Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I wish you would take this seriously, Logan. You can’t keep giving them the slip.” Lynn Echolls rubs her temple for the umpteenth time.

Her son looks skyward. “Just because I don’t want two men standing outside my penthouse or following me into the John, doesn’t mean I’m not taking this seriously.”

Lynn gives an exasperated sigh and purses her lips together, leaning forward on the stuffy designer couch in her sitting room. “Cliff says these guys are good. I understand it’s inconvenient, hunny, but—”

“Inconvenient, mom?” Logan throws up his arms, rolling his eyes. How does she not get it? “They’re smothering. It's embarrassing. I get so many questions and looks. I’m thirty-one fucking years old, I can handle myself.”

“Not against Aaron, you can’t.” Lynn places a hand on Logan’s knee. “He somehow swindled his way out on bail—despite the high bond price—because of his connections. He won’t be getting to trial for months. He’s even more dangerous now than he was when you were at home, because he’s doing it from a distance, keeping his hands clean.”

“We don’t even know if those were his people,” Logan repeats yet again.

“Logan.” Lynn shakes her head, like she does whenever he brings this up. “Who else would it be? The timing is too suspect to be coincidence. He’s not happy about what you said. You need to drop it, and let the bodyguards do their job.”

“When does it end? You don’t think he can still get to us from behind bars?” Logan sits up, seizing the opportunity. “Don’t you think people deserve to know who he is? If I release the statement and testify, he would finally—”

“I said”—her whispered voice wobbles—”drop it, please.”

Logan rubs the back of his neck, counting down the minutes until he can go to Dick’s and turn to his friend Jack for a little help. Using alcohol to numb shit is a better trait than being a perverted murderer, which are genes he seems to have narrowly avoided. 

“Listen, mom. I love you, and I don’t want you to worry, which is why I relented. But I only agreed to this if they didn’t get in my way, so this really isn’t working for me…”

Logan makes to leave, but his mom grabs his arm to keep him at the couch. “The biggest issue is that you feel they are too conspicuous, right?”

“If you mean Dumb and Dumber stick out like a sore thumb? Yes.”

Lynn rolls her shoulders back, raising her chin. “Then sayonara to them. I have a better idea.”

Disbelieving, Logan raises his brows. “And what, pray tell, is this ‘better idea?’”

“A woman,” Lynn shares, glint in her eye. “In regular clothes. She’ll blend in, but you’ll still be protected.”

“Not sure switching from big, burly men to a big, burly woman is going to change much,” Logan says, curious as to his mother’s plans.

“Trust me.” Lynn smiles, relieved, and… Logan hasn’t seen her smile in a long time. “There was one woman I met when I went to see Cliff. Very capable, very impressive. I think you’d like her.”

The tone of his mom’s voice puts Logan on edge. “Why do I feel like I just got roped into one of your schemes?” 

“Well, the paps and everyone who sees you together won’t suspect a thing…” Lynn eyes him, grinning. “They’ll assume she’s your girlfriend!”

“What?”

“It’s perfect! You’ll still be safe, but to an outsider—Logan Echolls has a new girlfriend? No news there!”

Ouch. “Gee, thanks mom. But why would anyone believe—”

“Trust me, honey. I’ve got it covered.” Lynn sits back, signaling the end of the conversation.

Happy to have his mom off his back, even if there was no way this plan would work, he quickly agrees. “Whatever. Tell Cliff to send her to the condo tomorrow. I’m going to Dick’s.”

Before she can ask him not to give the slip to Thing 1 and Thing 2 tonight, he bolts out of his mother’s mansion, saluting her own bodyguards at the front. 

Logan stumbles into his ensuite bathroom the next morning, bleary eyed, head pounding. Jack wasn’t very good to him last night. He pops open the lid of the Tylenol bottle and rockets two extra strength tablets to the back of his mouth, swallowing dry. He’s picked up a few hangover talents over the years.

His penthouse’s doorbell rings, sending a stabbing sensation through his brain. The shrill sound continues, as he cradles his head in his hands. 

“I’m coming!” he shouts, weakly, even though they most likely can’t hear him. 

Smoothing strands of hair that stick up at all angles, he grabs the shirt he wore last night off the floor beside his bed and sniffs it. Ugh. It’ll have to do.

Staggering down the stairs to the main area while doing up the buttons, he is blinded by the light streaking through. God damn floor to ceiling windows. 

When the chime sounds again, he groans. The only person who would dare to ring the doorbell this early would be the new bodyguard who doesn’t know better. He turns off the alarm system, opening all the locks on the door. What a dumb idea. Curse his need to humour his mother. Who the hell was going to buy Helga or Bertha as his girlfriend? Come on, he has a type, and—

It’s standing right in front of him in dark jeans and a blue blouse.

“You’re staring.”

Logan blinks a few times, closing the jaw that dropped reflexively. “Sorry, you’re just... not what I was expecting.”

“Funny,” she says, as though it’s anything but. “I hear that a lot.” 

She pushes her way through the threshold, and Logan stands there for a few moments, wondering if this is all some hangover-induced delusion.

“So, Logan Echolls? I’m Veronica Mars,” her matter-of-fact voice says from behind him. He closes the door, turning slowly to see her inspecting his condo. “Cliff filled me in on the situation.”

His brows furrow, as she checks inside the drawers of his sideboard. “I don’t understand. You’re my new bodyguard?”

Her head whips around to study him, blonde locks swinging. “What, you think because I’m a woman, I can’t protect you?” 

“Well, I—” 

“Size isn’t everything.”

He gives a low chuckle, reverting to ‘shameless flirt,’ his base setting. “I’ll have you know that—”

“Your buttons aren’t done up properly.” She walks away, not one bit affected by his charm.

He looks down to see his shirt lined up unevenly, and fumbles with them while she examines his bookshelf and closet. She considers a piece of artwork for a moment, before attempting to take it down off the wall. Logan automatically jumps forward to spot her, but she levels him with a glare and lowers the artwork to the ground, unveiling his safe.

“What the hell are you doing? How did you know my safe was here?” he asks, when she starts fiddling with the electronic pad.

“Well, it’s the third piece of artwork when you enter the room from the front door. So, the thinking is, if a burglar somehow got past me, they would try the first and second, figure it’s not on this floor, and head upstairs to your bedroom, at which point the other agents should be here.”

Who the fuck is this chick?

Sensing his confusion, she adds, “I’ve been doing this a while.” 

Tongue peeking out from her mouth, she concentrates on the combination she inputs, when—click.

“Your mother’s birthday?” She rolls her eyes. “Really, Logan?”

Okay, seriously—who the fuck is she? 

“How do you know my mother’s birthday?” Logan sputters.

She ignores his question. “Being your bodyguard means I have to make sure you’re protected from everything—any potential threat. Not only assault or harassment, but theft, too.”

As she works at resetting the code, Logan says the only thing that comes to his jumbled brain. “But… Richie and Huck didn’t care about this stuff.”

She scoffs. “Richie and Huck couldn’t find their own brains if you gave them a map. There’s a reason Cliff sends two of them, and one of me.”

The safe beeps, and she bends to pick up the artwork, fitting it back on the wall. “Grab me a piece of paper, I’ll write your new code for you. Memorize it, then destroy it.”

Logan shakes his head, trying to get a handle on this tornado of a woman. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on. I don’t know if you’ve been misinformed, but I don’t need anybody coming in here and telling me what to do. I just need a person to protect me from the ‘big bad wolf’ that is dear old Dad and make sure he doesn’t get to me. Haul harassers out of my way. Punch someone out so I don’t have to get blood under my nails. Take a bullet for me. The usual stuff.” 

She crosses her arms, steadying herself. “And you don’t think I’m capable?” she asks in a low voice.

A tingle runs down his spine, and—okay, she’s a bit scary. And damn him to fucking hell for how it turns him on a little. He’ll analyze that with his therapist later.

“Listen, you got the whole ‘could make a grown man cry’ thing going on. But, physically…” He rakes his eyes up and down her form. 

She clenches her jaw, and before he knows it, she’s rearing forward. Her leg snakes behind his, pinning his hip, and she grabs his chin and slams him to the ground. He lands flat on his back with an “Oof!” 

Groaning at his aching muscles, he opens his lids to see her on her knees leaning over him. “Looks can be deceiving.” Her blue eyes are bright, and her blonde hair falls in waves over her shoulder. Logan can’t believe such a gorgeous, tiny woman just kicked his ass.

She pats his cheek. “Come on, buddy. Up and at ‘em.”

She stands and helps him up, hauling him off the floor. Hands on her hips, she says: “Verdict?”

Unable to look away, he surveys her—all five feet of her. Torn between kicking her out of his place and proposing marriage, he steps forward and offers her a handshake. That was pretty impressive. “Veronica, is it?”

Logan leans back in his leather chair. Entwining his fingers, he arches his spine and pushes out a stretch. Rolling his neck, he swivels to look out of the windows in his office. Closing his eyes for a moment to revel in the warm afternoon sun, he smells the delicious aroma of fresh coffee. He finishes typing his paragraph and ambles down the hallway, toward the living area of his penthouse. 

Veronica sits cross legged at the glass table with a mug in her hand, engrossed in her laptop. Her blonde hair is in a loose ponytail, and... Logan is not sure why he noticed that. Her head whips up when she hears him get closer, and she takes a sip. “Brewed some fresh coffee if you want.”

Logan smirks. “Who’s enjoying the pretentious pour over coffee setup, now?” 

“Well.” Veronica purses her lips, trying not to smile. “I figured, might as well make use of it if its pompous owner already bought it.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

Grinning, Logan heads to the kitchen to get himself some java. He hasn’t left the house in the three days since Veronica showed up. Mostly because he hit a groove with his writing, but also because he has been trying to figure out how to play this. 

As he pointed out to his mom, he doesn’t think Aaron is actually a threat to him, nor does he need a babysitter... but if Lynn has a bodyguard for Logan on her payroll, she’ll feel better. Wanting to ease his mom’s stresses, but not wanting a smothering shadow all day long, he considers his options while swirling in his cream. 

They decided she should spend her days in the condo. The whole point of her taking the place of Richie and Huck is that she can blend in as his girlfriend if the tabloids or anyone else catches on. Anyone seeing her standing outside of his door would catch them in the lie. 

She’s obviously smarter than the other bozos, and won’t be given the slip as easily.  She comes early in the morning and leaves late at night—late enough where she’s sure he’s not going anywhere without her. Apparently, he’s not very trustworthy. 

Veronica raises her brows when he joins her at the table—he usually goes directly back to his office after his coffee breaks. She reaches her arms above her head in a stretch that makes her black tee tighten across her chest. Logan studiously keeps his eyes on her face. 

“I was going to come check on you.” Veronica leans back in her seat, mimicking typing. “Four hours straight… surprised your hands aren’t in the shape of a claw.”

“The things I do for my readers.”

She rolls her eyes and hunches forward, inspecting something on the screen. Curious, he jerks his head toward her computer and asks, “What have you been up to?”

“Tying up a few loose ends. Transitioning people to projects I was on previously, admin work for Cliff.” She shrugs. “Nothing too interesting.”

Maybe not to her, but it’s interesting to Logan. “How long have you been on Cliff’s payroll?”

“Two years,” she replies, sitting back again. “I was with the FBI before, but—”

Logan almost chokes on his drink. “What? The FBI?” It seems like every conversation with Veronica ends with him being even more fascinated with her.

But she doesn’t jump at the chance to brag. In fact, she withdraws, crossing her arms and eyeing the couch behind him. “Yeah, it was pretty cool at first but… I soon found out I didn’t fit the mold. It’s in my nature to question authority.”

Logan’s brows are still raised when she looks at him. “It’s really not a big deal,” she says, getting up to put her mug in the sink.

Logan thinks it’s a very big deal, but she wasn’t her usual snarky self when talking about it, so he doesn’t push. What the hell is she doing here, protecting a guy who doesn’t care to be protected, when she obviously takes her career very seriously?

He uses the opportunity of their separation to hop up the stairs to grab his keys and wallet. She’s too smart to be lied to, but maybe he can try a simpler tactic. When he comes back down to the main floor, Veronica is back to typing on her laptop. He puts away his own cup and returns to his office for a few moments… only to tiptoe toward the foyer and reach for the handle—

“Where do you think you’re sneaking off to?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, wrinkling his nose. Busted. He slowly turns to see Veronica’s hands on her hips.

“Oh, I was going to grab my dry cleaning from—”

She does her—patented, he’s come to learn—head tilt.

“It’s right across the street, and...”

She blinks a few times, waiting him out.

“And… I’ll wait for you to come with me.”

“You sure will!” She grabs her purse from the side table and zips up her leather boots. Opening the door, she pats his chest a few times, and says, “You’re stuck with me—get used to it.”

She saunters forward through the hallway in her tight black jeans, pushing the elevator button with flair. A better man would accept they’ve been beat by a smart, hot, ex-FBI agent. 

Logan is not a better man.

Challenge accepted.

Veronica places a box in the basket Logan is holding, and he does a double take.

“Animal crackers?” he asks. “Are you five?”

“They are literally the best snack—light, tasty, and the perfect mix of savoury and sweet.” She turns to face him, tilting her chin up. “Fight me on it.”

He throws his palms up in defeat. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re kinda scary, Mars?”

She smiles. “All the time! Thanks for the compliment.”

He rolls his eyes as they walk farther through the store.

“Hey, do you mind grabbing me the Diesel protein powder?” he asks her. “It’s by the health goods. I just need to figure out which cereal I prefer.”

Veronica raises her brows, and Logan crosses his fingers and puts them to his heart in promise. 

She walks away, and he picks up a box of Frosted Flakes, pretending to inspect it. He waits about twenty seconds, peeking around the aisle to make sure she isn’t anywhere near. This supermarket doesn’t sell the Diesel brand, and that should keep her busy for the next couple of minutes. 

Nonchalantly placing his basket down, he strolls toward the back. Looking both ways, he shuffles through the staff-only section to the side door he knows leads out to the alley.

As he pushes the handle and steps over the threshold, his grin slides off his face. He really thought he had her fooled, but Veronica stands before him, arms crossed, foot tapping on the pavement.

“Going somewhere?”

Her unamused expression is clear, even with her sunglasses and baseball cap. She’s not even smug about catching him. She’s... bored. She knew she would stop him.

Once again, Logan is grudgingly impressed. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum wouldn’t have known what hit them. He wonders once again why she sticks around to put up with his antics. Is his mom paying off her mortgage or something?

“Again? How did you know this time?” he asks her, as they backtrack into the store.

“I always know your movements.”

“Oh my god, did you bug me?” He pats down his body, feeling for a tracking device. He takes off his own hat and inspects the rim.

She leans closer and whispers, “I’ll never reveal my secrets.” Winking, she flounces away toward the cereal aisle like she’s sure he’s going to follow her.

And… he does.

Fuck, she’s good.

Replacing his cap on his head, he catches up to her as she grabs the basket he ditched, shoving it in his hands. She reaches for the Lucky Charms, and asks Logan, “Do you not care about your own safety?”

“What?”

“This little game you’re playing, trying to ditch me. Are you willing to risk your life for it?” 

“Well, it’s just too fun to resist.” He gives her his most charming smile, and she grimaces, turning away.

“So, you live around here?” he asks, since changing topics is his forte.

And, as usual, she gives him nothing. “That’s not pertinent information.”

“I’m just wondering if it’s a long drive—we should compensate you more if it’s a long ways away.”

She places the box in the black basket and says, “Nice try.”

He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in the v-neck of his shirt. “I’m only trying to get to know you better.”

She’s having none of it. “Nobody said we had to be friends.”

“You’re really missing out. I’ll have you know I’m a great friend.”

“Yeah, you seem like a real fun time.” She walks past him to the next aisle, perusing the canned items. 

He joins her. “It’s true. TMZ once called me the ‘Funnest son of a celebrity murderer.’ I had to beat out Justin Simpson for the title.”

Her lips curve upward. Trying to get her to crack is slowly becoming his new favourite game. He loves a good challenge, and it’s even more fun than seeing if he can shake her tail, which is getting old, quickly. 

“They must really like you. Be careful,” she warns, “or else TMZ might see you picking out your own cereal and actually think you’re”—she gasps—“ just like us!” 

“Wouldn’t that be a travesty?”

She leans against the metal bar of the shelf. “It would definitely put a mark on your house.”

“Yes, because that would taint the Echolls name.”

Their smiles grow, and they share a quick laugh before she shakes her head and moves on to the next aisle.

He stares at the spot she disappeared from for a few moments before trailing her. Maybe she’s not so bad. She’s funnier than she lets on. Gives as good as she gets—and it’s been a while since Logan’s had a verbal sparring partner who matched his wit. 

Intrigued, he follows her through the store, and doesn’t even think once (okay, twice) about escaping again.

Logan gives the cash to the driver and thanks him, following Veronica out of the car. Swinging the door closed, he surveys Dick’s beach house. The loud music blares from the inside, and drunken guests hobble around the property. Beside him, Veronica takes in their surroundings, cataloguing neighbouring houses, vehicles, people and… whatever the hell else she looks for. He asked a few days ago, but once the answer was more than three sentences, he tuned her out.

Logan holds out his hand to her, palm side up, and gives her a questioning glance. Gripping it firmly, she nods once, all business. Although they’ve gone out in public this past week and a half, they’ve never had to play up their ‘relationship’ before, and he’ll know a lot of people here.

They walk towards the house, stepping around an angry couple fighting (“I’m tired of you counting my drinks, Amy!”) and over the threshold. If the music was loud outside, it’s deafening now, the base thumping in Logan’s heart. Logan pulls Veronica—whose eyes are wide taking it all in—through to the main area of the house. 

People making out on the couch, beer pong competition in full swing, keg stands in the corner, lines of coke on the kitchen table… yes, this is a Casablancas Classic. Logan can always count on his best friend to make him feel like he never left college.

Speak of the devil. A burst of laughter escapes Logan at the sight of Dick in jean overalls and… nothing else, it seems. 

“Logan, my brother!” Dick bustles forward and throws his arms around Logan, who lets go of Veronica to clap his back. Dick pulls away, ruffling Logan’s hair. “Finally, man. You’ve been stuck in your office for, like, two weeks!”

“Remember, I actually like my job.” Logan reaches up, trying to restore the way it was styled before. Veronica clears her throat, and Logan turns back to Dick. “I want to introduce you to—”

“Where’s Starsky and Hutch? Did you ditch them already? Man, you’re a legend. You need to blow off some steam. Hey—Mandy!” Dick calls behind him to the brunette in a barely-there blue dress. “Grab Logan a cold one, will you?” 

“Dick,” Logan interrupts, putting his arm on Veronica’s back. “I want you to meet Veronica.”

Dick’s eyes bulge as he checks out Veronica, whistling. “You sure you wanna hang around this dude? The Dickmeister can show you a way better time.” He thrusts his hips forward to prove his point.

“That’s… not something you should lead with,” Veronica says with a wrinkled nose. 

“Actually...” Logan starts, sure to keep his voice low, beckoning Dick forward. He throws Veronica an apologetic look. She tried to convince him that nobody should know about their arrangement if he wanted to keep up the ruse, but Logan doesn’t keep any secrets from Dick. People will say what they want about him, but he’s loyal to the death. “Veronica is my new bodyguard.”

Dick rears back, roaring with laughter, patting Logan on the shoulder. It’s not until he takes in Logan’s serious expression—and Veronica’s thunderous one—that his grin wanes… and then grows again. “What the fuck? Dude, you can’t be serious.”

Veronica steps forward. “And why is that, Dick?”

Dick covers his new round of giggles with his hand, looking between them incredulously. “Is this for real?”

“I’m telling you, buddy. She’s good. She had me flat on my back in three seconds.”

Dick bobs his brows. “Yeah, well, I don’t doubt that, but—”

Veronica takes another step forward, but Logan moves in front of her, blocking her path. “Veronica’s work for me is on the down low, okay? If anyone asks, she’s my girlfriend.”

Dick shakes his head in disbelief, another chuckle playing on his lips. “It’s better this way. Don’t have to answer questions about how you need a chick to protect you.” He slaps Logan’s cheek in a playful manner and stumbles off to greet another guest.

Logan turns back to Veronica, arms crossed and unamused. “That is your best friend?”

Logan sighs heavily. “Dick really doesn’t give good first impressions.”

She gasps in mock shock. “No, you don’t say?”

Mandy arrives at that moment to give Logan the uncapped beer Dick ordered. “Really good to see you again, Logan,” she breathes, winking at him while running her fingers down his bicep, and saunters away, probably hoping he’d check out her backside. 

Veronica raises her brows. “Mandy?” 

“It doesn’t count if it only happens once, does it?”

She snorts. “You wish.”

He does.

Logan offers Veronica the ice cold beverage, but she shakes her head, gripping her purse. “I only take unopened drinks, but thank you.”

He furrows his brows, but doesn’t prod. Instead, he grabs her hand and pulls them into the kitchen, wading through all the junk in Dick’s fridge to find a new bottle for her. 

She smiles, shaking her head again. “I shouldn’t be drinking on the job, anyway.”

Pursing his lips, Logan closes the refrigerator door. Not needing to lower his voice, due to the sheer volume in the house, he asks, “Why, would one drink affect your reflexes?”

She snorts. “You think I’m a lightweight?”

“So then, you’re my employee, and I’m saying one drink is in the job description. It’s yours if you want it.” He lines it up so the cap is on the lip of the kitchen counter and shoves his palm down. He presents her the open bottle, chest puffed.

She tries—unsuccessfully—to hide a grin. “What, was that supposed to impress me, or something?”

“Sure it didn’t, Shania Twain.”

Rolling her eyes, she takes the beverage and nods slightly as a thanks. Suddenly, a boisterous crowd forms, cheering on two men who stand, pens in hand, about to shotgun beers. Logan leans down to speak in Veronica’s ear. “The back leads out to a private beach. Want to grab some air?”

At her assent, he leads her through the patio doors, past the various partygoers who had the same idea. When they get closer to the water, he plops down onto the sand, elbows resting on his bent knees. Veronica joins him, putting enough space between them that they won’t touch accidentally. Always professional, this one.

“So, riddle me this,” Veronica says, breaking the silence. “Charismatic son of famous Hollywood stars becomes a successful writer—of his own merit—yet still hangs out with idiots, who, if you cut open, are probably still seventeen inside. Why?”

Logan chuckles and takes a sip of his beer. “Not sure you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

He shrugs. “Nobody else gets it. Poor little rich boy, right? But Dick—he gets it. Fucked up family, no privacy, fake people all around us. We all have our ways of coping. Yeah, Dick’s strategy is consistently a little more juvenile than some others his age, but it works for him. He’s happy.”

She looks at him then, searching his face. He continues, “We look out for each other, otherwise nobody else will.”

“What about your mom?” Veronica asks, softly. 

“My mom’s a mess. She tries, but…” He shakes his head. “She’s spent her whole adult life so afraid of my father, she thinks he’s still obsessed with hurting us.”

“You don’t?”

“I think it’s possible, but… I spent most of my life being afraid of him, too.” He meets her stare, and takes a deep breath. “I refuse to do that anymore.”

She turns her head to survey the water, taking a large gulp of her beer. “So, I’m getting paid for you to humour your mom,” she says, not phrased as a question.

“You must have already made that conclusion, considering I’ve made it my personal mission to try and outsmart you.”

“How’s that going?”

“Not well,” he admits.

She smiles, and it softens her features. Logan decides he likes it when she does that. “Cliff has done a lot for me, and he asked me to do this as a favour,” she says. “I take my job seriously, so whatever shit you throw at me, just know you’ll get twice as much thrown back.”

Logan contemplates this, his fascination for her growing. They sit in silence for a few moments, drinking, until Veronica faces him again. “So, if you’re such good friends with Dick, and you seem to enjoy his coping mechanisms, why aren’t we in there… enjoying his coping mechanisms?”

Logan holds the neck of the bottle and swings it around. “Seemed like you were a little overwhelmed. Figured I’d be a good pretend-boyfriend and not make you suffer through more before you worked up to it.”

Veronica’s jaw drops the slightest bit before she regains composure. “Why did you think I was overwhelmed?”

“You head was whipping back and forth between the drugs and beer pong like you couldn’t—”

“I’m your bodyguard, it’s my job to check out—”

“Wide eyes, shallow breathing, shoulders hunched, clutching your purse like a lifeline.”

Veronica opens her mouth to protest, but the words die on her lips. The genuine smile from moments ago becomes sardonic. “You’re good.”

“When you’re surrounded by those aforementioned fake suck ups all the time, you have to become an expert at reading people.”

But he doesn’t push. Veronica isn’t the type to open up, he knows that. So, when she speaks a few moments later, he’s surprised.

“I had a pretty bad party experience in high school.” Her voice is more raw than usual—not quite vulnerable, but lacking the sharpness he has come to know well. She shifts in the sand, trying to get comfortable. “I’ve been to plenty of shindigs since then, obviously, but something about this one brought me back. The atmosphere. The people.”

Logan’s brows scrunch together. “We can go if you’re—”

“Do I look like someone who can’t handle it?” He can almost hear her armour clink back into place. “I’m fine.”

“Okay.” He tips his head back to chug his beer and almost misses her whispered, “Thanks.”

At that moment, a group of half-naked drunks fly past them, showering them with sand. Logan and Veronica jump up to try and shake off all the grains. 

“Assholes,” Veronica mutters, sending a dirty glare to the group, now stripping the rest of their clothes and skinny dipping in the water. “God, it went everywhere.”

“Here, let me.” Logan steps forward and gently brushes away the offending particles on her hair, as she pinches her blouse and shakes it back and forth, aerating it. 

“Thanks, I…” She lifts her head and trails off at their close proximity. Her blue eyes reflect the shining moonlight, and he’s never noticed how there’s a little yellow too, right around the pupil. She quickly backs away, running her hands through her locks to make sure he got everything. “Thanks,” she repeats.

“Fancy a walk?” Logan jerks his head behind him, indicating the long expanse of beach. “We can still postpone going back in, without having to get sprayed by drunken party goers in their birthday suits.”

A ghost of the smile he liked so much creeps onto her face, and she nods. Picking up her purse from the ground, she steps forward to start their trek. “It wasn’t even like those guys had anything that interesting to look at, anyways.”

She bites her tongue playfully, as Logan guffaws. “You looked? You’re supposed to be my fake girlfriend! How dare you!”

“It’s my job to surveille any and all potential threats. They could have been packing heat!”

“ Yeah right. Maybe a mini revolver.”

“Oh, is this a ‘my gun is bigger than their gun’ thing?”

“I don’t know, wanna find out?” He bobs his brows, and even in the dark he can still see a pink tinge bloom on her cheeks.

“Perv.”

“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

“Friendship? Hardly. Partnership, maybe . You have to do what I say in order to stay safe.”

“I’m pretty sure my family is paying you, ergo, I’m your boss. You have to do what I say.”

She moves in front of him, blocking his path, and puts her hands on her hips with a smirk. “Need a refresher on what happens when I’m told something I don’t like?”

Logan rubs his back in memory, wincing in an exaggerated fashion. “Nope. Consider my memory refreshed. At your service, ma’am.”

“Damn straight,” she says, bumping him with her elbow, now walking closer than before. 

The silence that ensues is comfortable. Friendly. She loosely holds her bottle by her thigh, the wind blowing her blonde, wavy hair over her shoulder. 

Veronica Mars is still a mystery, but her iron walls keep cracking, and he likes what he sees underneath. 

There aren’t a lot of people who Logan would choose to spend an evening with. There are even fewer with whom he would actually enjoy his night. He may not have chosen to spend his evening with Veronica, per se, but he’s surprised to realize he’s not actively hating the idea of her being around for a while. 

She stops to lean on him and uses his arm as leverage while she slips off her wedges. She toes the sand barefoot and lets out a content sigh. 

He can humour his mom and maybe even enjoy the company, too. It’s a win/win for everyone. 

Chapter Text

“Shall we?” Logan offers Veronica his elbow, careful to keep his eyes way, way above her neckline.

Veronica hooks her hand through his arm, tucking her clutch against her side. “Let’s do it.”

As they enter the large restaurant, the tinkling music from the violinist fills the air, while a handful of waiters present hors d'oeuvres to the well-dressed guests. A picture of the man of the hour and a cover of his book loom by the back wall. Logan promptly takes note of the bar, steering Veronica in that direction. 

“Why are we even here if you need alcohol to get through this, Echolls?”

“I tend to stick to myself in this industry,” Logan explains while flagging the bartender down. “But sometimes you need to be a team player. Publishing houses like it when you support your fellow authors.”

“So, you pimp yourself out as needed.”

“Now you’re getting it.” 

“Doesn’t hurt that we are attending the snootiest book launch party to ever exist,” she says with a scrunched nose as she cranes her head, taking it all in.

“Yeah, that’s Daniel Brown, for you.”

The bartender hands a woman her order and turns his attention toward them. Logan raps the counter with his knuckles. “Macallan. Neat. And she’ll have a glass of Veuve.”

He starts preparing their drinks, and Veronica lets out a disbelieving noise. “Wow.”

“I know I amaze you, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“I didn’t think you could go up any higher on the pretension scale.” 

“Scotch is pretentious now?”

“You ordered for me!” Her ocean eyes are aflame, and a thrill zips down Logan’s spine. He needs to figure out the reason why he looks so forward to their tête à têtes. 

He leans a hip against the bar, resting on his elbow. “It’s called chivalry, sugar.”

“It’s called presumptuous, honey bean.”

“What else would you have wanted? Veronica Mars is probably allergic to those frilly, chi-chi drinks.”

She puffs out her chest. “And why is that?” She lowers her voice. “Because of my job, it means I can’t be a girly girl?”

“Trust me, nobody is arguing your womanhood,” he says, with a pointed glance below her neck, and she clenches her jaw. “No, it’s because you’d be afraid of people not taking you seriously.”

Her eyes leave his for a moment, just long enough for him to know he hit the nail on the head. “Next time, let me make that decision.”

“You’re right.” Calling her on her bluff, he shouts to the barkeep, “Hey, buddy, the lady changed her—“

Veronica puts her hand over his mouth, but he mumbles through her fingers for a few more seconds. The bartender quirks a brow in their direction, and she shakes her head. “No, no! Sorry, ignore him.”

He returns to his task, and Veronica crosses her arms. Logan probably looks the picture of smug. “Oh, so, you did want champagne?”

She scoffs, as they are handed their drinks. “It was the principle.”

“Nope, you’re just pissed I got you pegged.”

“Oh, please, it was a lucky guess. What woman doesn’t like bubbly?”

Their back-and-forth has made Veronica look quite hot and bothered, for lack of a better term, and it’s all he can do to keep from staring. Her emerald green strapless dress hugging all her curves, her blonde hair up in a chignon with little wisps framing her face, her cheeks pink from their argument. His thought from when he first saw her strikes him again—she really is his type.

“A drink says a lot about a person.” He considers his deep, caramel-coloured alcohol before smelling it and exhaling.

She rests her arm on the countertop. “What does yours say about you, then?”

“What you see is what you get. I don’t fuck around.”

“That’s your interpretation of your drink. I think it’s douchey.”

Logan smirks. “And why is that?”

“You have to make sure everyone knows you want the good stuff. Heaven forbid the mighty Logan Echolls drink Johnnie Walker Red like everyone else.” She shrugs, as she takes a sip from her glass. “You say you don’t want the limelight, and yet you refuse to fade into the background.” 

“Wow, you’re totally on to me,” he says sarcastically, angling closer to her. “Tell me more.”

Not backing down, she raises her chin. “I think you’re scared of what would happen if you actually faded into the background. Who would still be there once all the glamour evaporated and all that’s left is just you.” She says the last bit very slowly, drawing it out, and he doesn’t give her the pleasure of swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“Intense party chat,” he quips. 

If he didn’t quip, he’d have to reflect on how cutting her stare could be, how piercing her words can feel. He’s only known her for a few weeks, and somehow she sees through him better than anyone else he knows. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t let anyone else close enough to try.

“I digress. But my statement still stands,” she says, and he raises his brow in question. She gestures to his glass. “Macallan, neat, equals douchey.”

He can’t help the quirk of his lips. “Since you obviously think my interpretations are bang on, don’t you want to hear my take on champagne?”

She laughs, and the fervor of their previous conversation melts away instantly. “Let me guess. Ladylike. Classy.”

He shakes his head slightly. “Flirty. Sexy.” He rakes his eyes over her slowly. “Titillating.”

Giving him a coy glance, she deadpans, “Five bucks says you just used the word titillating because you’re as immature as a twelve year old.”

He marvels at how she’s not phased by his charm in the slightest. Women have gone weak at the knees for looks half as potent as his last. “Twelve and a half.”

“Well, then. Happy early bar mitzvah.”

They share a small smile, and… what is it about her buttons that he enjoys pushing so much? Nobody else has ever given him so little to work with, yet—he’s hooked.

She looks confused for a moment, and he fears she’s reading him again, when she puts her hand on his chest and giggles. She leans close and mutters, “Red hair. Two o’clock. Staring.”

He grins to play along, flicking his gaze for a millisecond to spot Joseph Foreman, pain in Logan’s ass, glancing their way. “Mind telling me what we’re doing?”

“He’s been staring for a while. Either he wants to hit on me, and I’m making it clear I’m taken, or he wants to talk to you, and I’m making you more interesting.”

“What makes you think I need to look more interesting?”

“Logan Echolls!” Joseph Foreman interrupts them, sticking out his arm in a handshake. 

Veronica gives Logan a ‘told you so’ look, but she doesn’t realize he was going to come over either way. Ever since reception on Logan’s last book blew his out of the water, Foreman has made it his mission to be Gant Publishing’s golden boy so he doesn’t get outshined by Logan.

“Foreman, so good to see you again.” Logan grips the author’s palm, attempting to not let his sarcasm through. He then gestures to Veronica. “This is my date, Veronica Mars.”

“Pleasure to meet you.” Foreman clasps Logan on the shoulder with a forced smile. “I hear you’re writing another bestseller, Echolls.”

“Well, what can I say? Sometimes you just know it’s gonna be a good one.” Logan sips his drink to affect an air of nonchalance. 

On top of clawing his way to be the House’s darling author, Foreman’s also made it his mission to get a rise out of Logan, prompt him to fuck up—anything so GP would drop him. Only, he’s not very good at it.

“Not sure you’ll be able to beat the sales on that last one though. What if it’s all downhill from here?” Foreman asks casually, which belies the rigid set of his jaw. When he doesn’t get a response from Logan, he turns his nervous attention to Veronica. “So, dating a bestselling author… Tell the truth, does he always prefer writing to you?”

Clenching his fist, Logan takes a deep breath. It’s one thing to bait him, but he doesn’t like the way Foreman is talking to Veronica. 

But, Veronica doesn’t get fooled by anyone.

Veronica wraps her arms around Logan and leans her cheek on his bicep, playing it up. “Oh, I love his passion for his job. It’s such a turn on. Sometimes he’s so tense and focused on a scene, but I know just how to release that tension, don’t I, snookums?” 

She bites her lip, looking up at him through her lashes. He knows she’s putting on a show, but at this angle, her perfume surrounds his senses, and he has a perfect view of her breasts pushed up against him. He’s only human, and this custom-tailored suit is quite form-fitting around the… groin area... so, he clears his throat to dispel inappropriate thoughts. 

“You sure do, sugarpuss.” He rests his palm on her lower back, and she pats his chest fondly, the ever-supportive fake girlfriend. 

Foreman’s eyes are wide as they rake quickly over Veronica, clearly not expecting that response. He makes an excuse to leave, then jerks his thumb toward her. “Don’t fuck this up, Echolls. She’s the best thing to happen to you, Bestseller list or not.”

He walks away, leaving Veronica with a self-satisfied smile that makes Logan roll his eyes.

“What was that he said?” She cups her hand around her ears. “I’m not sure I heard him correctly.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. The guy is, like, the least important person in the room and was just trying to bait me the whole time. You can’t believe anything he says.” Logan unbuttons his suit jacket and leans back against the bar. 

“I’m pretty sure he said I was the second best thing to ever happen to you,” Veronica says, going on like he didn’t interrupt. She snaps her fingers like she just thought of something. “No, wait! He said I was the best thing to ever happen to you. Gee, how could I forget that.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He looks around them to make sure nobody is listening. “You’re the finest fake girlfriend there ever was. I’m getting you a plaque.” He sweeps his hand in the air. “First-rate Phony.”

She swirls the liquid in her glass. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Well, I require the top. Only the best for the best.” 

She snorts mid sip. “Umm, no.” 

“No, you’re not the best?”

“No, you’re not the best.”

He smirks. Their back-and-forth is the only thing making this party bearable. “You sure about that?”

“Yep.”

“Admit it. You’re having fun with me tonight.”

She tries to suppress a smile and turns her gaze elsewhere. “I will admit no such thing.”

Logan lowers his empty tumbler on the bar. “Gotta hit the little boys’ room.”

Veronica throws her shoulders back, grin slipping off her face, shifting focus to the job. Her job. Keeping him safe. The reminder that she’s not his friend, not his girlfriend, but his employee, rockets into him. Banter or not, she’s here to do what he’s paying her to do, and it would do him well to remember it.

“I’ll walk you there.”

“Veronica, you’re supposed to be my girlfriend, not my keeper. It would look weird if you’re waiting for me outside the John.”

“I’m not letting you go alone.”

“Everyone was on the guest list, nobody is in here that wasn’t invited.”

“The four bodyguards at the front door? The coat room guy? The bartenders, the waitstaff?” She returns her glass to the countertop and puts her hand on her hip. “Come on, Logan. You know better than that.”

Logan expels a breath. She’s right. He knows she’s right. Technically speaking (even if he doesn’t believe it), Aaron could have planted someone anywhere, but his stubbornness refuses to give in. His eyes catch on someone behind her, and he hatches a plan. 

“Fennel, my man!” he shouts, and his friend waves and moseys on over. Veronica gives Logan a confused glance. 

He and Fennel do their patented handshake, and he clasps him on the back. “Wanted you to meet my girlfriend, Veronica. Veronica, this is Wallace. Another author in the Gant House.”

“Really nice to meet you, Wallace.”

Fennel creases his brows, and points back and forth. “Really? Echolls? You can do better, girl.” 

“I tell him that daily, just to keep him in line,” Veronica jokes, and Wallace throws his head back in laughter. 

He punches Logan lightly in the shoulder. “I don’t know anything about her, but she’s out of your league, man. Don’t let her go.”

“Well,” Logan claps his hands together, and Veronica narrows her eyes in suspicion. “Nature calls. Fennel, take care of my girl for me, back in a jif.”

Her pursed lips give away how furious she is, but he walks away before she can stop him. He may not hate having Veronica around anymore, but, again, he doesn’t need a babysitter. 

Crossing the main foyer, he walks down the hallway and enters the bathroom. He heads to the urinal and unzips, when he hears the door swing open behind him.

“Echolls, bro!” Casey Gant, Lead Publisher at GP, strolls in and settles at a stall two away from him.

“Gant, what’s up, man?”

“God, isn’t this whole thing over the top? Can’t believe we’re bankrolling this. Brown should just whip it out, claim it’s the biggest, and move on.”

Logan laughs, looking straight ahead at the white wall. He and Casey get along well for this exact reason. They cut past the bullshit. “I guess it’s an excuse for us to shmooze with an open bar.”

He finishes up and flushes, then washes his hands in the sink, when Casey speaks up again. “I saw you with someone in the room. New flavour of the week?”

Lathering with soap, Logan reviews the relationship history he and Veronica crafted. “Actually, it’s been a few months.”

“Wow, that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It’s nothing too serious. It’s been fun, but that’s all.”

“Now that sounds more like you.” Casey joins him in front of the mirrors and looks at him. “Logan Echolls, tied down? No way.”

Logan snorts, grabbing some paper towel. As he walks to the door, Casey whistles. “She is smoking hot, though. Maybe it’s not too much of a chore to be shackled to her for a bit longer.”

Ignoring an oddly possessive instinct washing over him, he winks at Casey, continuing to play it up. “It sure isn’t.” 

He leaves the bathroom in search of Veronica, who is probably pissed at him. With each step, he tries to drown out the words of three separate people tonight, telling him he has a good thing going with her (god, even the lady at his dry cleaning place loves her). Figures, the first time so many people approve of something he does, it’s all fake, anyways. 

Fake. That’s what this all is. So, it doesn’t matter. He takes a deep breath as he enters the main room. He grew up faking—pretending to have the perfect parents, in the perfect mansion, with the perfect life. 

No biggie. He was a pro.

“Thai? Sushi?”

Veronica stretches on the couch, shaking her head. “I could use something homey tonight.”

“Pizza?” he asks, selecting the Luigi’s take-out menu from the pile. 

“Mmm, Italian. Now I’m craving lasagna.” She shifts closer to him, looking over his shoulder. “Any at this place?”

“If you want really good lasagna, ordering in isn’t going to cut it.” He stands, holding out a hand, and she raises her brows in question. “Mama Leone’s. You ever heard of it?”

She shakes her head, grabbing his palm, and he lifts her up. “Nope. Should I have?”

“Real hole in the wall. You’re gonna love it.”

Twenty minutes later, Logan and Veronica are handed the menu and wine list from the hostess. 

“Your server will be right with you,” she says, smiling.

When she leaves, Veronica leans her elbows on the checkered tablecloth. “It smells so good in here. My mouth is already watering.”

She looks like a kid in a candy store, and he attempts to piece all the known fragments of the mysterious Veronica Mars together. Ex-FBI. Martial arts-trained. Bodyguard. Secret coffee snob. Lover of Italian food. And—let’s be honest—sexy as hell. All these snippets of who she is, assembled into the woman in front of him. 

She’s like a confusing puzzle, where, even after hours of frustration, the one piece that finally fits feeds you enough motivation to keep going. She intrigues him… he wants to know more. And, as Casey pointed out a couple weeks ago, people don’t usually hold his attention for long.

Their server arrives, and they place their order. Veronica isn’t able to hide the smile she’s been sporting ever since she found out they have a four-cheese lasagna. 

If an Italian carb entree makes her smile like that, what else does? 

They make small talk—the new book he’s writing, stories of intimidating men she’s taken down (“Do I make it on that list?” “You’re really not as important as you think you are.”) —until their food comes. 

Veronica carefully cuts a chunk of her dish, then slowly takes a mouthful. Her eyes roll back into her head, and she moans loudly. Fork halfway to his mouth, Logan stares at her, gaping. When she comes back down to earth, she gives him a double take. “What? Did I get any on my face?”

“No, I just wondered if you were going all Sally Albright on me.”

She tilts her chin downward and gives him a coquettish look. “After tasting this?” She licks her lips. “If I was, I can guarantee you it wouldn’t be fake.”

Logan guffaws, and she winks, digging into the lasagna. He chews while contemplating, finally speaking up after a few seconds. “You must have many men wrapped around your dainty finger.”

She hesitates for a moment when preparing her next bite, but recovers. He doesn’t push, as he is wont to do with her. She replies after a beat. “Why do you say that?”

She won’t meet his eyes, and her voice sounds guarded. He didn’t mean to offend her with his comment—he thought she would laugh it off with a quip. His curiosity is piqued now though, and he starts digging.

“Oh, come on.” She is still focused on her plate, so he continues. “You’re confident. You seem to know what you want. And if the little show for Foreman at the book launch is any indication, when you turn it on, there must be no denying you.”

She swallows her bite, and sips her water. “I haven’t…” She trails off, unsure, and Logan has never heard her so insecure before. She huffs, frustrated with her inability to explain properly. “I haven’t really had the best track record.”

He waits her out as she finds the right words. “Dating an FBI agent? Dating a bodyguard? Kind of emasculating.” She puts her cutlery down and leans back. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Logan raises a brow. “By whom? I think you’re asking the wrong guys.”

There she goes with the head tilt. “You would be cool with it if your serious girlfriend was a bodyguard?”

“As you’ve heard, the most improbable part of that sentence is me having a serious girlfriend in the first place.”

“Humour me.”

He pushes his plate away, resting his elbows on the table. “Okay. Let’s say in this bizarro world, I settle down.” He ignores her eye roll. “Obviously, that means I care for this imaginary woman. So, no, it wouldn’t be no big deal if she was a bodyguard. There’s a lot of exposure to danger. I’d probably hate it. But… not because it’s emasculating. It’s actually kind of hot.”

A laugh escapes Veronica. “You think it’s hot?”

“A badass woman kicking butt and taking names? What’s not hot about it?”

“You’re not intimidated?” she asks.

“By what?”

“That I could probably take you in a fight?”

“No, that’s totally a turn on.” She raises her eyebrows, and he expels a breath, trying to think of a way to explain it. “To win in a fight against someone bigger than you, you need to be controlled. Fierce. Determined. Fit.” Logan gives Veronica a lascivious look. “If you’re super skilled in that arena, there’s probably another arena you’d be quite proficient—”

She leans across the table to flick his bicep once his point is clear to her. He laughs and rubs the affected area, as she scrunches her nose. 

“Pig,” she says, though her tone is a lot lighter than her word conveys.

He points to himself. “Pig… but not intimidated.” He holds her gaze meaningfully, as the waitress comes to clear their table. 

“Can I interest you two in dessert?”

Veronica finally breaks eye contact to respond, but before she can jump on the idea, Logan speaks up. “We’re good, thanks. Just the cheque.”

Their server walks away, and Veronica gives him a deadly glare. “For future reference: never, ever get in between a girl and her dessert.”

“Oh, come on. This isn’t my first rodeo.” He bobs his brows, grabbing his wallet from his pocket. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand. I know the perfect way to end this meal, trust me.”

Appropriately intrigued, she acquiesces. He pays for their dinner and leads them a few blocks away.

“Gelato!” Veronica exclaims, and she—honest-to-goodness—clasps her hands to her heart.

He probably shouldn’t feel so pleased with himself that he was able to get this reaction from her. “My favourite place. Thought you would enjoy it.”

“You’re starting to get to know me pretty well.” She touches his forearm for a second before pulling away, running her fingers through her hair, seemingly uncomfortable with the momentary contact. “Come on, the gelato won’t eat itself.”

After a very extensive taste test and a carefully selected double scoop each, Logan and Veronica sit on a bench along the boardwalk near the shop. The crashing waves provide a calming backdrop to the end of their evening.

“Okay, I’m kind of regretting not getting the pistachio,” Veronica says, glancing at Logan’s cup.

He raises his shoulder. “I warned you.”

She lowers her chin, biting her lip. “Just one taste.”

He shifts, yanking the gelato out of her reach. “No way. I told you what flavours to get, and you ignored me. Who orders mint? Psychos, that’s who.”

“Oh, come on.” She bounces up and down petulantly.

“Fine. One taste.” Veronica moves forward with her spoon, but Logan puts a hand up. “One taste… for one truth.”

“What is this, twenty questions? You really are twelve.”

“And a half, don’t forget.” She rolls her eyes, and he leans against the bench, throwing an arm behind her on the backing. “It’s cool, I’ll just eat all this delicious pistachio by my—”

“Fine. A big spoonful.”

Veronica takes her sizable sample and lets out a moan, mirroring the one she had in the restaurant—a sound Logan tries desperately not to imagine in another context. 

“Let’s start heading back, it’s getting late,” he says.

“You’re not going to ask me your question?” she asks, as he stands up and offers her his hand. She accepts it, then they start their stroll toward his building.

“Oh, I definitely am—just thinking of the best one to torture you with.”

She huffs, and he chuckles. “So.” 

Her lids close momentarily, and she takes a deep breath. “Yes?”

“You mentioned you don’t have siblings. Do you have any other family?”

She hesitates, collecting their now-empty cups and meandering to the can a few paces off the walkway to throw out their garbage. A stall tactic. 

When she returns, she tucks her hands in the pockets of her dress. “It was only me and my dad for most of my life. He died in a job gone wrong three years ago.”

“Wow.” As she studies her shoes, he realizes she’s just as alone as he is. Maybe even moreso. “I’m sorry. You must really miss him.”

She nods slowly. “Cliff is like my second dad, though. My father was a P.I. and so they knew each other through their network. I think he would be happy to know Cliff is looking after me.” She shakes her head like she is ridding herself of unwanted thoughts, and Logan is kind of shocked she admitted so much in the first place. “That truth-y enough for you?”

She shivers then, and Logan slips off his bomber jacket, placing it over her shoulders. 

“It’s okay, I don’t—” She cuts herself off and nods. “Thanks.”

They walk in silence for a few beats before he thinks, Fuck it. A truth for a truth. And he’s tired of hiding this one. “My dad was abusive.”

She misses her next step, but her head doesn’t whip toward him, her mouth is not agape. She’s not surprised. 

“I want everyone to know that dirty bastard is capable of the murder he’s on trial for. I decided to come out with a statement and testify against him in court, and less than a week after I started getting my ducks in a row, I was almost run off the road.” 

He rubs the back of his neck as he continues recalling the story. “My mom was petrified, called Cliff the next day. She kept it vague—he doesn’t know about the past abuse. But it’s the real reason I need a bodyguard. If I ever opened my mouth, like I threatened, he’d probably shut me up for good.” 

“That’s...” She trails off, at a loss for words, then clears her throat. “Horrific. I’m so sorry.”

“But you already figured.”

Her head does whip up then. “How’d you know?”

“The whole reading people thing, remember?”

She gives him a sad smile. “Yeah, me too. Hence, the figuring.”

The sound of her boots on the pavement keeps them company for the next couple of minutes. He feels lighter with that information off his chest, with someone—anyone—else knowing, but the implications slowly hit him. He takes a deep breath and considers pleading temporary insanity. Why would he confide in her like that? What is it about her that makes him feel she’s trustworthy?

“If you don’t mind me asking… where did the incident with the car happen?” 

“I mean, they followed me quite a ways, but they got close on Dupont, near Centre. You know, right by the plaza?”

She nods. “Dark? Sedan?”

“Uh…” Throwing her a confused glance, he tries to think back. “I’m pretty sure dark blue; maybe a Mazda or an Acura? Why do you ask?”

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ears, shrugging. “Just curious. You can take the girl out of the FBI, but you can’t take the FBI out of the girl, I guess.”

After a moment or two, she asks, “Why did you tell me? About your father?” Her voice is soft. Warm.

He lets out a humourless laugh. “You signed an NDA. In a weird way, you’re the only person I can trust.”

She tsks. “Hate to break it to you, but NDAs aren’t all as airtight as you think.” She pokes his shoulder. “Don’t think you can trust me not to spill the beans about you and what kind of pretentious pour-over coffee you have.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood isn’t a brush off, as she moves imperceptibly closer and shifts her body toward him as they walk. 

“Oh give it up, you love it. And pretty sure you wouldn’t come off as sympathetic in that complaint.” 

“Like your coffee plight is something that would win anyone over.”

“You would be surprised how rags can frame a story.” He puts his hand to his heart as they stroll forward, turning the corner on Pine Grove. “The folks at People Mag love me.”

“Gee, who wouldn’t.”

“Exactly. My Sexiest Man Alive cover is sure to be coming up next year.”

She gestures up and down his body. “Sexy and humble.”

He grins. “So, you admit it then?”

“Admit what?”

“That I’m sexy.”

She scoffs. “I didn’t—I never said—”

“Breathe, Mars. You’re allowed to find your employer sexy.”

She lets out a disbelieving sound, but fights a smile as she says, “In your dreams, Ech—”

The bright flash of a camera shocks them out of their teasing. A paparazzo comes up to them, asking, “Logan, who’s your new girlfriend?”

This was bound to happen sooner or later. Logan had really, really, hoped later.

He clenches his jaw and grabs Veronica’s hand, pulling her closer as two more photographers invade their personal space. Nobody comes too close—none of them want to be punched in the nose and have their camera smashed. That $50,000 settlement was well worth it to teach all of them a lesson.

“She’s beautiful, Logan. What’s her name?”

To them, outsiders, nothing about this moment must seem odd. Son of celebrity actors, seen out and about with a new flame. But Logan knows Veronica is alert—her body tense, her eyes subtly flicking back and forth between the cameramen and Logan’s rapidly approaching condominium building.

Probably about 150 feet to his front door. He tightens his grip on Veronica’s fingers and moves quicker.

“Have you talked to Carrie recently, Logan? Is it true she’s out of rehab?”

100 feet. 

He wills his brain to remember the breathing strategies his therapist taught him. Carrie must be the reason why they cared to seek him out tonight, because they haven’t bothered him in a few months. He tries to time his inhales to match Veronica’s as a baseline, but hers are too shallow.

“Have you heard about her dating Sean Friedrich? Apparently they met in her last stint in rehab. Didn’t you go to high school with him, Logan?” 

Sixty feet. 

Do. Not. Engage. He repeats the mantra in his head. He was young when he roughed up the paparazzo that time, had nothing to lose. His new book deal could be huge, and he’s not about to mess it up. 

“This one looks like more of your type, Logan. Are you back to dating blondes?”

Veronica must have felt him hesitate on the next step, because she puts her other hand on his chest and whispers, “Don’t. We’re almost there.”

Fifteen feet. 

He lets the warmth of her touch through his shirt invigorate him, and he accesses what’s left of his self-control to get past them.

Billy, his doorman, knows the drill already. Ignoring the photographers shouting Logan’s name, he opens the front door a fraction so Logan and Veronica can slip through, then places his body in between them and the glass doors, making sure the paps don’t enter.

Nodding to Tommy at the front desk, Logan weaves Veronica through the side hallways, stopping at the elevator bank. Once he jabs the button, he glances over at Veronica, whose attention is on their hands.

Their still clasped hands. Oh.

He pulls away, muttering, “Sorry,” as the car arrives at the floor.

She stays quiet, contemplative, as they step in. He presses PH, then swipes his key card. As the doors slide closed and they begin moving upward, Logan closes his eyes and leans back against the wall. He bangs his head against it twice, three times, before running a palm down his face. 

With a ding, they arrive at his floor, and he opens the door silently. Veronica still hasn’t said anything, and he’s not sure how to start a conversation.

Hey, sorry random men shoved cameras in your face because of me?

Hey, don’t worry, the bright lights may over-stimulate your brain, but won’t permanently affect you?

Hey, you were aware when I hired you that you might show up on Entertainment Tonight, right?

None of the options seemed particularly constructive.

They enter his place, take off their shoes, and make their way over to the living room area. Veronica tucks her legs beneath her on the couch, resting her elbow on the cushion behind her, and furrows her brows. “Are they always like that?”

Logan plops down into the armchair and leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Not always.” He fiddles with his keychain, swinging the ring back and forth in a circular motion on his finger. “They’ve been coming around less, probably realizing I don’t have much to give them these days. Sounds like my ex came out of rehab, so they came out of the woodwork.”

“Carrie Bishop?”

He runs his thumb along the sharp ridges of his house key. “Yep.”

She must sense this topic is not his favourite, because she nods once and changes the subject. “Want to watch a movie or something? They’re probably still there, so I won’t be able to leave for a while.”

He curses, closing his lids momentarily. “Shit. I didn’t even think of that.”

“It’s fine, really. Not your fault.”

“No, they’ll stay for hours in case either of us leaves. They’ll probably have people camped out back in the service entry, too.” He gets up to pace, racking his brain for an idea. He halts when one comes to mind. He turns to her. “Hear me out.”

Her brows shoot up, and she crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay...” she says, dragging out the word. 

He steps closer to her. “You should stay the night.”

Her eyes widen. “Logan, I don’t think—”

“This is a three bedroom penthouse,” he cuts her off. He gestures upstairs. “You’ll have your own ensuite, your own space. Like your own mini-wing. And you have that emergency overnight bag you stashed here. No need to borrow my pyjamas,” he says, while he definitely doesn’t think of her in his pyjamas.

Taking a deep breath, she lets it out slowly. She taps her fingers against her thigh while she thinks. 

“Fine.” Moving to stretch her legs out on the couch, she gives him a teasing smile. “Only if you have coffee waiting for me when I wake up.”

His anxiety wanes as they wade back into familiar territory. “We are full service here at Chez Echolls.”

“Full service, huh?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Mars!” He feigns clutching his pearls. “God, you’re insatiable.”

“Takes one to know one,” she mutters, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He grins, and she can’t help but mirror his expression. “Put on a movie, you dork.”

He grabs a blanket from the basket beside the TV and offers it to Veronica. “You women and your cold feet.”

“You men and your hilarious jokes.” She accepts it anyway, tucking her toes into the fluffy material and instantly snuggling her cheek against it.

At the sight, he feels a weird pang in his chest and rubs it, before plucking the remote from the coffee table. Settling back into the chair and getting comfortable, he pulls up Netflix and lets the thoughts of the paparazzi drift away.

Logan meanders down the stairs the next morning, mouth wide open in a yawn. After their Risky Business showing, they decided to make it a Tom Cruise double-header with Mission Impossible. Veronica snorted tea out of her nose when Logan jumped on the couch and did his spot-on impression, which made him laugh harder than he had in a very long time.

First glance around his open concept penthouse indicates no Veronica—she must not be up yet—so he heads to the kitchen to brew fresh coffee for when she wakes. … And also for him right now. Mostly for him right now, of course.

Turning on the gooseneck kettle, he weighs out the beans on his kitchen scale, pulverizing it in the grinder until it’s the size of sea salt. He rinses the filter, places it back in the dripper, then tips the ground coffee into it. Grabbing the kettle, he blooms the grounds, before he slowly pours over the boiled water in a circular motion. He prepares himself a mug of piping hot joe, and is about to sit at the table to read an article on his phone, when something outside catches his eye. 

Veronica is on the balcony, bent over in the downward dog position, her pert ass on display. He gulps, looking down at his cup, willing himself not to stare. But… he’s a fucking warm-blooded male, so of course he checks her out again.

She transitions to cobra and then child’s pose, all the while he’s unable to tear his attention away for some reason. (Yeah, some reason, his brain mocks him.) She finally stands up and holds the railing, reaching behind her to grip her foot in a quad stretch.

He scurries to the kitchen to fashion her a morning coffee—one milk, no sugar, he’s learned—and opens the sliding door to bring it to her. She looks up from her position, surprised, and a genuine smile crosses her face as she takes the cup he offers her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

She’s only wearing a purple sports bra with her black, fitted leggings (which barely reach her belly button), and he fights to keep his gaze on her glowing face. 

“It’s”—he checks his bare wrist in a showy manner—”seven in the morning.”

“Yeah, and I’ve already had two more productive hours than you.” She grabs a small towel laying on a chair and dabs at her chest, while she takes a sip. He drinks too, so he has something to do with his hands.

“Early riser?”

“Had to be. They like to give rookies the rough shifts at the FBI to break them in. What, you thought I just rolled out of bed to get here for seven thirty every morning?”

He shrugs. He never actually gave any thought at all to what Veronica’s life was like outside the time she worked for him. Now that she mentioned it, how was he never curious before?

Putting the towel back down, she walks over to the railing and rests her elbows on it, taking in the view. “The fact that you don’t do everything from here astounds me. Eat. Sleep. Read. Work. Right here, this spot.” 

She talks with a dreamlike tone, and he can’t help but wonder what kind of accommodations she’s used to.

He joins her, leaning forward against the glass. “Would be kind of hard to pee.”

“You could get one of those dog potty training pads,” she says with a straight face.

“Good idea, I’ll get on that.”

They lapse into silence, sipping their coffees, and he examines her from the corner of his eye. Lids closed and basking in the sun, she seems at peace. He enjoys the moment, knowing there aren’t many where Veronica Mars lays down her armour.

He looks forward, toward the ocean, the billowing yellow flag indicating rough waves. Though it is windy, it’s unseasonably warm, and there are already some families on the beach, securing a spot in the sand. 

“Why a penthouse?” Veronica’s voice catches his attention. “I would have totally pegged you for a beach house kinda guy. Like your awesome friend, Dick.”

They laugh, and she moves to sit in a patio chair, crossing her legs. He seats himself in the one beside her. “I love beach houses. To exit your living room and have your toes already immersed in sand? To be able to go from your bedroom to riding a wave in under two minutes? Nothing like it.”

“So?”

“Well, I mean, you saw the vulchers downstairs last night. It would be too accessible.”

“But you’d have a gate all around your property that they couldn’t bypass. Or a moat. Probably a moat.”

“Yeah, but here, on the fortieth floor, it feels like they can’t touch me. Like I’m flying way above them.”

Veronica studies him, and he shifts in his seat, feeling a rare moment of discomfort. What is she thinking? It hits him that, for some reason, Veronica’s opinion of him has become something he cares about. 

“Well?” he finally asks her.

She narrows her eyes. “Well, what?”

“Did I get it?”

“Get what?”

“The Veronica Mars seal of approval?” At her confused expression, he elaborates. “You ask questions under the guise of curiosity, but they’re more like tests. So, did I pass?”

Instead of scoffing and deflecting, like he expected, she sips her coffee slowly, eyeing him over the rim of her mug. “Maybe.” 

Logan doesn’t think it’s a good sign that his automatic reaction is relief.

His phone vibrates, and he reaches into his joggers’ pocket to pull it out. He presses on a message from Dick, which has a link attached.

From: Dick Casablancas

Dude, her ass looks smoking in the second pic. Oh, and, TMZ is basically slutshaming you.

Putting the surprising fact that Dick knows what slutshaming is to the back of his mind, he clicks the article instantly. 

‘New Day, New Blonde. Logan Echolls, son of actor/accused murderer Aaron Echolls and soap star Lynn Lyster, was seen out on the Boardwalk in Neptune getting cozy with an unnamed blonde woman.’

Logan scrolls through the rest of the article to see how long it is, breathing heavily. Usually he doesn’t care what the rags say about him, except now Veronica’s face is plastered all over the internet. At the end of the article, there is a collage of all of the women he’s been seen with recently—the implication very obvious once the pictures are situated beside each other—with the caption: ‘Eenie, meenie, miney, blonde.’ Okay, so he’s got a type? Sue him.

“Fuck!” he growls in frustration, startling Veronica.

She glances at his phone, brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

He runs a hand through his hair, as he turns the screen toward her so she can see the picture and the site name. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you there would be stories about us once we were seen in public.”

She takes the phone and swipes up and down through the story, reading it a bit. After a few moments, she says, “It’s okay, I figured this might happen after last night. I’ve never worked such a high profile case before, so nobody should recognize me, if you’re nervous.”

Logan opens his mouth to reply, but stutters, confused. “N-no, I’m not. Not about me, anyway. Won’t this ruin any undercover cases for you going forward?”

“Usually my undercover cases require me to do a complete overhaul of my look. I was actually lucky you like short blondes,” she jokes, laughing.

Logan still doesn’t get it. “You’re not… upset?”

She leans forward, passing him his phone and putting her hand on his. “Don’t worry, nobody will remember the face of blonde number twenty-seven.”

He should make a quip back. He should. But… his eyes travel to their hands, and it turns out he can’t really form a clever thought at the moment. 

She notices where his attention is, and jerks back quickly, replacing them firmly on her cup. “Sorry.”

Oh no, she got the wrong impression. 

“No, no! I—” He shakes his head, not understanding where this sudden awkwardness came from, and willing to give up his left nut for it to subside. “I was worried about you, is all.”

“Little ol’ me?” She sits back in her chair, plonking down her leg on the table in front of her, and crossing her other overtop. “I can take care of myself.”

She winks, and he chuckles, and just like that, their natural rhythm is restored. Thankfully. Because there’s nothing worse than their easy repartee being stifled. He’s not sure why that is. When they’re on, they’re on. Quip, retort, pun, joke. But when it stops… maybe he doesn’t want his brain to think too much around her. 

Because, along with the surprising ease of having Veronica around, there’s an uneasy undercurrent for him, too. It comes out in the quiet moments—when she tucks her hair behind her ear, when she mumbles to herself while reading an email—and he hasn’t felt it before.

He’s not sure he likes it. But he feels a pull towards it. Towards her.

She leans her head back and basks in the sun again, and he gulps his too-hot drink and tries to focus his mind elsewhere.

Her own phone chimes, and she grabs it from where it’s laying on the table. “Mind if I take this?” 

“Mi balcony es su balcony,” he says, gesturing around him.

She smiles, and swipes the screen to answer. “My, my, my. Miss Mackenzie! Deigning to phone me from the top of the Kane Tower?” After a pause she says, “Yeah, yeah. I missed you. Big whoop. Don’t let it get to your head.”

Instantly, Logan’s curiosity is piqued. He’s never heard Veronica on the phone with a friend before. Another puzzle piece. 

Veronica looks at Logan and smirks. “You saw that, huh?” she says to the mystery caller.

After another pause she chides, “Mac!” And though she’s still grinning, her cheeks are now flushed, and she presses the side of the phone a few times to lower the volume. She won’t meet his eyes, and Logan’s curiosity may kill him.

“You better behave yourself on the end of that line, there.” She chances a glance up at Logan and quickly looks away.

Comforted in the knowledge that Veronica trusted him enough to take a private call in front of him, he decides to give her some space. He pushes out his chair, and she focuses her attention on him at the sound. 

He jerks his thumb toward the main area and mouths, “I’ll be inside.” She flashes him an apologetic look, but he shakes his head to say, “no worries.”

He opens the sliding door and steps onto his hardwood, closing it behind him and sagging down on the couch. 

What is it about Veronica that he feels drawn to? She’s beautiful, sure. And she’s fun to be around. Smart as hell. Makes him laugh. Can hold her own with—okay. Well. So, it’s not hard to think of her good qualities. But he’s been around other people with a lot of good qualities, too. She’s not the only woman in the world who is fun and makes him smile. So, what is it?

When he can still hear Veronica’s tinkling laugh, he shakes his head and turns on the TV to drown her out. He wishes he could silence the voices in his head just as easily.

Chapter Text

“What’s Prying Eyez?”

Veronica jumps at the sound of Logan’s voice and snaps her laptop shut, turning around in her chair. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living.” Her cool-as-a-cucumber tone contradicts her spooked actions.

“Gotta get the words down on the page when inspiration strikes!” Logan plops down on the couch. “So, what’s with the skittishness?”

Veronica hesitates for a moment, then joins him. “It’s a site for P.I.s.” Logan’s brows shoot up, and she continues. “I have my investigative license for some work I do for Cliff, and I was just checking up on a few things.”

When will he stop learning facts about her that intrigue him? “Do I check out? I haven’t shot anyone in, like, five years. Maybe four.”

She lightly kicks his knee, but changes the subject. “So, how’d the writing go? Did the sister find out who stole her lunch money? Did the neighbour catch the culprit behind the plucked gardenias?”

Logan’s jaw drops, and he crosses his arms. “You’ve never read my books, have you?” She winces, and he wags his finger at her. “I thought I put that as a criteria on the resume?”

She rubs her knuckles on her shirt. “I bypassed the criteria. I’m that good.”

“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

“Oh, I will.” She places her computer on the coffee table. “So, seriously. What’d you write?”

“I finally figured out the ending.”

“The end of the world as your characters know it? Or group hugs, rainbows and butterflies?”

“A little bit of both?”

“Nuh-uh. You either believe in happy endings, or you don’t.”

“Well, I can guess which side of the fence you sit firmly on.”

She shrugs, playing with her thumb ring. “I’m pretty cynical by nature, so yeah. I don’t think I could ever come up with a satisfying story people would enjoy like they do with yours.”

Filing away the pride at Veronica’s compliment, he gets more comfortable. “Why not?”

“My books would probably be all about corruption. Classism. Sexism. Evil, white dudes manipulating situations to get what they want, like in real life.”

“If you had read my books, you’d know I write about that stuff, too.”

“But you give happy endings, don’t you?” He nods, and she plays with the tips of her hair. “I’m not sure those exist, and I probably couldn’t fake it well enough to sell it.”

“Life’s a bitch and then you die?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, that’s depressing.” 

“But it’s reality.”

What else has she gone through in her life to make her so pessimistic? Again, he adds this new information to the ever-growing and changing thousand-piece puzzle in his mind.

He thinks for a moment, wondering how to bring their conversation back around. “You know what the opposite of depressing is?”

“Cheerful?” She says with a smirk.

“Thank you, Thesaurus.com. Not literally.”

“Oh, well you should have said so! Hmmm. I give up. What is the opposite of depressing?”

“Another Tom Cruise marathon!”

She laughs, slapping her palm to her forehead. “You are so off base.” She checks her watch, and her smile wanes. “Ten thirty already. I lost track of time.”

He ignores a weird pang in his gut at the thought of her leaving. “Who cares? It’s not that late.”

Her brows shoot up. And, okay, when she first came around, he’d be attempting to shoo her out the door at this time. A man’s allowed to change his mind, right? 

“I decided being babysat by you isn’t the worst thing in the world.” She rolls her eyes when he winks at her. “Come on. Top Gun? Vanilla Sky? A Few Good Men?”

She sucks her cheeks in while she thinks, and he tries to seal the deal. “I’ll even make buttered popcorn.”

Her jaw falls slightly. “In the popcorn machine?” He nods, and her head falls back onto the couch. “My damn stomach—always gets its way in the end.”

Logan pumps his fist in celebration and hands her the remote. “See what’s on Netflix. I’ll take care of the food.”

Grinning, he shuffles into the kitchen and takes the machine out of a low cupboard. Setting it on the counter, he plugs it in, turns it on, then heads to the pantry. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out. 

“Dick?”

“Logan, bro! Last minute shindig at my place. Enbom and Luke met these smoking hot chicks on the beach, and they’re bringing, like, a bunch of their friends. Cole’s buying the keggers.”

Logan rummages in the cabinet for the kernels, distracted. “Sick, man.”

Dick starts yelling at someone in the background. “Dude, I’m talking to Logan, give me a sec. Yeah, so, I’ll see you in like an hour?”

Logan pauses, realizing his predicament, and considers his options. Two months ago, his first thought would be to let Veronica go home and sneak away to the party alone. But, not only would she figure him out in two seconds, he doesn’t want to lie to her anymore. 

Maybe he can bring her to Dick’s again. Though—she was really uncomfortable last time. But it’s her job, he grudgingly reminds himself.

At that moment, Veronica yells out from the living room, “What’s taking so long? Let’s go! I feel the need… the need for speed.”  

And… Logan makes his decision.

Voice low, he apologizes. “Sorry, buddy. I’m not feeling too hot tonight.”

“Come on, man! Nothing a couple brewskies can’t fix, you know that.”

Logan takes a deep breath and drives it home. “Don’t wanna yak all over your good time, bro. Enjoy. You’ll tell me all about the babes later.”

“Alright, feel better, bud. Yo, Enbom, don’t fucking touch—”

Dick’s line gets cut off, and Logan slowly lowers the phone. He closes the pantry door and places his cell and the package on the counter, as he grips the edge. 

Fuck. He chose her over Dick. He chose watching a movie he has seen a million times with her, over a rager at Dick’s place. This… is not good. He has no idea why he did that.

“Hey, slowpoke.”

His head whips up, as Veronica enters the kitchen. His heart is still thumping hard with confusion, but his brain miraculously quiets and calms. “Hey, sorry, Dick called, so it delayed me.”

“Mhm, sure it did,” she jokes, stepping forward to get a saucepan and butter from the fridge. “Admit it Echolls, you need me.”

She turns on the stove, as he keeps his gaze steady on the package of kernels on the counter. “In your dreams,” he says out loud.

But inside, he has a very different reaction. Does he need her? And not just as his bodyguard.

This isn’t good.

“Got my back, dude?”

“Yeah, blast ‘em.”

“Ah, fuck!” 

“Go, go!” Logan blinks rapidly to zone in on the screen in front of him, his fingers expertly toggling between the buttons on the controller. 

Dick grunts from the armchair to his right, as their players die a bloody death. “Damnit, I knew I should have checked the warehouse.” He leans forward to grab the bong from the table, lighting it up again. “Want another hit?”

Logan closes his eyes, enjoying the haze he feels, and shakes his head. “Nah, all yours, big guy.”

“Sweet.”

The snick of the sliding door reverberates from behind them, and it takes Logan a lot of strength to turn around. “You done?”

Veronica walks in from the balcony, the dark sky indicating how late it is. “Yeah, was helping Cliff out with advice on a job.” She pauses with her fingers on the handle, and scrunches her nose. “It reeks in here.” She closes the screen, but keeps the main door open to air out the penthouse.

Ever the sharer, Dick gestures to the glass bottle in his hands. “Want some, Ronnie?”

Veronica sits on the couch to the left of Logan, tucking her legs beneath her. “No thanks, Dickie,” Veronica bites out, and Logan laughs because he knows how much she hates it when Dick calls her that. 

“Did you just… giggle?” Veronica asks Logan, palms pressed together in front of her mouth in disbelief.

Logan furrows his brows. “No. I laughed in a manly way. Listen.” He lowers his voice. “Ha. Ha. Ha.” Except… he kinda sounds like Santa’s deranged brother.

While Veronica grins, shaking her head at him, Dick isn’t phased, and takes a big hit. Pulling away from the mouthpiece, he holds his breath for a few moments, then expertly blows out puffs of smoke in perfect rings. Logan imagines holding up a 10/10 sign, like a judge at the Olympics. 

“God, how often does he do this?” Veronica stares at Dick like he’s a three headed clown at the circus.

Logan turns to look at her through droopy lids. “Coping mechanism, remember?”

“Hey, this is medicinal!” Logan swings around to see Dick looking as affronted as someone high out his mind could be. So… not very affronted. “I have chronic depression, dude.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Veronica says.

Logan huffs, because it’s taking a lot of effort to follow the conversation back and forth with his head, and he decides to rest it on the back of the couch to keep it in one spot, looking to his left. Veronica is a better view than Dick anyway. 

She jerks her knee at him to get his attention. His eye catches the artful rip in her jeans. He moves his fingers forward slowly and touches the frayed edges of the hole. It’s stringy. How do they tear the denim without tearing too much? Wouldn’t it just rip the whole pant? How does it—

Veronica waves her hand in front of his face and… wait, what?

“Wait, what?” 

“Welcome back, Sunshine. While you were groping my knee, I was asking if you knew how to blow out the rings also.”

Sunshine. He misses the sunshine. It’s dark in here. “Nah, never had the patience. But Dick mastered it by ninth grade.”

“Not surprising.” She laughs, and… hey. Her smile is kind of like sunshine. It warms him up. And her eyes… they’re deep blue, like the ocean. And her hair… it’s wavy. Like waves . And! It’s blonde, like the colour of sand. So... her face is kind of like being at the beach. Whoa. He loves going to the beach. 

Whoa.

She snaps loudly, and he squeezes his lids shut and pops them back open, exiting the revelatory zone he was in. Her lips curve upward, and she shakes her head at him. “You’re so far gone.”

“No, you’re so far gone.” What?

Her baby-smile becomes a big grown-up smile, and he feels warm all over ‘cause… sunshine. You know?

Her grin wanes when she catches sight of Dick. “What’s so funny?” she asks him.

“Thinking about that sick party last week.” Logan sighs and decides he should probably look at Dick again. He is his best friend after all. Logan uses all the strength in his neck muscles to turn toward Dick, who snickers. “This chick, Belinda? No wait, Melinda? Something with a ‘duh’ on the end. I don’t know.” 

Nobody speaks for a few moments. “Earth to Dick,” Veronica says. “You literally just didn’t finish your sentence. What about Melinda?”

Dick snaps his head up like she put twenty-five cents into his machine to wake him up. “Oh! So fucking flexible.” 

Veronica pretends to gag. “Why do I even bother asking?”

“Shame you weren’t feeling good, dude,” Dick says to Logan. “You should have come anyway.” 

Veronica furrows her brows and looks at Logan, probably trying to figure out when he wasn’t feeling well. Uh oh. Logan sags into the cushions and sinks his head into his shoulder blades, like a turtle into its shell. Will she still see him if he closes his eyes?

Dick doesn’t notice Logan’s inner turmoil and continues. “Miranda had a friend who was just your type.” His face lights up. “Actually, she kinda looked like Ronnie!”

Veronica gives Dick a dirty look, but is about to say something to Logan, when Dick groans.

“Man, I gots the munchies—bad. Gonna grab some grub.”

At the mention of food, Logan’s stomach rumbles. “Oh, same.” He counts to three in his brain and… still doesn’t get up. He sighs heavily. He leans forward and pushes on his feet with all his might. Veronica chuckles behind him, and he smiles like a goof. He likes that he makes her laugh.

In the kitchen, Dick is already elbow deep in the family-sized chip bag. Through a mouthful, he says, “Yo, so like, why does Ronnie just chill here?”

“Huh?” Logan is busy trying to get his hand in the package too, but Dick’s arm is taking up all the room. 

“Thing 1 and Thing 2 used to stand outside the door, but Ronnie actually, like… chills with you. What’s up with that?”

Logan gives up and gets his own large chip bag from the cupboard. “The whole point is for people to think she’s my girlfriend. Nobody can see her hanging outside my door, it would be weird.”

Dick contemplates this as he chews. “So, she hangs out here all day until you have to go somewhere?”

Logan opens the seal and shoves some in his mouth. “Yeah.”

“And you pay her for that?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh my god.” Dick roars with laughter and, in the process, spits out some chewed-up debris on Logan’s floor. “Dude. She’s brilliant.”

“What?”

“Bro.” Dick puts his snack down on the counter, as if this is serious business. Logan sneaks in another chip before leaning on the cold granite to hear him out. “You’re her sugar daddy!”

“That doesn’t even make sense.” Logan glances toward the kitchen door. “And lower your voice.”

“Think about it.” Dick gestures with his hands, and Logan tracks the movements. “You pay her to sit around all day and do nothing. She basically hit the jackpot. You’re her Hefner. She’s taking advantage of you.”

“Don’t talk about her like that!”

Dick halts and gazes at him with his bloodshot eyes, like a light bulb went off in his head. Logan doesn’t think he has made that expression since... ever. 

“Oh my god,” Dick repeats. “Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

“Dick, I’m so fucking high, can you please get to your point.” 

“You want her to take advantage of you, you dirty dog! You’re into her. Like, into her into her, for real.”

Logan shakes his head quickly, and… whoa, he shouldn’t have done that, but he shakes it some more to prove a point. “I’m not into her. She’s not like the beach.”

“Huh?”

“She’s not… nevermind.”

Luckily, Dick’s phone rings at that moment, and Logan takes the opportunity to slip away with his snack, back to the main area, hoping Dick forgets about that conversation. He sure would like to.

Veronica looks up from scrolling on her phone. “Munchies taken care of?”

“Nothing a little Salt and Vinegar can’t fix.”

As soon as he sits on the couch beside her, she steals a chip. 

“Hey!”

“You can spare a few, come on, it’s family-sized,” she says, crunching on her mouthful.

He pouts. “But there’s always so much air in it, it’s never really as much as you think it is.”

“You have more than enough there to keep you satisfied.” She rears forward again, dipping her hand into the packet to get another.

“No way, get your own, missy.” 

But his reflexes are too slow, so when he finally snatches it away, her arm gets stuck and she is pulled with the bag, ending up hunched over his lap. Quickly scrambling backward, she accidentally caresses his groin area, and no, no, no, no! He wills Little Logan to not wake up right now.

Of course, his penis has a mind of its own, so Logan nonchalantly puts the snack over his crotch to hide the evidence. It’s a genius idea, truly. She’ll never know.

Faint blush on her cheeks, Veronica looks at the carefully placed bag and back at him. She’s fighting a smile, but her eyes are wide, and, oh god, she knows. Of course she knows. She’s so smart. FBI smart. She’s probably deciding whether to point and laugh at him or hit him for being such a perv. 

At that moment, Dick bustles in from the kitchen, and Logan is grateful for the distraction and a reason to not look at Veronica right now. “Another game of COD?” he asks Dick.

“Sorry, dude. Embom said there’s a pretty sick rager at Cape Crescent, so I’m gonna grab an Uber. Wanna come?”

The thought of getting up again plaguing him, Logan says, “Nah, man. This couch feels way too comfortable.”

Looking back and forth between Veronica and Logan, Dick snorts. “Yeah. It’s the couch.” 

He steps forward and holds out his hand. Logan clasps it, and Dick hauls him up, clapping his back in their goodbye hug. But… Logan is still holding his chip bag in front of his crotch because of reasons, and it gets crushed between their bodies. 

Dick pulls back, giving the snack and Logan a what the fuck look. All Logan can do is slowly dip his hand in, procure a miniature piece and crunch down on it, shrugging.

With a parting weirded-out look, Dick grabs his wallet and keys from the coffee table. “Later peeps,” he yells, as he heads out the door.

Logan plops down into the seat again, and lays his head back against the cushion to stop the dizziness. Veronica interrupts his mellow state. “You okay?”

“Hmm?” He lolls his head toward her, cheek against the pillow. She rests her elbow on the back of the couch, propping up her chin. Pure sunshine. “Yeah, just got the spins.”

“I should go. It’s late.” She inches forward, concerned. He can see that bit of yellow in her eyes. “You’ll be okay alone?” she asks, softly.

Logan lets his lids droop and nods. He’s always out like a light when Dick gets the sleepy strain of weed. “Mhm. I’m just gonna rest here, I think. See you tomorrow?”

He imagines feather-light fingers ghosting through his hair for a few moments, and he lets the comforting feel of them pull him towards slumber.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” Lynn pulls her designer sunglasses onto her head, and takes a long look at Veronica. “How cute are you!”

Veronica flushes slightly. “It’s really nice to meet you too, Ms. Lester.”

“Oh, please! It’s Lynn. Never let me hear you say that again!”

Veronica laughs, and they sit on the couch. Logan isn’t sure he likes this.

“Mom, why didn’t you call?”

Lynn looks back at him and purses her lips. “What? A mother can’t drop by?” Logan gives her a look that means clearly no, she can’t. Lynn scoffs. “I was shopping nearby and wanted to say hi to my son. Sue me!”

Veronica stands, and Logan tries not to look at the stripe of skin that shows between her jeans and top. She holds her palms out, gesturing. “Let me get out of your way, I can hang out upst—”

“Don’t you even think about it, Veronica!” Lynn reaches out to grab Veronica’s hand and brings her back down on the couch beside her. “You’re probably a better conversationalist than Logan, anyways.”

“He is a bit prickly,” Veronica agrees. The women giggle, and… no. Logan doesn’t like this at all.

He jumps up from the armchair he’s sitting on, desperate to get some space from all the estrogen. “Tea, mom?”

“Sure, sweetie. Mint, please. A little lemon.”

He raises his brows in Veronica’s direction, not even needing to ask. She nods, smirking. She knows he’s coming back to her with her precious pour over coffee.

Heading into the kitchen, he grabs the kettle to boil the water. Preparing the mug with a wedge of lemon and the teabag, he gets to work on Veronica’s cup of java. 

Lynn Lester and Veronica Mars. Scary combination.

More giggles float from the living room, and he has an eerie inkling that they have officially ganged up on him. 

When Veronica’s coffee is ready, he pours it in the gag mug he got her. She was at his place all the time, drinking tons of coffee a day, she needed her own personal cup, he figured. It reads: I’m not bossy, I just know what you should be doing.

The day after he gifted it to her, she brought him one. Blow me, I’m hot. Joke was on her, though, when he drank from it, unashamed. She had rolled her eyes, saying, “I should have known.”

He carries both drinks out to see Lynn and Veronica sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch. Lynn’s reading glasses are on, and she points at her phone, which Veronica scrolls through. The second Veronica says, “Awww!” he knows he’s done for.

As he places their beverages on the table in front of them, they glance up at him. Lynn coos, “My baby. What a beautiful little boy he was.” 

Veronica pouts, turning the screen so he can see himself crawling in a diaper. “Logan! Look at you!”

Logan runs his palms down his face. “Mom, what have I told you about whipping out my baby photos?”

“I like to show off my handsome boy! And now that they’re on my iPhone, it’s so much easier!”

Veronica swipes left and honest-to-god squeals. “Oh my god! A cowboy outfit! Okay, I can die happy now.”

Logan closes his eyes momentarily, inhaling a deep breath. “I think that’s enough Logan pictures for today.”

Veronica lets out an outraged noise, holding Lynn’s phone to her chest. She lowers her chin and gives him a teasing look. “What? Are you afraid I’ll find a really incriminating one?”

“Well, nothing is worse than the watering can one, so it’s uphill from here.” At Veronica’s dropped jaw, he sighs. “You haven’t seen the watering can one, yet, have you?”

Veronica starts swiping like a mad woman and puts her fingers on her mouth when she gets to the photo she wants. “Oh. My. God.”

Lynn leans over and smiles conspiratorially. “He loved to help me in the garden. One day he stripped and said the flowers grew from the ground like his pee-pee grew from him!” She puts her hand on her heart. “Like the amazing mother that I am, I captured the moment instead of telling him to put his clothes back on.”

Veronica throws her head back and laughs, genuinely, as Logan groans. “I was three!”

When Veronica pulls herself together, she says, “Lynn, you should come visit more often.” She trains her bright eyes on Logan, and… he can’t quite look away.

Lynn turns to Logan, pointing at Veronica, and says seriously, “I like her!”

Veronica’s own phone buzzes. Glancing at her screen, she returns Lynn’s device to her. “So sorry, it’s Cliff—gotta take this.”

Veronica shuffles to the balcony door and opens it, answering the call. As she closes it, Lynn takes off her glasses, tucking them into the neckline of her dress, and turns to look at Logan. Her lips are curved upward, and her fingers drum a rhythm on her thigh.

He tilts his head up to the ceiling, bracing himself. “What, mom?”

Lynn leans back on the couch, crossing her legs, looking quite pleased. “Oh, nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you,” he says fondly—for the most part.

She smiles, looking her son up and down. “Happiness looks good on you, kid.”

Uh-oh. She’s reading into things. “No, Mom, it’s not like that.”

The knowing look stays glued on her face. “Honey, I’ve never had such a captive audience for your baby photos before.” She purses her lips, waiting for that to sink in.

“She’s my bodyguard. Trust me, nothing is going on, especially on her part.” Lynn raises her brows at that qualifier, so he continues babbling. “She probably just wants to needle me about them—”

The balcony door opens back up, and Veronica steps inside. “Sorry about that! Hope you didn’t put your phone away, Lynn!”

Eyes never leaving Logan’s, Lynn replies, “Don’t worry, sweetie, I have so many more where those came from.” She winks at Logan, who wonders how quickly he can get her out of his penthouse.

His mom—usually emotionally astute—is so off base. But her observations, no matter how incorrect, throw him off kilter. Veronica doesn’t think of him that way. And there’s no use in analyzing what he feels, because she’s his employee. He’s paying her to do a service, and they’re both just keeping their end of the bargain.

The sinking feeling in his stomach only deepens when Veronica’s melodic laugh echoes in his ears. 

“Huh. You’d think seeing somebody sniff coke off another person’s stomach a second time would make it more normal, but nope. Still weird.” Veronica crinkles her nose in the direction of said event.

“You kinda get used to it. Fades into the background after a while.” Logan guides Veronica through the makeshift dance floor into Dick’s kitchen.

Logan opens the refrigerator and pulls out an untouched tallboy for her. Veronica shakes her head, making sure nobody can hear them, before she says, “We had this conversation last time. I’m on the clock.”

Closing the fridge door, he leans against it, cracking open his own beer. “I’m a really chill boss, honest!”

He gestures for her to take it again, and she acquiesces with a smile, breaking the seal.

“I’ll add this to your Rate-My-Boss review,” she says, as she takes a sip.

“I can imagine all the things you would say. Five out of five stars, would recommend. Superb coffee skills. Great movie selection. Killer penthouse views. Devastatingly handsome.”

She drops her jaw in faux shock. “Have you been reading my diary?”

“It’s the only way I can get into that pretty brain of yours.”

She bobs her brows once in challenge and takes another drink, looking at him over the rim.

“You sure you’re okay here?”

“I promise, I’m fine. Just like the other twenty six times you asked.” She looks down momentarily and says, “You don’t need to worry about me.”

Logan bites down on the disagreement hanging on his tongue. He tilts his head, creasing his forehead and exaggerating his movements. “You know what? I’m feeling kind of claustrophobic in here. Want to grab some air?”

She rolls her eyes, but Logan can see the tenderness in the gesture. “Really, Logan. I’m okay.”

“Sure, but I’m not.” He grabs her hand and leads her out of the kitchen, passing Dick doing a kegstand, to the back doors of the house. “Besides, the beach is a nicer view than Dick’s ass.”

“Well, no arguments there.” 

The sounds of waves and a warm breeze envelops them as they step outside. They descend the stairs of the deck, making it only a few steps onto the sand, when they hear, “Logan?”

Logan whips around to see Carrie and Susan coming back from a walk on the beach, and Logan’s heart drops. A million emotions skate through his body. 

Anger at Carrie for coming here, where there’s endless temptations that would break her sobriety. Frustration at himself for not predicting he would see her here at some point, because of course she would come. Thankful this is happening on a private beach and not in front of a camera. 

Carrie’s eyes are immediately drawn to Logan and Veronica’s hands, still clasped together. Logan automatically tightens his grip. He would have argued it was for the ruse, but he couldn’t deny that it was comforting to have her with him right now—facing Carrie for the first time since their breakup. “Hey, Carrie. Susan.”

There’s an awkward moment where Carrie steps forward to greet Logan physically with a hug, but he makes no such movement. She halts, disappointment evident on her face. She looks down and nods almost imperceptibly, seemingly accepting his decision.

She glances up again and tries to smile, gesturing to Logan and Veronica together. “I had heard, of course, but it’s good to meet you, Veronica.” Carrie holds out her arm.

Veronica shakes her hand with her right, never letting go of Logan’s with her left. “Nice to meet you, too.” She takes the opportunity to step closer to Logan and lay her head on his chest. He stiffens for a moment, surprised, but then encircles her into his arms. 

All for the cover.

Susan’s smile is more genuine than Carrie’s when she asks, “Where did you guys meet?”

“At the gym.” Veronica traces a pattern on Logan’s chest with her index finger, playing up the story they know off by heart. “All those rippling muscles were on display, and I couldn’t resist introducing myself. I asked him to spot me, and he wouldn’t stop checking out my ass. It was love at first sight. Isn’t that right, sugarplum?”

Logan tries not to laugh at Veronica’s non-rehearsed embellishments and bops the tip of her nose. “You know it, honeybun.”

“I thought you worked out in your penthouse gym?” Carrie asks Logan, frowning.

Logan adopts a faux unaffected tone. “Well, it’s been a long time, Carrie. Things change.”

He looks at her meaningfully, and Susan touches Carrie’s shoulder. “We should go back in, Sean’s probably wondering where you are.” 

Logan swallows his retort that Sean should never have let her come in the first place, because she’s not his problem anymore. And even when she was, she never listened, anyway.

Carrie nods at Susan, but doesn’t make a move to leave just yet. After a moment of hesitation, eyes flicking back and forth between Logan and Veronica, she asks nervously, “Logan, would you mind if we go somewhere to talk for a minute?”

Logan laughs humorlessly to cover up the pit in his stomach. “No, I don’t think so. Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Veronica.”

Veronica moves closer to him, if that’s even possible. Carrie furrows her brows, not used to Logan choosing someone else over her. 

She’s going to have to get used to it.

Susan bites the inside of her cheek, while waiting for Carrie to make a decision. Carrie takes a deep breath and mumbles, “I’m sorry.” She focuses her attention on the sand. “For everything.”

Logan clenches his jaw, used to the script, considering this is the third post-rehab apology. She seems to think this will change things, so he allows her to continue speaking fervently. “Everything is so much clearer now. I didn’t treat you right. You only wanted the best for me, and I see that now. Thank you for pushing me to get help.”

It feels as though his heart is bombarded with shards of glass, but it’s too little, too late. He wanted to hear this two years ago, a year ago, hell, even nine months ago. But he won’t go backwards anymore.

“Thank you for the apology, Carrie. You can cross me off the list, now,” he can’t help but add. Without hearing her response, he guides Veronica down the beach, leaving Carrie and Susan in their wake. 

It’s only when Veronica clears her throat a couple minutes later that he realizes they’re still holding hands. He lets go and runs it through his hair instead. “Sorry about—No, wait. I had promised my therapist I’d stop apologizing for her.”

Veronica purses her lips in thought. “How come you don’t go anymore?”

“To therapy? I was able to work through a lot of my issues quickly after she wasn’t around anymore. Funny how toxic relationships work like that, isn’t it?”

“You deserve better than what she was able to give you,” Veronica tells him. Logan slows his pace at her words, and Veronica stops walking when she notices. “What’s wrong?

Logan shrugs, trying to find the words to explain. “All of my friends were also her friends, so they had a vested interest in keeping us both happy.” He shakes his head, looking skyward. “Now, of course, there was no such thing. Because keeping Carrie happy sucked everything out of me.”

“Even Dick?”

“I love him like a brother, but he’s not exactly the poster child for sobriety. By the time he agreed with me that she needed help, she was too far gone. And rehab never really helped. It was a band-aid solution.” He continues forward, and Veronica joins him at his side. “So, anyway. It means a lot that I have someone looking out for me. Just me.”

She gently squeezes his bicep in a show of support, opening her mouth to say something, but closes it quickly and sucks her lips into her mouth. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“I feel like I know you well enough by this point to know it’s not nothing.”

Her throat contracts as she swallows, and she halts their stroll, surveying her shoes in the sand. Logan tries to ignore the deep anxious feeling in his gut. Whatever she wants to tell him, it must be big. Veronica Mars doesn’t hesitate.

“Something you need to know about me is that I find it very hard to let things go,” she says. “Especially when it concerns me or my friends.”

Not knowing where this is going, Logan raises a brow and replies, “Okay…”

She licks her lips, working herself up. “I… I’ve been doing some digging into the incident in the fall. The car.”

Her forehead creases with concern, but all of Logan’s questions get stuck in his throat. Closing his eyes momentarily to try and clear the confusion, he asks, “Wh—Digging? I… Since when?”

“I know you didn’t ask me to look into it,” she admits, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I did it behind your back.”

Resolved, she balls her fists. “But I’m not sorry I did it. Because it’s my job to know who to protect you from. And it was him, Logan. It was your dad’s doing, and you need to know that.”

It’s like a wrecking ball hits him at the same time a weight lifts off his shoulders. His dad’s doing. That piece of shit.

His mom was right.

Logan moves backward, and Veronica steps toward him, but he throws his hands up to stop her. He paces for a few moments, all the different pieces of information vying for his attention. He finally focuses on one.

“Why?” he asks, voice hoarse. It’s not even a full question, but she knows what he means.

“To keep you safe. Not knowing… you weren’t taking this seriously enough. I don’t know what I would—” She shakes her head. “We needed to know all the facts.”

He blinks, trying to process what she said. He grasps another thought. “How do you know?”

“He did a really good job of covering his tracks,” she starts slowly, probably feeling out his reaction. “It took me a long time to crack it.”

“I need more detail. You know that.”

She takes a deep breath. “It’s not very interesting—has to do with tracking down video of the event, finding the plate number. Finding the person who rented the car, deep-diving into their financials. Tracing a lump sum from a shell company to... It doesn’t really matter. Your dad paid someone to drive you off the road, Logan.”

Logan bites the inside of his cheek. Is he furious with her for butting into his dangerous business? Is he grateful she worked this hard to help him? Is he terrified his mom was right? Is he happy it’s confirmed?

Logan runs his hands over his face, then tugs at his hair. Overwhelmed, he crouches down on the sand, staring off into the distance. Where does he go from here?

Veronica slowly squats in front of him. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

There she goes, reading his mind again.

“Together.” She continues, smiling slightly. “Unless you fire me for meddling in your beeswax.” Her tone is light, but Logan can tell she’s hiding behind her words.

“Does he know you’ve been snooping? Are you in danger now, too?”

“I’m ex-FBI. I’m good at this.”

“Is that a no?”

“That’s a no.”

He assesses her. “Would you do it again?”

“Yes,” she responds, immediately, a determined set to her jaw.

“Why?”

“So we know. To keep you safe.”

They look at each other for a few moments in silence. Logan nods. “This was easier to deal with when it was all hypotheticals. I guess I really do need you—good thing I never actually managed to slip away.”

“Like you ever had a chance,” Veronica says, elbowing him softly. “So… you okay?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “I always knew he was capable. Maybe I just didn’t want to admit it to myself that he could stoop this low.”

“He’s never going to get close again.” 

She says it with so much fervor that he believes her wholeheartedly. She really wants to protect him, and his heart seems to ache with that knowledge.

“Silver lining?” she adds, tone light. “You keeping me around means you can keep making me coffee.”

Logan laughs, and it sounds loud to his ears. He takes a ragged breath, grateful to her for bringing levity to the conversation. She seems to always know what he needs. 

“And how, may I ask, is that a silver lining for me?”

She taps her chin in mock thought. “Okay, maybe just for me, then.” 

They share a smile and stand up, continuing on their trek, slower than before. His brain repeatedly cycles through everything he just learned, the crashing waves and the musky scent of the ocean the backdrop to his thoughts. Slight movement from the corner of his eye—Veronica shivering—catches his attention. 

“Quelle surprise, you’re cold and need my jacket.”

“Nope, I can deal with a little breeze! I am woman, hear me roar.”

But her teeth chatter, and he rolls his eyes, stopping to pull off his black bomber. “This has now happened multiple times. I’m starting to think you just like wearing my clothes.”

He places it on her shoulders, and rubs her arms to warm her up. 

“What can I say?” she says, staring at their toes. “You have good taste.”

After a few moments, she looks up at him, and his breath catches in his throat. She’s gorgeous. His hands slow as they gaze at each other, her deep blue eyes matching the darkness of the ocean tonight. Her exhale fans his face as she parts her lips, and he wonders what it would be like to taste them. He’s under her spell, and he doesn’t want to be released.

But—she blinks, breaking their connection, and the moment is gone in an instant. Swallowing, she steps backward. She grips the zipper of the jacket between her fingers, joking, “Alright, buster, quit copping a feel.” 

He instantly lets go of her arms like he was burned. She walks ahead of him, and his brain tries to process their charged moment and the quick shift. Was there even a charged moment? Did he imagine something that wasn’t there?

As his mind works a mile a minute, he feels bereft without her warmth under his skin. He makes a fist so he doesn’t do something idiotic, like reach out for her again. 

Did she not feel that too? She must have. Her joke was a shoddy deflection, a lame attempt at a quip. She felt uncomfortable enough to put a stop to the moment—that much was obvious—but... uncomfortable because it wasn’t wanted, or uncomfortable because it was? 

Either way, Logan knows one thing for sure. There was no denying the way he felt when their gazes locked, when he felt the pull between them. How he yearns to make her smile, how he feels better when she’s around. 

She went out of her way to get them the information to keep him safe. She makes him happy. His mom was right. And, against his better judgement, he can’t pretend anymore, no matter how much more complicated this makes things. 

Chapter Text

“God, where’s Page Six when you need them?” Veronica adopts an old school radio personality voice. “Getch’yer news here, Logan Echolls buys a manual toothbrush!”

“If it shows up on TMZ, I’ll know who leaked it.”

“Listen, I just think the world deserves to know you willingly forgo the obviously superior electric one for this useless atrocity.” She holds up the drug store plastic bag to emphasize her point.

“What can I say? My right bicep likes the nightly workout.”

She grins. “You’re such a dork.”

“A dork with perfect dental hygiene.” He bares his teeth for her and winks, so she flicks his shoulder. 

Logan sucks his lips into his mouth and bites down, hard, needing to rein in his thoughts. He stares straight ahead out of the windshield and definitely does not notice when Veronica tucks her blonde hair behind her ear. He is definitely not looking at her from the corner of his eye. 

Last week, when Veronica continued making quip after quip at the beach after their… longing look? Almost kiss? Whatever that was... Logan decided to play along. She obviously didn’t want anything to come of it, and Logan didn’t want to rock the boat. They have a good thing going. Yes, he employs her. And yes, she only hangs around him to do her job. But... they’re friends now, too. And he doesn’t want to lose her, however fucked up that is.

She wants to forget it ever happened. Which—that’s totally fine. Totally cool. He’s happy to continue with the way things are.

So, he definitely doesn’t notice when she leans her head against the window and closes her eyes, letting out a breathy sigh. Because friends don’t notice those things.

Her phone rings, and she frowns when she sees the Caller ID. “Cliff?” She answers. “I thought you went to Reno.”

After a few moments, she replies, “Sure, I’ll do it when we get home.”

Logan tries very, very hard not to read into the fact that she called his penthouse ‘home.’

“Yeah, yeah. We both know she’d rather be hearing your lovely baritone. I’ll keep you updated.” She ends the call. “Cliff needs me to send off a receipt to one of his cli—oh, shit!” 

Logan grips the steering wheel a little in surprise. “What’s wrong?!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.” She rubs her forehead. “I forgot my laptop at my house.”

“It’s fine, you can use mine.”

“No, we have a specific confidential server we use, I can only use mine, and Cliff said it’s urgent.”

“Okay… I can take you back to my place and you can grab your car and get it? But I can’t promise to be a good boy while you’re gone,” he says, tongue between his teeth. 

When Veronica hesitates, he backpedals, concerned. “I was joking, I’ll be on my best behaviour, promise.”

“No, it’s—maybe…”

He waits a beat. “Veronica?”

She bites her lip and says, “Would you mind… could you drive me to get it now?”

Logan tries not to guffaw, but… he is unsuccessful. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Of course. Just tell me where to go.” 

Veronica—the woman who made it her mission to hide so much of herself from him when they first met—is allowing him to know where she lives. He bites down on his quip about how the queen deigns to show her subjects her living quarters, because he can tell how huge this is for her, how much she must trust him.

“Take a left here at Aldridge, and then a right on Napoleon.” She twists her hands in her lap as she speaks, and Logan decides a bit of levity is needed.

“You could take over driving and blindfold me, if you want.”

She looks at him through her lashes. “You just want a reason to be blindfolded by me.”

A huff of laughter escapes him, sneaking another glance at her. “You know me so well.”

“Perv.”

“Tease.”

And—okay. He probably shouldn’t play with fire when he knows she wants nothing more than friendship, but he can’t help himself. He relishes their back and forth, and if this is the state of their relationship she’s comfortable with, that’s what it will be.

After she navigates him inland, she guides him to a bungalow on a quiet street. “This is it.” She hesitates on the door handle and says to him, “You can come in if you want.”

He basically trips over his feet with how quickly he exits his Tesla—he’s not missing this opportunity. She shakes her head at his antics, and they walk up the few steps to her front door. She opens it, and he follows her into her house. 

As they take off their shoes, he examines the space. It’s modest in size, with a modern and sleek design. The simplicity in the decor tracks, but the cold, dull tones aren’t what he would have pictured for such a vibrant person. And, at first glance, her place doesn’t seem to have many sentimental items; it’s furnished as if she pointed to a page in a catalogue at the store and made a carbon copy of it. 

“I’m not really here much, as you know,” Veronica says, like she’s explaining something.

He holds out his palm, as if to say, continue. “Okay...”

“I can see the confusion on your face.” She gestures all around her. “Doesn’t really scream ‘me,’ does it?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, not really.”

She rubs a finger over her lips. “After my dad died, no place really felt like home. So I just… stopped trying to make one.”

Logan opens his mouth—to say what? He has no idea—but she jerks her thumb behind her quickly. “Gonna grab the laptop from my room, give me one second.”

She heads to the right, and he’s left in the hallway on his own. Nonchalantly—or, as nonchalantly as he can—he steps through the doorway closest to him. His eyes scour every surface of the living room for more clues, for better insight, into who this fascinating woman is. 

A sole picture frame rests on the sideboard, and he lifts it to inspect it. A very happy Veronica—probably ten or eleven—sits on the lap of a bald man, kissing his cheek as he grins. Must be her father.

The floorboard creaks behind him as Veronica joins him in the room, slowing when she notices what he’s doing. She leans against the doorjamb. 

“My dad,” she says, with a small smile. “He was always such a clown, making everyone laugh.”

He puts down the frame and steps closer to her. “Wish I could have met him.”

She tilts her head up to him. “Yeah, me too,” she says, voice soft, like she means it. 

“Got your computer?”

She holds up her laptop, and pretends to hit him in the shoulder with it. “You done stalking me?”

“Pretty sure it’s not stalking if you’re invited in.”

“Vampires need to be invited in, too, but even when they are, they’re still vampires.”

“Mmm, your argument doesn’t make sense.”

“Judges’ rule?” She cups a hand around her ear and winces. “Oh, man. I’m sorry Mr. Echolls. You were outvoted.”

He pouts. “Petition for a revote?”

“Petition accepted.” She cups her ear again, nodding at an invisible voice. “Sorry. I still win.”

He snaps his fingers. “Aw, shucks.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, gently pushing him towards the door. On his way out of the living room, he halts in his tracks. 

“Is that… is that my book?”

Face down on the end table, beside the couch, is his first-ever published book The Unfailing Aberton. He moves forward to pick it up, and turns it over in his hands, disbelieving.

He swivels around to face Veronica, who has a faint blush on her cheeks. “You’re reading my book?” he asks slowly.

She shrugs, crossing her arms. “Well, the sleeping pills weren’t cutting it anymore, so…” A shy grin creeps across her face when she sees him staring at her. “What?”

Ignoring his racing heart, he replaces the paperback to its original spot. “Nothing.” 

Except, not nothing. She went out to buy his book. Of her own volition. She cares to read his words. And, based on the location of her earmark at the end of the novel, she liked it enough to read through it.

She reaches out to touch his arm, stopping him from leaving the room. “It’s actually not horrible,” she says, teasingly. “I’m hoping Jenny succeeds in nailing that sucker to the wall.”

He raises his brows. “I thought you didn’t believe in happy endings.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, nodding her head slowly. “I’m coming around.”

Logan takes the opportunity to curse every single one of the dumb, girly butterflies in his stomach, as make their way to the front of the house. 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he reaches for it, checking out the incoming caller. Private Number. His heart rate kicks up a notch as a deep sense of dread forms in his chest. He just knows it’s him. 

Cursing his hero-complex where he can’t back down from a fight, he eyes Veronica—who creases her brow in question—as he swipes to answer, making sure to press the speaker button.

Unclenching his jaw, he clears his throat. “Hello?”

“Son!”

An involuntary chill runs down Logan’s back. He can imagine a cold hand gripping his shoulder too tight. A threat; a leash. Not the loving gesture the cameras thought it was.

Veronica’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head vigorously. Hang up, she mouths. Staring at her, Logan takes a deep breath and hopes she can understand why he needs to do this. He’s… not exactly sure what this is. Maybe getting him off his tail for a bit? But he’ll be damned if Aaron gets a leg up on him.

“Daddy Dearest,” Logan says, injecting as much indifference into his voice as possible. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this call?” 

“A father can’t call the heir to his fortune every once in a while?”

“We both know I won’t be seeing a penny of that, so why don’t you go ahead and tell me the real reason you want to speak?”

Aaron goes quiet, and Logan knows he pissed him off because he didn’t follow the script. He’s pissed off Veronica, too, because her eyes are screwed shut like she’s willing herself not to smack some sense into him. 

“You could still get that money, Logan. I can make it happen. I could make many good things happen for you if you publicly supported me during this trial. You think your career has taken off? Just wait until you see what calls I can make. You think you like your penthouse? I’ll get you a place some people would pay tens of millions for.” 

Logan is sure Aaron is talking through gritted teeth, like he always did when he attempted to manipulate Logan without knuckles or belts.

“That’s funny, I seem to remember the opposite statement last time we spoke. That bad things would happen if I revealed some truly salacious things about you.” 

Logan counts to three in his mind, before he gives into the stupid, impulsive urge to swear at his father, tell him the world will know he’s a child-beating pervert and hang up on his sorry ass. He reminds himself that his father has more connections than he knows, and he shouldn’t take the risk. Veronica’s razor-sharp glare at his cell in his hand grounds him.

“Well, that statement has sort of changed.” Aaron’s voice is cold now, no more preamble.

This is a game to him. He wants Logan interested, and maybe if Logan feeds into it a bit, gives him what he wants, he’ll lay off.

“And how is that?”

“Bad things will happen. But not just to you. To your pretty, new girlfriend. Hi, Veronica.”

Like a sudden stabbing sensation, the wind is ripped out of him, his breath coming in short spurts. Veronica is livid—fists clenched, flushed face. 

“I’m sure she’s a sweetie, Logan. It would be a shame if something happened to her, wouldn’t it?”

White-hot heat inflames Logan, as his protective instincts lock in place. Don’t say something stupid, don’t say something stupid. His hero complex doesn’t work if, in the process, he endangers one of the only people he cares about.

But, when he raises his eyes to Veronica’s face, his mind clears. Her chin is jutted out, her face still red with rage. She swallows, her throat working, and gives him a tight lipped, devious smile. She loves revenge just as much as he does. He makes a decision.

“You know what, Dad?”

He can hear the smile in Aaron’s voice, thinking he won. “What?”

Logan inhales deeply. “Fuck. You.”

Veronica’s face turns satisfied, and Logan continues before his father can stop sputtering. “You want to threaten me? You want to try to run me off the road? Fine. But don’t you dare, ever, threaten Veronica. If I wasn’t sure I wanted to testify against you before, this secured it.”

After a few silent moments, Aaron’s frosty voice says, “You’ll regret this. You both will. Mark my words.”

Venom fills Logan’s veins, and he spits out, “Not as much as you will,” before hanging up.

He releases a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. Veronica grabs his hands to squeeze, and he realizes they’re trembling. She smiles hesitantly. “That was a really dumb idea.”

There’s a vice around his heart for a moment, where he thinks maybe he misread her reaction, and she didn’t want him to do that. She nods her head as if to convince him. “But it was the right thing. Put him away for good. He’ll never stop, anyways, right?”

She pushes up to her tippy-toes and enfolds him into a tight hug. He wraps his arms around her middle, and buries his head into her neck, closing his eyes and wishing the world outside would stop, so it could be just the two of them, like this.

Logan’s heart thumps in time with the base, the music blaring a fast-paced beat. The club smells like sweat and booze; drunk and high men and women grind and grope all around them. Logan and Veronica sit in a circular booth at the back of the club, while Enbom and Ashley shimmy out to join the rest of their group on the dance floor. 

“I know you’re not a fan of this hard stuff,” Logan says, raising his voice to be heard over the music and gesturing to the vodka bottles on the table. “So, can I order you something else when the waitress comes back?”

She tilts her chin low and raises her brows, giving him a ‘seriously?’ expression, and he mirrors it, making her chuckle. 

They have this same discussion every time they go out. Logan is very convincing, though. “Just one!”

She rolls her eyes, lips pulling up at the corners. He takes that as a yes. “Now I wouldn’t dare order for you again, but—“

“Oh, so you can teach an old dog new tricks!” She pokes him in the shoulder. “Well, why would I want to order anything other than a glass of champagne, which, if I remember correctly, you called ‘titillating.’”

He bobs his brows. “Yes, very titillating,” he says, raking his eyes over her body and making sure to pause at her chest. 

She playfully smacks him on the cheek in reprimand, pushing his face away from her, laughing. 

The server approaches their table and starts collecting the discarded shot glasses and tumblers of mixed drinks, wiping up the spills. 

Logan waves his hand to grab her attention. Her eyes catch the movement, and she glances up, cupping her ear to indicate she’s listening. 

“Two glasses and Veuve Clicquot, please.”

“Two glasses of Veuve?” the server confirms. 

“No, two glasses and Veuve, the bottle, seal untouched. I will open it myself.”

She nods, bounding away with the discarded cups, and Logan sits back on the cushion. 

When he turns to look at Veronica, she has a grin on her face and an expression of… surprise? Curiosity? She shakes her head slightly, creasing her brows, for some reason. 

“Thank you,” she says, and he gets that she’s not referring to the champagne, but rather, how he ordered it. 

“Of course.” He shrugs, frowning. Why wouldn’t he look out for her like that?

Suddenly, Dick vaults into the booth from the dance floor, pulling a mousy brunette behind him. “Dude! This DJ is rad as fuck.”

He plops down on the padded seat next to Logan, hauling his new friend down into his lap. Well—his more-than-friend, because the second her ass meets his groin, they start attacking each other's mouths with their tongues.

Logan and Veronica stare at each other with wide eyes, trying not to snicker. Veronica fake-whispers loudly, “I can’t not look! It’s like a car crash on the freeway!”

Logan winces, trying to ignore the slurping sounds in his ear. “I mean, it is his birthday…” He chances a glance at the man in question, who is way too far gone down his partner’s throat to hear them. “I guess we should be thankful they still have their clothes on.”

“That’s not something I ever thought I would have to be thankful for.”

Logan’s knee accidentally bumps Veronica’s under the table, and… she doesn’t move it away. In fact, she purses her lips in challenge and bumps his back. As they engage in a knee battle, their server comes with the sealed bottle of champagne and two glasses. Logan thanks her, and tips her a twenty.

He unwraps the tip and unscrews the wire cage. He pauses with the bottle facing upward so as to not hurt anyone, his fingers gripping the neck and thumb poised on the lip of the cork. He asks Veronica, “You ready?”

“Do it!”

With a push, the cork flies toward the ceiling and some liquid spills out the top. Laughing, he thrusts the bottle over the table so they won’t get wet, but Veronica has another idea. Quickly moving forward, she puts her lips at the opening and gulps some of the overflowing alcohol. Logan gently tips the bottle towards her, and she drinks out of it. He tries desperately not to think of her mouth elsewhere. 

Dick and the woman must have heard the pop, because they resurface… and then continue making out like nothing happened.

Grinning, Veronica wipes her face and chin with her knuckles, and Logan pours them each a glass full of liquor. 

“To making memories,” he says, looking her in the eyes.

“To making memories,” she repeats with a smile.

They sip their beverages, and Veronica inspects the crowd. She subtly nods to someone he doesn’t see—another person on his detail. He’s not sure of specifics, but he thinks two are in here and one is out front.

The flashing lights illuminate his dancing friends—Casey, Luke, Enbom, et al—when smoke puffs out from the ceiling, momentarily reducing visibility in front of them. 

“You okay?” Logan asks her. What she told him at Dick’s party is always at the back of his mind. 

“Why do you always ask me that? I should be offended you don’t think I can handle anything.” She points to herself. “Badass, remember?”

“I just never want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Logan, this is my job,” she says, slowly.

Right.

Like a knife to his belly, Logan takes a deep breath and nods. It’s not like he forgot, it’s just not something he wants to actively focus on—that they’re only hanging out because he’s paying her. He’s not sure why reminding him about their professional relationship often makes the air between them lose its ease. 

“Besides, I should be asking if you’re okay. You threatened a murderer last week.”

What a whirlwind of a week it was. Between calling Cliff to send over extra bodyguards to him and his mom right away, to finding the best, most reliable lawyer out there and working on his statement and testimony… he needs to unwind tonight.

He tries to lighten the mood. “So, over/under. Three and a half drinks spilled on us tonight.”

“Does the champagne count?” she asks.

“Nope.”

“Hmmm, I’ll take under. I’m good at dodging drunk bimbos.” She thinks for a moment. “Over/under. Two and a half of your friends puke.”

“Oh, over, one thousand percent. It’s bottles night at the club; that never ends well.” He mimes vomiting, and she pretends to gag. “Over/under. Three and a half men try to dance with you.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, contemplating. “Depends if you’re with me all night.”

“Yeah, the correct answer is zero.” His tone gets intense without him meaning to. “Nobody is getting near you on my watch.”

Veronica stares at him for a few seconds, but before he can overthink if he took it too far, he feels a hard nudge beside him. Dick has shuffled his makeout partner, so she now straddles his lap with Dick rearing forward to maul her face. Her arm, elbow and shoulder press into Logan from their rigorous embrace.

Veronica puts her palm over her mouth, trying not to devolve into giggles. She moves backward and drags Logan closer to her, so he isn’t jabbed by the couple anymore. 

“I think they’re trying to tell you they want a third,” she says.

“Dick’s been telling me that for years.” Veronica’s jaw drops and a huff of laughter escapes Logan. “I wish I was joking.”

Dick groans, and they notice the woman has undone his belt, and her hand is in his pants. 

“Oh my god!” Veronica exclaims, cringing. “Oh my god, no. No.”

She puts her champagne glass down on the table and slides through the other side of the booth, getting up and holding out her arms to help Logan up. 

With a parting look at the hot and heavy couple, Veronica full-body shudders. “I need to go bleach my brain now.”

Grinning, Logan decides that at some point, he must tell her the story of Dick in Cabo from three years ago. “Wanna dance?”

“Sure.”

Casey and Shelley show up at the booth right as they’re leaving. “You’re just in time for the porno!” Veronica jokes. “Don’t sit too close!” 

Wading through the crowd, Logan and Veronica pass massive speakers in a particularly loud section. Logan guides Veronica forward, palm gently touching her lower back. She’s wearing a thin, low cut, strappy top-thing, and it’s hard to keep his hands to himself. 

They pass Declan Walsh, an asshat he’s run into at various bars and clubs. Dick says he is rumoured to be Liam Fitzpatrick’s newest flunky, so Logan pulls Veronica in the opposite direction, not wanting her near him. 

He leads them to a patch of dance floor that doesn’t feel like a mosh pit, giving death glares the whole way to men who check Veronica out. He wasn’t joking about nobody getting near her. Couples (or random strangers) make out all around them, and he tries to keep his gaze only on Veronica, so he doesn’t imagine them in the same scenario.

They dance to the music, letting the beat dictate their rhythm. Logan can’t help but be enamoured by the way Veronica moves, the way her aqua-coloured top brings out the blue in her eyes. 

After a few minutes, she leans closer to him and says loudly so he can hear, “Don’t look now, but I think some people recognized you. There’s women pointing behind you.”

He raises his brows, and she expertly maneuvers them so he now faces where she was only a moment ago. He sees a few ladies conspicuously whispering to each other and glancing over their way. 

“The blonde one is cute,” Veronica says, winking. “Want me to be your wingman?”

He can’t think of anything he would want less right now than to leave Veronica. “I’m already having fun with a cute blonde.”

She chuckles, rolling her eyes. “Smooth.”

They continue dancing, his attention continuously drawn to the roll of Veronica’s hips, the way she holds her arm over her head as she follows the beat. 

Over her shoulder, he notices three separate men staring at her ass, appraising Logan and Veronica’s situation to assess whether they can approach her. Seemingly the space between them is giving off the impression that they have a chance. He tries to concentrate on Veronica, the blasting music, and how much fun he’s having, but his focus keeps snapping to those fucking guys.

“What’s wrong?” she yells in his ear.

“Some guys are staring at you. Apparently my menacing facial expression isn’t threatening enough, because they haven’t gotten the hint.”

She laughs, surprised. “The vultures are circling! Because there’s more gawking women, too.”

Psyching himself up, he clears his throat and says, “Seems like we need to amp up our cover.” She furrows her brows, and he elaborates. “Someone is going to annoyingly try and approach us if they don’t think we’re actually together.”

She pauses, looking at him thoughtfully. She nods slightly. “For the ruse.”

He nods back. She steps forward, closer than they’d been before, and rests her arms on his shoulders. His breathing becomes more shallow as he runs his hands down her sides. Her breasts brush against his chest, making her cleavage overflow, giving him a spectacular view. She presses her pelvis against him, one of his thighs between her legs, and begins moving her hips rhythmically in time with his.

And he just might die.

His palms slide down her back to rest at the curve of her ass, and there’s no way she can’t feel his hard-on. That doesn’t deter her though, and she undulates her hips, adding more pressure to the grinding, and—holy fuck, this is the purest, most exquisite form of torture.

They stay like that—pressed against each other and twisting back and forth—for minutes, maybe hours. He is rock-hard and needs someone to pinch him to make sure this is real. He’s not sure what he did in a past life to deserve being here, with Veronica in his arms. 

She finally looks up at him through her lashes, and it’s like the whole dance floor evaporates, and all that’s left is just her. As her movements become slower, Veronica licks her lips, and Logan’s eyes snap to the motion like a magnet. The air between them feels electric—a build-up of all the confusing feelings these past few months. 

Their dancing putters out, as he brings his hand up to caress her cheek with his knuckles. She blinks rapidly, swallowing, as if greatly affected by the touch. She inhales deeply, and their heads ever-so-gradually lean in. Logan rubs his nose against hers, lips slowly inching towards each other—

When two shots ring out.

Their heads whip up as panic ensues. Shrill screams ring in the air, and everyone around them ducks for cover, running towards the exit. Veronica throws an arm around Logan’s neck, yelling, “Get down!” She pushes him low for safety, as she reaches for the holster under her skirt. 

Only—another shot reverberates in the air, and Logan escapes from Veronica’s hold and wraps his arms around her front, shielding her as he shuffles them to the door. Unable to get her gun in his grip, Veronica elbows him, shoving him off. 

“Stay down!” she shouts, furious. She grabs the weapon from under her skirt and pushes him towards the door, head whirling around, trying to assess the situation and keep him safe. He refuses to let her be susceptible to gunfire, and they struggle as they head to the front of the club, both trying to shelter the other.

When they stumble out of the club, amidst pandemonium, Veronica yells, “What the fuck were you thinking, Logan?” 

Before he can respond, she grabs his hand, quickly scours the streets around them, and they flee the scene. They get as far away as they can, while Veronica makes a call, hushedly explaining their status and location. She hangs up, and they hail a cab two blocks away from the club. As the car slows in front of them, Logan checks his phone to see his friends have all messaged in their group chat, and he sends one off as well, letting them know they’re safe.

Veronica shoves him into the backseat and gets in behind him. “748 Pine Grove,” she bites out at the driver.

As they ride in silence, a million thoughts fly through his head, trying to process what the fuck just happened. 

She could have been hurt.

He could have lost her. 

She was only there because of him. It would have been his fault. 

He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if anything happened to her on his watch. 

Veronica stares out the window on the other side of the backseat, jaw clenched. He wants to feel her warmth under his skin again, ensure she’s safe, and whole, and there, and—

Simultaneously the longest and shortest cab ride of his life, his introspection is interrupted by the car stopping in front of his penthouse. Veronica flings the door open, stomping toward the building.

Logan throws cash in the front, not caring how much extra he just tipped, and tries to catch up with Veronica. He gets to her at the elevator bank, as she jabs the button.

The ride up to the fortieth floor is a charged one. And not in a good way. There is a different kind of electricity thrumming between them now. Veronica’s arms are crossed, and she won’t even look him in the eye. Her chest rises and falls with her rhythmic deep breaths, an obvious attempt at calming down.

They step onto his floor and finally reach his front door. Somehow, one of his bodyguards made it here quicker than they did, and he nods to them. Logan opens the door, and she blows past him, entering before him. Flinging off her shoes, she buries her hands in her hair, as she paces in front of the windows. Logan drops his keys on the entryway table, slowly approaching her, not knowing where to start.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife.

“Veronica—”

She whips around, pointing at him. “Don’t.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what?” she yells, eyes wide. “You didn’t listen to me! You could have gotten hurt!”

“You could have gotten hurt!” he roars back at her.

“This is my job!”  

Her retort feels like a slap in the face. His brain is overwhelmed with emotion, and he blinks to stop tears forming. He opens and closes his mouth, but words don’t come.

She steps toward him, expression resolute, brows creased. “This is my job, Logan,” she repeats firmly. “To protect you.” 

He shakes his head, and she nods hers. “I can’t do my job if you refuse to let me.”

“I had to protect you.”

“That’s not how this works.”

He moves closer to her. “So, what, I was supposed to duck and cover—take care of myself—and let you be open to getting hit?”

She tilts her chin up towards him, bringing her face inches from his. “Yes, because that’s—”

“If you say it’s your job one more time—”

“But it—”

He surges forward and closes the gap between them, gripping the back of her head and pressing their lips together. Logan kisses her passionately, and Veronica responds in kind. Like an elastic band snapping, a balloon bursting, a dam breaking; all their pent-up frustrations release, culminating in this one act.

She clings to his neck, while he wraps his arms around her back, needing to feel more of her. Their tongues glide against each other, their hands explore. What he had built up in his mind doesn’t even hold a candle to the moment—this moment—when his fantasy becomes reality. She tastes better than he imagined, and he wants to savour her forever. 

When their kiss slows, she pulls back, resting her head on his chest, as they catch their breath. “Logan…”

She looks up at him, uncertainty in her ocean eyes. He tries not to drown in them. 

He captures her lips with his again, unable to hold back. They embrace for another minute, finally giving in to the craving that has set Logan aflame for the better part of four months.

When they separate, he leans his forehead against hers. Disoriented, her lids droop. He runs a finger down her cheek. “I would have never forgiven myself if you had gotten hurt because of me.” He takes a deep breath. “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

He sees the instant the blinds come down on her expression, the instant the armour slides on, the instant the bars clamp closed. The instant his world shatters.

She recoils, snapping back into focus. She snatches her hands away, putting one in front of her mouth, as she shakes her head vigorously. “We can’t do this,” she whispers, effectively snapping Logan’s heart in half. “ I can’t do this.” 

She turns toward the foyer, and Logan rushes forward, confused. “Veronica?”

She holds out her palms to keep him at bay. “Don’t,” she says, her voice wobbling. “This was a mistake.”

“What?” He hovers as she slips on her shoes and grabs her purse. “Please, let’s talk about this!”

Desperation coursing through him, he shouts, “Veronica!”

But it’s no use, because she leaves, and all he can do is stare at the closed door, the slam echoing in his mind. 

Chapter Text

His brain is being pummelled by a hammer. In like, twelve different spots. Why won’t it stop? 

As he becomes less groggy, he realizes it’s a sound making his head feel this way.

Oh. It’s his doorbell ringing. 

Groaning, Logan pries his lids open and stumbles out of bed, grabbing a t-shirt off his chair. While he struggles with pulling it on, he carefully steps down the stairs. When the shrill chime continues and a loud pounding starts accompanying it, he shouts, “I heard you!”

Walking across the living room, he runs a hand over his bleary face. Fucking hangovers.

He whips open the door to see a redheaded woman, knuckles poised to begin rapping the wood once more. She stares at him with wide eyes, surveying him up and down. 

He probably looks and smells like shit. He tousles his hair, making it more messy in defiance. “Who are you?”

“Hi,” she says with uncertainty, looking beside her at the two bodyguards outside his door. “I’m Chelsea? Cliff left you a voicemail last night. I’m here to replace Veronica.”

The breath is knocked out of Logan’s lungs, as snapshots of the previous evening’s events filter through his brain. 

Veronica running away. The alcohol he numbed himself with. The calls and messages he ignored from Cliff.

Of course Veronica left his detail. He should have expected this.

He closes his eyes momentarily, regaining his composure. “Right. Um.” He clears his throat, gesturing to the hallway. “You can stay out here with them.”

She looks surprised, and perhaps Cliff explained his arrangement with Veronica. 

Yeah, like hell he’s gonna do that again.

He moves to shut the door, and she says, rushed, “Your shirt’s on inside out.”

He slams it in her face, cursing the throbbing it elicits in his brain. In his hurry to return to his bedroom, he bumps into the dining room table, knocking over the almost-empty bottle of tequila he befriended last night. “I’ll clean that up later,” he mumbles to nobody.

Uncoordinated, he climbs the stairs—missing a step and stumbling, almost knocking out his front teeth in the process—then plops back into his bed. Throwing the covers over his head, he pushes all thoughts from his mind, welcoming the wave of exhaustion overtaking him.

Lids at half mast, Logan staggers into the kitchen, desperate for coffee. Apparently being drunk or hungover for forty-eight hours straight doesn’t make you feel like sunshine and rainbows. The replacement bodyguard—Katie? Charlie?—knocks on his door, and Logan yells, “I’m still alive!”

She’s taken to doing that every couple hours or so, since it’s not like he’s left his place to let them know he’s fine. Logan should be thankful she’s doing her job, except for the fact that it’s fucking annoying.

Approaching his gooseneck kettle, he fills it with water and turns it on, thinking over the article Dick sent him yesterday evening.

It was about the shooting at the club a couple nights prior, which is what prompted last night’s particular drinking binge. From the various voicemails Logan finally listened to, Cliff had been nervous it was Logan’s father’s doing, but nope—the newbie to the Fitzpatrick gang got a little too trigger happy. Fucking idiot.

Logan grabs the coffee grinder and the beans, but as he puts the filter in, his hands slow. His mind flashes to a mug, a smile, a laugh. Her laugh. Her love of this fucking coffee he used to make her. 

Turning off the kettle, he leaves the kitchen. Stopping at his bar cart, he pulls out a brand new bottle of tequila instead, deciding it’s more equipped to make this pit in his stomach go away.

Logan leans his forearms on the railing, breeze grazing his face, brushing through his hair. He looks at his view of the beach, of the water, the waves swaying back and forth on the shore. He swallows then, knowing how much she loved this balcony, how much time she spent out here. He turns his head to look at the chair she used to sit in—her chair—and he rubs his eyes with the base of his palms, wondering when he’ll stop seeing her everywhere. He’s a fucking sap.

Maybe the tequila hasn’t been the greatest idea. Maybe that’s why he can’t stop these visions of her.

Opening the sliding door, he heads to the kitchen to get himself a cup of water. As he rests a hip against the counter, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through to her number. Again. His finger hovers over her name, but he doesn’t press it tonight. She hasn’t been answering his calls or texts for days. No replies to his voicemails. She obviously doesn’t want to talk to him.

The refreshing water sliding down his throat invigorates him a little, brings him back some of his lost dignity.

I’m done chasing.

He refills his glass and chugs it.

Coffee in hand, Logan sags into the couch, getting comfortable, when his phone vibrates. Setting the mug on the coffee table, he pulls out his device to see another message from Dick. Which he ignores. Yet again. 

He just… isn’t ready to get back out there. It’s a testament to Dick’s loyalty that he hasn’t given up on Logan entirely.

And—wow. There was a split second where he actually thought about calling Veronica to tell her. She was always wondering why they were friends, and he decided it would be a good example to show her why he keeps Dick around.

How fucked up is that? Dick is checking in to make sure Logan hasn’t drowned himself in tequila over her, and she is the one he wants to tell about it.

God, he hates himself.

He rubs his eyes hard with his palms, wondering what he could do to take his mind off her. He grabs the remote, pressing the Netflix button on his Smart TV. Scrolling through the movies, he lingers on Interview with the Vampire. They hadn’t made it to this one yet in their Tom Cruise marathon. It was next.

He runs his hand over the empty space on the cushion beside him. He spent thirty-one years without her, and only four months with her. He shouldn’t be this wrapped up in her.

Resting his head on the back of the couch, he lets out a heavy sigh. It’s been a week since she left his penthouse that night. Seven days without hearing from her. Feels like forever.

He’s barely seen his new bodyguard—her ‘replacement.’ Once when he went for a walk, and once when he was in desperate need of deodorant and went to the convenience store. Her and the others walked a few paces in front of, and behind him, both times.

He checks his watch. It’s seven pm. He climbs off the couch, heading to the front door to let her know she can go home early. Again. She took over Veronica’s schedule, but the others rotate shifts all through the night. 

He peeks his head into the hall. “Hey.”

She jumps a little at his voice and stands up straighter. “Calling it?”

“Yeah. Goodnight.”

With a pitying glance, she repeats, “Goodnight.”

As she gets into the elevator and the other man (Logan realizes he has no clue his name) calls downstairs for a second bodyguard, Logan returns to his spot in front of the TV. He challenges himself to watch the movie without thinking of her.

He fails. But not by as much as he thought.

Logan sits on the balcony under the sun, staring at the article on his phone: Echolls Alone Again?

Of course the paps got a picture of him in only the four times he’s left the house in the last two weeks. He wore his sunglasses and had his hood up over his head. His back is hunched, and he looks pale, miserable. It’s the perfect picture for their story.

He scans the piece, skimming through spotted alone for the first time in months, and single once more?, and bodyguards tailing his every move, and source close to Echolls, and throws women away like Kleenex. 

He sips his coffee and closes the browser application. He doesn’t need to torture himself like that. He’s moving on. 

Look at him, sitting in her favourite spot, drinking her favourite drink. Alone. Without a pit in his stomach or a lump in his throat. 

Look at him, making progress. He can do this.

A knock on his front door startles him, and he opens the sliding screen, crossing the open area in his penthouse to reach the foyer.

“Cliff?”

“Mr. Echolls!” Cliff McCormack says, like he’s surprised to see him, even though this is his condo. “Do you mind if I come in?”

Logan steps back, giving him space to enter. Cliff waves to Chelsea and the other bodyguard, who stand off to the side, and crosses the threshold. They walk into the living area, and Logan sits in the armchair, as Cliff takes a seat on the couch. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it in person until now. I was out of town, and I tried calling, but…” he trails off.

Not really sure where this conversation is going, Logan tries to end it before it begins. “All good.”

“How’s Chelsea?”

She’s not Veronica.

Since Logan hasn’t actually had use for Chelsea—aside from walking behind him four times—he just nods.

“Well”—Cliff clasps his hands together and places them on his lap—“I wanted to apologize for what happened with Veronica.”

Logan stiffens. Though Cliff notices, eyeing him closely, he continues. “Your business is very important to us. I want to make sure you know Veronica’s unprofessionalism is not reflective of our company.”

Unprofessionalism. What did she tell him? Just the walking out, or the kiss, too?

“Got it.”

“I want you to know how appreciative we are that you are giving us another chance, and I assure you—”

“Listen, Cliff, this isn’t necessary. I appreciate you sending Chelsea to replace her so quickly, but there’s really no need to rehash—”

“Wonderful.” Cliff stands, probably happy to have this interaction over with, too. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who wants to suck up to a big client, but will do it to make sure they keep lining his pockets. Logan remembers how close Veronica said she and Cliff are, so he’s sure Cliff enjoyed this conversation as little as Logan did. 

Logan follows Cliff to the door to walk him out, but at the foyer, Cliff slows. He turns to Logan, hesitant, his voice now lacking the showman quality. “She’s never slipped up like this on a job before.”

Logan furrows his brows, taking a few seconds to formulate a response. “Nice to know I’m considered a slip-up.”

Cliff looks at him seriously for a moment. “You need to understand. After her dad died… Her job—it’s the only thing she has left.” 

Cliff has obviously stepped out of the Veronica’s-boss role and into the Veronica’s-mentor role, and Logan hates it. He doesn’t need to understand anything. 

(And her job didn’t have to be the only thing she had left.)

Cliff continues. “And if she thought she messed it up or put you in danger…” 

Is being called a mess-up better or worse than being called a slip-up?

Logan steps around Cliff to open the door for him, a not-so-subtle indication that this conversation is done.

Cliff looks at the floor momentarily, knowing he wasn’t able to convince him. As he walks by Logan, he says, “We really do appreciate your business, Mr. Echolls.”

Saying goodbye to Chelsea and his other employee, Cliff jabs the elevator button. When the car reaches the landing with a ding, he gets on, and Logan rushes forward. “Cliff?”

The older man juts his arm out to stop the doors from closing, a hopeful look on his face. 

“Can you tell her…” 

Tell her what, exactly? He misses her? He doesn’t understand how she could leave like that? They could be only friends, if she wants, he just doesn’t want to lose her? Logan shakes his head. 

“Nevermind.”

Cliff closes his eyes for a moment, resigned. "Two peas in a pod," he mutters, like he expected it. Like... Veronica did the same thing? Told Cliff to send him a message and then changed her mind? Once again, he wonders what exactly she said to Cliff.

The timer sounds, and Cliff lets go, disappearing as the elevator slides closed. Logan nods to the bodyguards and heads back inside.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he answers it. “Hey, Peter.”

“Logan, buddy, how’s it going?”

“Good, what’s up? Did you take a look?”

“Yep, finally read it all through. And man, my first impression? I think it’ll be huge.”

A weight he didn’t know he had on his shoulders lifts. “You think?”

“Oh, for sure. This could even be bigger than Aberton.”

Logan enters his office and sinks into his chair, running his hand through his hair. “Wow.”

“Wanted to call you to say, well done. I’ll get started on some preliminary notes this week.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for calling.”

They hang up, and Logan leans back. Using his feet to swivel his seat back and forth, his fingers twitch, and he wills himself to not pick up the phone and call her. Because of course, she’s the first person he would want to tell this news to. 

His mind flashes to his novel, open on her table in her house, and it takes everything in him not to breach her privacy and knock on her front door.

To tell her how excited he is.

To tell her he wants to celebrate with her.

To beg her to tell him how they can fix this. 

Instead, he gets up and dials Dick’s number. “Hey, man… Yeah, I know. I’m sorry.”

Logan opens the door as Dick puts on his sneakers. He turns to Chelsea, who leans on the wall beside him. “You can go ahead, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“You sure?” she asks, unsurprised. 

“Yeah, thanks.”

She grabs her jacket and presses the button for the elevator, when Dick bounds into the hall. He bobs his brows at Logan and sidles up to Chelsea. ”Going down?” Dick asks suggestively, and Logan rolls his eyes, as she grimaces.

He heads back inside, stopping at his bar cart to pour himself two fingers of scotch. He’s been feeling good these past couple of weeks—reaching for water or coffee during the day instead of the hard stuff. Been getting out more—going for runs, seeing his friends, his mom. Putting his all into his testimony during depositions and trial prep. It’s been a long month, but he feels better.

Taking his glass with him, he pauses in the main area to put away the controllers he and Dick were using, and then moves toward his balcony. Opening the sliding doors, he steps through and instantly inhales the fresh air.

Enjoying the view, he sits down in his chair and sips his beverage. He’s been spending a lot of time on the balcony, recently. 

He doesn’t even see her here anymore.

The thought of her doesn’t sting like it once did. More of a dull ache, at this point. He’s come out the other side, and he’ll be okay. He’ll continue writing. He’ll hang out with his friends. He’ll enjoy life. 

He’ll never find someone like her again, though.

It’s a scary thought, but he won’t lie to himself. She was special. She just… didn’t want him back. 

He ignores the devil on his shoulder saying it was his brokenness that ran her off, his issues that messed it up. Because rationally, he knows that’s not it. He knows it’s her—her hang ups, her past. She can’t let herself be vulnerable around others, won’t let herself be vulnerable, and yet… he got to her. He knows he did.

So—maybe it’s not that she didn’t want him back. Maybe she did, but she couldn’t… 

She just couldn’t.

It would have never worked between them, not until she got over that. Not until she let herself go, let herself believe she could have that happiness, that connection with him. That she could find family again. It was better she left when she did. 

The doorbell captures his attention, and he furrows his brows. Who could it be? Dick was heading over to Enbom’s. Chelsea, maybe? The bell rings again, and he gets up, curious.

Stepping onto his hardwood, he closes the sliding door behind him. Setting his drink on the dining room table, he makes his way to the foyer. He opens the door, and—

It’s her. Veronica.

She’s here. 

Clad in a denim jacket, hair pulled off to the side, he forgot how beautiful she was. His memories of her don’t match up to the real thing. Her hands are in the back pockets of her dark jeans, and she looks at him with… with… regret. 

And sorrow. 

And… longing?

It’s like the mature and rational part of his brain melts away, and all he can do is stare, open mouthed, unable to form words. 

She’s here.

All the pep talks of the past month without her, all the bullshit lies he told himself to move on, all the strides he took to get over it. They’re all gone, and all that’s left is just her. And him. And the fact that his feelings actually haven’t changed one bit.

Fuck.

Only—

Only—she rushes forward to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he meets her halfway, crushing his mouth to hers, and he grabs her head, and she scrunches his shirt in her fist, and their tongues reacquaint, and she lets out a moan, and he presses closer to her, and she’s here, and he kicks the door closed, and, and, and.

She pulls back, peering at him from under her lashes. 

“You’re back,” Logan says incredulously. 

She shakes her head infinitesimally, her eyes glistening. “I was so…” she whispers. “I was so… I couldn’t—”

“You’re here now,” Logan responds, cutting her off, his hoarse voice reverent. The grey cloud that has hung over him for the last month slowly begins to fade. And he’s so weak that he doesn’t even care what changed, doesn’t need the reason, doesn’t need anything, except her. “It’s okay, you don’t have to—“

But she presses her palms into his shoulders, steeling herself, wanting to explain. “I was scared. And I ran. I should have stayed, I should have tried to tell you… I want this. I want you.” She swallows. “I hate that I ever made you feel like I didn’t.”

They stare at each other for a few moments, processing the gravity of her words. He would have accepted her presence without explanation, because he’s that gone for her, but her insistence on clarifying means a lot to him. Putting herself out there like that isn’t easy for her, and she did it for him. 

She licks her lips, then takes a deep breath. “I’m not running anymore.”

Logan runs his thumbs down the sides of her face, trying to process everything. He wonders what happened these past weeks to help her come to this conclusion. To think she might have missed him as much as he missed her, might have been as miserable as he’d been… It feels surreal. 

As Logan’s brain continues to wrap itself around this new development (she’s here, she wants him), his lips slowly curve upward, and hers mirror his. In seconds, they both have goofy grins on their faces, and then lean in at the same time.

Their clothes fly off as they stumble up the stairs, and playful laughs are shared while they explore each other’s bodies. When they come together with breathy gasps, Logan feels complete for the first time since he last saw her. Every touch from Veronica heals another broken fragment that plagued him while she was gone.

And when they lay in bed after—running their hands along each other’s skin like they can’t get enough, fighting their drooping lids so they can stay in this moment longer—Logan finally lets out the breath he’d been holding for a month. As they gaze into each others’ eyes, he sees the promise in them. She’s here to stay.