"Will there be no problem with reservations this late?" She asked.
"There'd better not be," John Logan snapped. " o own that chain of Mexican restaurants. Get hold of Pedro, the manager; he'll handle it."
" Yes, sir." Quickly, she ran to grab the Rolodex off her desk. Pedro at El sombrero offered to close the whole restaurant for Logan's quests, if needed. " No, I don't think that will be necessary," Angie assured him. " Mr. Logan just wants the private dinning room, and he said something about tamales ."
The man at the end laughed. "Si. Tell Johnny there's plenty of tamales. And we just refilled the sugar bowls for his coffee."
This underlying's informal attitude toward the menacing Bussines exec startled her. John Logan must have another side
Angie and Bussines International Monthly didn't know.
She hung up and flipped through the Rolodex. Logan , inc., Aircraft. Of course the outlaw owns his own flying service.
J. R. Ewing of Dallas, you've been outclassed by this Oklahoma rogue. Is there anything Logan doesn't own or can't buy,? She dialed the number and in minutes, a fancy blue helicopter with big J.L. Initials in the side flew past her window to the helipad.
Angie ate her lunch at her desk and tried to compensate by picturing herself thin and pretty. Just like her sister had been. But then, Barbara had been a cheerleader, too. Slender, popular and vivacious, that had been Barbara, with a terrific life before her. Why had God taken away her mother while sparing the plain, plump sister? She'd heard people whispering that at the funerals. Angie had asked herself that a thousand times. There didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to it, even though her long- dead Grandmother said God didn't leave anything to chance; there had to be a plan in it.
Angie brushed her thoughts aside and began typing a list of charities that were on the Logan Enterprise contributions list. When she saw how many of them there were,she felt a little differently about John Logan . Maybe his cold, callous demeanor was front to protect himself from all the evil or greedy people who tried to take advantage of him. Funny, for a man who had all the money and power in the world, he didn't seem very happy.
Late in the afternoon,she heard the chopper returning , but he didn't buzz her office and she had too much work piled up on her desk to even look up. She finished sorting his mail finally, taking past quitting time to do so. It wasn't as if she had any reason to rush out of here to the dull little rented room on the south side. The weather was extremely hot for early September and the little window air conditioner hardly worked at all.
The sun was low on the horizon when she finished sorting, the faxes and reached for her purse. There probably were few people left in the building by now; she'd stayed later than she'd meant to. Perhaps she'd better check with Logan and see if he had any instructions for tomorrow. Angie on his office door. " Mr Logan?"
No answer.
" Mr Logan?" She opened the door slowly and stepped inside . There wasn't anyone there. The fading twilight distorted shadows across the rich Western painting and Navaho rugs. From somewhere came faint sound of music.
She remembered that the helipad attached to a veranda and a penthouse. Angie crossed the gleaming wood floor towards the other doors. "Mr Logan?"
The door to his penthouse was slightly ajar . Maybe she should just leave him a note. For all she knew, the rich bachelor might be entertaining a lady in his private quarters. " Mr. Logan?"
No answer . From somewhere inside ,faint , thready music drifted on the still air "… after the ball is over, after the break of morn, after the dancers leaving , after the stars are fine…"
Angie took a tentative step inside. She looked around and took a deep breath . The room was the most beautiful place Angie had ever seen , but with a definite man's touch. Talk ceiling, rich wood paneling , the finest of western paintings and sculpture, chair covered in spotted steer hide, a big fireplace in the corner . On the table, an antique phonograph with a shiny metal horn played away on an ancient wax cylinder :"… many a heat is aching, if you could read them all ; many the hopes that have varnished after the ball. …"
" Mr Logan?"
"Out here. Damn it, what do you want? "
His disposition certainly hadn't improved any.Angie followed the sound of his voice out the open veranda. There were potted trees and a breathtaking view of the skyline and the coming sunset. A warm Oklahoma breeze blew the scent of wheat fields and prairie.
John Logan stood by the railing, a drink in his hand , silhouetted against the setting sun. Looking down at the traffic far below, he seemed to have forgotten she was there. Angie paused uncertainly in the doorway and watched him, the way he was looking down. There was a misery and a lonesomeness in his rugged profile that pulled at her heart. She had a sudden feeling he was contemplating jumping. " Mr. Logan, are you alright ?"
His head jerked around sharply. Of course I am," he snapped. Why are you still here? It's past office hours."
"I'm sorry," Angie stammered , " but for a moment there, I was afraid—"
"Afraid what?"
" Nothing." Was she complete idiot? He was one of the richest men in the world ; he had everything his heart could desire— money, luxury,adventure, probably the most beautiful of movie stars and society women awaited his calls with eagerness. How presumptuous of her to even think he might be considering…
He laughed and sauntered toward her, weaving slightly.
" you think I might fall and you'd lose your good job? Don't worry,Mrs. Newland. I'm the luckiest man in the world ; if I fell, I probably wouldn't even break a leg."
" From the sixty- sixth floor?" She could smell whiskey on him, along with the scent of expensive cologne, leather and fine tobacco as he sauntered past her into the living area of the penthouse.
" would you like a drink?" He lured himself a tall one, his face shadowed and weary in the growing dusk, as if he had the weight of the world on his wide shoulders.