Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(8)

There were men walking in and out of it, carrying old, damaged furniture out and bringing in new furniture that looked similar to it. I noticed them removing a large canvas art print that I used to love, one I stared at when I visited Grandpa. It was of a young girl in a bright yellow dress dancing on the beach, her dress mid-twirl, golden hair spinning around her.

It was burnt, and the only reason I could even tell it was that painting was from a bright splash of yellow in the middle that had escaped charring.

“What are they doing?” I asked.

Logan’s face was long and pale as we watched the workers. “I guess they’re finally cleaning it out…”

“They’re moving stuff in, too. I wonder if they’re going to build it how it used to be, make it part of the tour?”

Logan stiffened at that, and he didn’t respond to my question before he continued walking down the hall toward his office.

My throat tightened as I realized what that would mean for him, if what I suspected were true. That was the office where his father perished. It had to be hard enough to be in the same building with it, let alone walk a group of tourists into it every day and tell them about the man who used to work there… without mentioning the man who died there, too.

I caught up to him, unzipping my jacket and slinging it over my arm. “I really do like your bookcase,” I said, trying to lighten the subject.

Logan raised a brow, eyeing me from his peripheral. “You like to read?”

He didn’t ask in a sarcastic way, more in a way that he doubted I actually liked his bookcase and was instead wondering if I was making fun of him.

“Not particularly,” I admitted. “But, I love anything that brightens up a room. And in your office, that bookcase is about as bright as it gets.”

Logan actually smirked at that, and I noted the dimple on his cheek before it disappeared again. “Ah, right. As an artist, I’m sure my office is too bland for your taste.”

I wrinkled my nose. “You have no idea. You need to hit up a craft market in Nashville or something, get something other than cream paint on those walls.”

“I thought about it,” he said, which surprised me. “But, I’m kind of banking on a promotion soon, so I was going to wait until I got into the new office.”

He swallowed once those words were between us, glancing at me with a touch of discomfort before he opened the door that led to the tour guide quarters for me.

The promotion he was referring to was one he obviously knew I wasn’t oblivious to. My Uncle Mac was his manager, and had been very vocal that he planned to retire within the next year. Logan being the Lead Tour Guide now, it made sense that he assumed the position would be his.

And now that he’d said it out loud, I wondered if there was more to my father’s deal than dear ol’ Dad had let on. Was it a coincidence that he wanted me here, in this department, right when a Scooter was about to retire and a Becker was possibly to be promoted?

“Well, I think I’ve submitted you to enough torture for one day,” Logan said as we passed through the tour guide lobby.

It was a small area, with two large tables where Logan told me earlier that they ate lunch and had team meetings. It was also a bland room, and he and my uncle were the only ones who had offices to themselves. Everyone else had a locker and a small area to place their belongings — which made sense, since they were all out giving tours each day and didn’t need an office to do the planning and behind-the-scenes work like Logan and my uncle did.

“You’ll have the standard orientation for the next two days, so I won’t see you much. You’ll be watching a lot of videos and doing the mound of paperwork Scooter likes to dish out to new employees,” he said as we walked back into his office. “But, on Thursday, we’ll reconvene and pick up with your training plan.”

I nodded. “Sounds thrilling.”

Logan chuckled, but the small smile fell as he looked me over. It was like he’d been trying to avoid actually looking at me all day, but in that moment, he watched me like he didn’t give a damn if it made me uncomfortable.

And it didn’t.

I liked the way his pupils dilated the longer he looked at me, and the way his breathing shallowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t look at me like I was a pain in his ass then — more like I was a temptation he didn’t want to fight against any longer.

I smirked when his eyes flicked to my lips — lips I’d painted a dusty rose with my favorite tube of lipstick that morning — but he pulled his gaze away quickly, filtering through some papers on his desk as he cleared his throat.

“You’ll get your uniform tomorrow, too — which I’m sure you’ll be equally as thrilled about. Other than that and the orientation, I don’t think there’s anything else to go over before we meet again on Thursday.” He tucked the papers inside the folder with my name on it, but still didn’t look up at me. “Do you have any questions for me before you go?”

For as much as I didn’t want to be there earlier, for some reason, I now found I didn’t want to leave.

I walked to the bookcase behind him, and he avoided looking at me again until my shoulder brushed his as I past him. “Which one should I read?”

I glanced at the wall of color before looking back at him, and he looked more confused than I’d seen him all day.