“Aha,” he said, with an answering smile.
“Okay, fine,” she said. “It’s on Seventy-Third between Broadway and West End, and it’s just . . . perfect.”
“Upper West Side,” he said in surprise.
“Yes. It feels right for the Belles. Classic but up-and-coming, upscale but not stuffy, expensive but not too expensive . . .”
“You really have thought it all out.” Logan was studying her.
“Since I was, like, twelve,” she admitted.
“Never wavered?”
Alexis shook her head. “Nope. The vision became more precise over time, not less.”
He turned away, watching his beer glass as he spun it idly on the bar top. “I had a great aunt. Margaret. Great old lady, great sense of humor. She passed away a few months back.”
“Oh,” Alexis said, a little confused by the change of subject but sympathetic all the same. She touched his arm consolingly. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Although she was ninety-two and passed in her sleep. Definitely the way to go, don’t you think?”
“Can’t say I’ve put too much thought into dying. Quite the opposite, actually.”
“Yes, I can see that about you, Alexis,” he said thoughtfully.
She liked the way he said her name, embracing all the syllables. Uh-lex-iss.
“Aunt Margaret left me some money. Quite a lot of it, actually,” Logan said, still not looking at her.
“Um, congratulations?”
Logan’s shoulders didn’t move, but he turned his head, resting his chin on his shoulder as he pinned her with an intense gaze. “I’d like to make you an offer, Alexis Morgan.”
She stilled. “What kind of offer?”
He used his elbow to indicate her proposal. “I’d like to fund the Wedding Belles.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “Why would you do that?”
Instead of answering, he turned to face her more fully, and all traces of the casual postgrad vanished, and she realized she was seeing the accountant version of Logan Harris—the shrewd businessman.
“There’s a catch.”
She tried not to let her deflation become visible. Of course there was a catch. There always was.
“I don’t want to just offer you a loan. I want to be part owner. Fifty percent.”
She was already shaking her head. “That’s not in the plan. It’s my business.”
He smiled. “That won’t change. I won’t tell you how to run it. You’ll do things your way. But this business plan is legit, and I want to be a part of it.”
“I’d pay you back every penny with interest,” she said. “I expect I can be profitable in two years, I already have a handful of socialite connections, all engaged or almost engaged, and—”
“No deal,” he said. “I own fifty percent or I’m not involved at all.”
Fifty percent.
This complete stranger wanted to own fifty percent of her business. Fifty percent of her dream.
She shook her head. “I can’t. Thank you, but no.”
His gaze shuttered just for a moment before his smile returned, just slightly more restrained than before. “Fair enough.”
Logan shifted his weight, and she felt a little bite of disappointment when he pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He was leaving.
The urge to tell him to stay was strong, and for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out if it was for personal or professional reasons. She didn’t know what she wanted from Logan Harris, but she wanted something.
The thought scared her, and was exactly what had her biting her tongue.
She watched as he put several bills on the counter, saw immediately that it was more than enough to cover all of the food, plus her drinks and a hefty tip.
“No, Logan, please.” She reached forward to pick up some of the bills and return them to him, but he caught her hand.
Alexis gasped at the contact. His thumb found the center of her palm, his long, strong fingers closing around the back of her hand.
“Let me, Alexis.” It was a command.
Her first instinct was to scratch back at his high-handedness, but she couldn’t seem to think when he was touching her, didn’t want to do anything other than what he wanted her to do.