Page 44 of The Best Worst Thing

Impossible Things

On Thursday evening, Nicole was at the grocery store grabbing a couple of things for dinner when Logan texted to say he was caught up at the office, but to let herself in with his hidden key—that he wouldn’t be longer than an hour.

And so, with a bag of stir-fry ingredients tucked under her arm, Nicole unlocked Logan’s front door, helped herself to a handful of gummy worms, then wandered upstairs to find something to read.

She was lying on the couch in his office with her legs kicked up, twenty swollen pages through his water-damaged copy of The Man in the High Castle, when she heard his screen door swing open.

Logan was talking to someone—on the phone, it seemed. And his voice sounded different.

“I don’t know, man. The creative is great.

The art is done, the deck is done. The pricing is all set.

We’re ready to go. I believe in it. Maya believes in it.

It’s a month of work—of great work. I don’t think we can throw together anything that holds a candle to this.

Not in two weeks, that’s for sure. It’s just too big of a campaign.

Trust me, if I thought we could pitch anything better, I’d tell you. You know that.”

Nicole stepped onto the landing and issued Logan—who was pacing around his living room with his AirPods in and his brow furrowed—a half wave.

He smiled, then held up a single finger—that universal sign for one more minute.

When he rolled his eyes and twirled his finger in a few wacky loops, she chuckled.

That was the universal sign for one more minute on the phone with Quentin Porter.

“I don’t think New York can do it either,” he said as Nicole tiptoed down the stairs. “I think we run with what we’ve got. I think that gives us our best chance here.”

Logan was still walking in circles as Nicole took her last couple of steps toward him. Just before she arrived, he closed his eyes and frowned. Nicole slung her arms around him. He put his hands on her waist.

Hey, he mouthed. I’m so sorry.

Nicole shook her head and kissed his neck as his hands crawled underneath her sweatshirt. While Quentin, it seemed, kept on talking.

“Okay,” Logan said, his fingers tensing then releasing against Nicole’s ribs as he exhaled. “We’ll figure it out in the morning, then.”

He yanked out his headphones and chucked them onto the sofa, eyes still glued to Nicole. Leaning against the back of the couch, he locked her legs around him and kissed her.

“Guess where I’m going tomorrow?” he said.

“Mm.” She pressed her hands onto his chest, tugging down on his collar while he tightened his grip on her ass. “Discovery Zone? Colonial Williamsburg? The Museum of SPAM?”

He laughed, carrying her into the kitchen as she rattled off a dozen other obscure Loganesque destinations.

The Ben & Jerry’s Factory. Rancho Obi-Wan.

Canada. Without letting go of Nicole, he grabbed a beer from his fridge, then propped her up on the counter and stood between her kicking legs. He slid his free hand up her thigh.

“One more guess.”

“Space Camp?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Fucking Monterey.”

Nicole frowned. “For how long?”

“Fifteen minutes? Two days? The rest of my life?”

Logan reached for the bottle opener a foot or so behind where he’d parked Nicole, then cracked open his beer and sighed. Nicole unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt and ran her nose along his collarbone. He closed his eyes.

“Can I tell you something?” he said.

Nicole nodded. He took a sip of his beer, then exhaled.

“I fucking hate my job. I am so tired of Quentin. I am so tired of having a boss who only makes things harder. Who’s so far removed from reality and from the everyday operations of his own business that he just disappears for months.

And then, out of nowhere, when he realizes we’re at the finish line for some eight-figure deal, decides to call me up in a total panic with a completely impossible idea and no time to execute it. ”

Nicole put her hands on his shoulders. Tried to do what he always did for her lately, when she was worked up or nervous or stressed. She touched him. She kneaded her fingers into his neck, his shoulders, his back and tried to listen to what he had to say.

“Our pitch is two weeks from today. The creative is brilliant. I am so, so sure about it. We’re all so sure about it.

Quentin hasn’t written a line of copy, hasn’t flown down to sit in his office, hasn’t done a thing to help us win a client in five years.

It’s one thing to be out of touch. It’s one thing to be a pain in the ass.

But now, he’s actually starting to get in the way. He’s a fucking problem.”

Nicole nodded. Logan slammed back the rest of his beer, then flung open the fridge door and grabbed another.

“We don’t have another opportunity this big in our pipeline.

People are going to lose their jobs. Our best talent is leaving.

They’re fed up. And he won’t look at the numbers.

He’s in denial. He’s trying to open this office in London, and I don’t even know why.

He’s going to bleed the agency dry. We don’t need thirty people in London.

We just need him to shut up and let us do our jobs.

“But you know Quentin.” Another swig. Another sigh.

“It’s all just prestige for him. He used to be the best around.

And I know he’s a creative. I know he’s not an accounts guy.

But he knows better. He knows agencies are only as good as the work they’re doing right now.

That nobody gives a shit that we were the coolest shop around seven Super Bowls ago. We need this account. We really do.”

Logan stopped to shove a fistful of dry Fruity Pebbles in his mouth, then handed the giant box to Nicole, who was just sitting there, listening. She held out a second palm of rainbow-colored pellets for him, then set the carton aside.

“If he interferes here, I don’t know what’s going to happen.

Except that he’s going to ruin the agency’s reputation—and mine.

I can’t go into this meeting and pitch shit.

I won’t do it. I’m not going to look like an idiot.

And I’m not going to sit there and let him burn the whole place down.

Not with me and my team there to watch.”

Nicole was just nodding. Just taking him in.

He kept going. Fifteen, twenty, thirty more minutes.

He paced around the kitchen and he ate his weird children’s cereal and he let it all out.

When he was done—nearly out of breath and halfway through his third beer and kind of damp and red and drained—he settled back between Nicole’s legs and closed his eyes.

“What do you think I should do?” he said.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. You’re, like, the smartest person I know. Well, other than Dave.”

Nicole laughed, her legs still dangling around his hips. His hands, back to running up and down her thighs.

“Well, maybe you just take it one step at a time, you know? Figure out how to win this account, and do that. Quentin’s an idiot, underneath it all.

He’s always needed you. So do what you have to do to make sure the pitch is perfect.

Close the deal. And then, maybe after that, it’s time to make a change. Maybe it’s finally time to go.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s, like, legitimate advice. You didn’t even make fun of me.”

“Yeah, well, I’m starting to think you kinda know what you’re doing.”

He glared at her. She kissed him.

“I have this other idea too,” she said, dropping her lips to his throat and her hands to his belt loops. He laughed, took a long, last swig of his drink, then picked her up and tossed her onto his couch. She lay there, giggling, biting into her bottom lip while he kicked off his shoes.

“Describe it to me,” he said, crawling on top of her as she finished unbuttoning his shirt. “Spare no details. Use extra words.”

Nicole rolled him over and kissed him hard. He licked his lips, then pulled off her sweatshirt as she outstretched her arms.

“Why don’t you tell me what you want for a change?” she said.

“I want two things. Very badly.”

“Yeah?” She ran a few fingers down his torso. His muscles tensed, and he was hard between her legs. “Tell me.”

“I’d like to play shortstop for the Seattle Mariners. I understand I’m probably too old at this point, so I’m willing to settle for manager. Even first base coach would be fine.”

“That’s one,” Nicole said, sliding her mouth onto his stomach. He craned his neck, watching her lips glide lower and lower. “If the second one’s about the Seahawks, so help me god.”

Logan laughed, shaking his head. “The truth,” he said, “is the things I want are impossible. I can’t quit my job without a better one lined up.

And I can’t take you upstairs and fuck the living daylights out of you.

Which, to be completely honest, is pretty much all I think about, all day and all night, no matter where I am or what I’m supposed to be doing. ”

Nicole inhaled sharply, then sat up and straddled him. “You could absolutely take me upstairs,” she said, unbuckling his belt. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. “You could do whatever you wanted to me. You just … won’t.”

Logan, chest heaving, peeled off Nicole’s shirt, then unhooked her bra and pulled her down onto him, running his mouth over every inch of her bare skin.

When he slowed down to circle his tongue over her pinched nipple, Nicole yanked him deeper between her legs, then tugged the hair at the crown of his head.

“We need to have sex,” she said. “We do this every night. Push your plan to the limit, then go home and listen to each other breathe. Over the phone. In the dark. In our own beds. It’s ridiculous. Neither of us can think straight. We’re both adults. You know I’m ready. And I know you want to.”

“September,” he said, while stripping off her shorts.

While sliding his hands down her quaking hips.

While slipping his forefingers just beneath the frilly seams of her underwear and watching her eyes go wide.

She had her hands down his unzipped pants and her half-opened mouth pressed against his ear.

“Take me upstairs,” she said, “and show me what you wrote on that little sheet of paper.”

He closed his eyes, then kissed her again.

“In any other universe,” he said, “I would. But I can’t get this wrong with you.

And I’m not going to sleep with you for the first time because I’m sad or I’m angry or I hate my boss or anything like that.

When we do this, you’re going to know exactly how much I want you, exactly what I’m doing here, and exactly what kind of man I am.

I don’t want there to be any confusion about that, ever again. ”

Nicole nodded, then floated her hands to his open palms and exhaled as their fingers intertwined.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “You kind of love this, don’t you? Making me wait? Driving me crazy?”

He laughed, then reached for the remote as she rolled over and curved her bare spine into his chest. The back of her head fell just beneath the front of his shoulder. He pulled a blanket over them, pushed up her hair to kiss the nape of her neck, then threaded his arms around her stomach.

“There are worse things,” he said, “than listening to Nicole Speyer beg me to screw her brains out every night. I’ll leave it at that.”