your traditional concert hall," Logan said, placing his hand under her elbow to guide her into the plaza through the well-dressed crowd.
"It's beautiful."
"And very popular."
An usher led them to their seats, down front and center in the orchestra. Amanda hated to be so shallow, but it was nice to have the kind of money that was able to obtain such excellent seats in this gorgeous hall.
She sat down and Logan squeezed into his spot, his long legs wedged against the chair back in front of him. But he didn't sprawl into her space and she was grateful for that.
"Do you enjoy the symphony?" he asked.
"We never had money for this type of outing," she said. "Sometimes the school would sponsor a small series and my mother would splurge."
"Where did you grow up?"
"Connecticut. In a quiet town."
"Just you, your sister, and your mom?"
She knew what he was asking. It was always hard to say. She wet her lips, fascinated to see Logan's eyes follow the movement. "My dad died when I was ten. A car accident."
Logan reached for her hand. "I'm sorry," he said simply.
His strong fingers wrapped securely around hers, warm, a little rough. She couldn't force herself to pull away.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the orchestra tune up. Logan didn't rush into speech and slowly, minute by minute, Amanda felt herself relax. She'd said the awful words about her father. She wouldn't have to say them again, at least not to Logan.
The strength in his hand seemed to travel up her arm, warming her, providing a comfort she'd rarely been offered. Or—a surprising insight blinded her. She never talked about her father. Maybe she didn't get empathy for her loss because she didn't give people the opportunity to offer it. So why had she told Logan?
His willingness to sit quietly soothed her somehow. He didn't offer platitudes or change the subject.
She'd experienced a terrible loss and his silent comfort acknowledged the pain, and the fact that nothing could be done about it. It was simply something that had to be borne. Had she sensed that he would know how to react calmly, soothing her by his mere presence?
She suddenly wondered about his family. He'd never mentioned anyone, but of course she'd hardly known him more than a couple of days. He must have someone. Everyone did.
Now was not the time to ask. She didn't want to destroy the odd peace of this moment.
The conductor strode onto the stage, acknowledged the applause, and Amanda allowed herself to be swept into the music.
The concert was beautiful, and Amanda felt grateful to Logan for providing the treat. He was a wonderful escort, knowledgeable about the music, solicitous of her comfort. When they returned to the hotel, he dominated the entire lobby with his broad-shouldered presence. Amanda saw other women eyeing him and she was ashamed to feel a spurt of pride to be walking beside him. He wasn't hers, and there was no point in pretending even for one second that he might ever be hers.
He touched her arm to halt her just before they reached the elevators.
"I'm meeting someone in the bar," he said calmly. "So I'll say goodnight here. I've scheduled the jet for 9 a.m."
Amanda's jaw dropped. He was leaving her? An unpleasant emotion flared within her, but she couldn't take the time to analyze it. She had to respond.
"Okay. I'll be ready at 8." She couldn't meet his gaze. She was afraid of what he might see there.
"Excellent." Was his voice a little too hearty?
She fled for the elevators, finally recognizing the nameless emotion.
Jealousy.
Oh, she was in trouble already.
Chapter 9
Amanda arrived at work early on Tuesday morning so she could grab a cup of coffee and a bagel from the company cafeteria. She spotted Rosie waving from a far corner and walked over with her tray.
Rosie snorted as Amanda approached. "Now we know why you've been christened 'Hump a Frump'."
The tray clattered as Amanda almost dropped it on the table. "Hu—" She couldn't repeat the words. "That's awful! Who said that?"
Rosie shrugged. "Thought you should know. You want to be careful."
"Help!" Amanda plopped down into one of the hard plastic chairs. "Who said that to you? Is it all over the company?"
"If it's not now, it will be soon." Rosie's face softened in pity. "I'm sure it came from Phoebe Cattus. That woman has a vicious tongue. Add some jealousy to the mix, and it gets ugly."
"Jealousy? She has nothing to be jealous