rubbing at his beard the way he did when he was trying to figure out what to say. She’d seen that gesture more over the past few days than ever before.
“I know enough to know that while you, of course, are an individual, your world is nothing like mine,” Logan said. “I’ve known enough people like you who come to Aspen—and worked in their homes—to know that firsthand. So yeah, you want to talk about how we grew up? Okay. But no, I can’t really relate. I’m trying. I’m sorry if that came across as being judgmental, yet again. Wasn’t my intention.” He huffed out a breath and his pale green eyes flashed with something like remorse. “I’m not great with communication. Typical guy, I guess. I say the wrong things. I’m either too blunt, or not enough. I’m much better with actions than words.”
Now she was the one who paused to formulate a proper response. His had been earnest, and illuminating. He made good points. They were from different worlds. Aspen was a playground for the rich and famous, and he worked for them. Of course he had a very different view of her social circles. That made sense. And as for him admitting he wasn’t a great communicator, well, that alone made him a more decent one than he realized.
She decided to change tactics. “I appreciate your candor. It’s refreshing, actually. Thank you for that.” She smiled. “So. How about taking an action and getting me a hot chocolate?”
He blinked, then laughed. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Her smile widened. “I get the feeling you are too, Mr. Carter.”
His heavy brows lifted as he chuckled wryly. “I don’t know about that. My life is pretty tame, and these days, so am I.” He rose to his feet. “You want whipped cream on that hot chocolate, Miss Harrison?”
“Oh, always.”
* * *
An hour later, Logan leaned back against the soft cushions as Tess told him more about her career. He’d asked her about it, truly interested to hear about it from her instead of just reading about her online. She’d gone to NYU and majored in art history because she loved it, but minored in business administration so she’d be able to contribute somehow to her family’s company, as she knew she was expected to do. For a few years, she painted and traveled and worked at Harrison Enterprises under her father’s watchful eye. But when her great aunt had decided she didn’t want to run the Harrison Foundation anymore, it was the perfect opening for Tess. She’d taken the reins at the company at only twenty-eight, and had improved its standing tenfold. She was proud of what she’d accomplished and didn’t plan to let up anytime soon.
Logan admired that she wasn’t bragging about her success—and he knew she was more than entitled to if she wanted. Because he’d read more about her online just last night. When he got home after work, he’d done a little digging, hoping to learn more about this woman who fascinated him. This time, it was all about wanting to know more about her.
The Harrison family was a big deal in those circles, and Tess Harrison was kind of a social darling. No one had a bad word to say about her. Every piece on her was more flattering than the one before.