Logan didn't mind trading places with Jack.
There were a lot of perks that came with it. A nice flat in Chelsea, for example. Better WiFi. More respect from their mother. But the one thing that Logan wasn't enjoying was Jack's endless enthusiasm for Chloe Cartwright.
Bloody hell, the man was obsessed.
Photos of their trip to Amsterdam on the fridge, a birthday card from her on the mantel, some terrible mix tape that she had made for him — it was madness. Logan and Jack had switched wallets and phones now, which meant that Logan even had to deal with her 3 a.m. dog memes.
But he had to keep Jack happy.
For the article.
Which was why — when Chloe suggested going to Hyde Park's Winter Wonderland — Logan reluctantly agreed. After all, Jack had begged him.
"You have to go," Jack urged, over the phone. "She'll know something's up if you don't. We go every year."
"But it's so crowded."
"Well, tough luck," Jack said. "This was your idea, remember?"
And then he hung up. Actually hung up on him, the little shit.
Logan sighed. Well, it was too late, now; he was here. And Winter Wonderland was just as dreadful as he remembered: screaming children ran helter-skelter around the alpine shacks, waving sticks of sizzling Bratwurst. Christmas music blasted through tinny speakers, thrumming in time with the flashing carousel lights. Despite the chilly air, the whole outdoor market felt humid. Sweaty.
Logan looked longingly toward a shack selling mulled wine. God, what he'd give for a proper drink. But, no. Apparently Chloe and Jack always got hot chocolate. The idiots.
So here they were.
"Two hot chocolates, please," Chloe said. "Both medium." She had to stand on her tiptoes to see over the counter. "One with marshmallows, but no whipped cream."
"For you, sir?"
"I'll have a peppermint hot chocolate," Logan muttered.
With whisky. Lots of whisky.
The sales assistant retreated, looking about as thrilled to be here as Logan was. Chloe gave him an odd look.
"You hate mint hot chocolate," she said.
Ah, shit. Did he?
"I'm trying something new," Logan countered.
"But you hate new things."
"Well, I'm being spontaneous today."
Chloe blinked. "You know you've tried mint hot chocolate before, right? At that Christmas market in Edinburgh. You said it tasted like toothpaste."
Logan sighed. Damn this girl. She was relentless. Did she keep a bloody spreadsheet of all of the foods Jack enjoyed or something?
"Besides," Chloe continued, "you only drink orange hot chocolate."
Yup. There was definitely a spreadsheet.
"I told you, I'm branching out."
Chloe opened her mouth — clearly gearing up for an attack — and Logan almost cried with relief when he saw that their drinks were ready. He lunged for the cups, practically shoving Chloe's hot chocolate into her gloved hands.
"Let's walk," he said.
They carved a path through shacks selling butterscotch fudge and handblown glass ornaments. Chloe wanted to stop at each one, admiring the displays in a way that Logan probably would have found sweet if he wasn't so bloody claustrophobic.
Mercifully, Chloe finally agreed to go to a bar.
They found a table wedged near the back of a mock ski chalet, crammed with fur throw blankets, wooden tables and a stuffed boar's head. Logan hoped for the boar's sake that it was fake, too.
"Thanks for being so cool about all of this," Chloe said, flushing slightly. "About Logan and I going skating tomorrow, I mean." She fiddled with her paper cup. "I know I didn't say it before, but I appreciate it."
She took a long sip of her cocktail. She was nervous, Logan realized with some surprise. Nervous about Jack's reaction.
That was a good sign.
Logan decided to proceed with caution.
"Why do you like Logan, anyway?" he asked carefully. "You don't even know him."
Chloe scowled. "Of course I know him."
"Oh, really? What's his favourite colour?"
"Red."
It was green, actually. But never mind. Logan would let it slide.
"What's his favourite band?"
"Well, it's..." Chloe sipped her drink. "Vance Joy."
Christ. She clearly thought Logan was a lot cooler than he actually was; his favourite band was One Direction. He was shameless about it.
Logan studied her carefully. This was a classic case of what he liked to call Empty Box Syndrome.™ He'd meet some girl, and she'd fill him up with whatever she wanted him to be: romantic, arrogant, funny, charming, secretly damaged — the list went on and on. And when she realized that Logan was actually just — well — Logan, she'd leave.
It was a vicious cycle.
He remembered reading a poem by Byron in his fourth year studying English literature at Exeter University. How did it go again?
With women he was what
They please to make or take him for; and their
Imagination's quite enough for that.
Byron got it. What a legend, actually; he fricking loved Byron. He should really buy a copy of his poems for his flat.
Logan looked at Chloe. What were they talking about again? Oh, yeah. Vance Joy.
"That's a singer," Logan pointed out. "Not a band."
She flapped a hand. "Same difference."
"It's not, actually."
"Well, it's a technicality."
As a journalist, Logan lived for technicalities; writing that a candidate was a "notorious gambler" versus a "casino enthusiast" could change the outcome of a political election.
But, you know.
He'd let it slide again.
"Do you want another drink?" Chloe asked, hopping to her feet. "I can go get us—" She overshot, stumbling towards a fire pit. "Woah!"
Logan panicked. He lunged forward, grabbing her arm.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." Chloe smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. Classic me."
Logan released her, his heart racing. Bloody hell; this girl was going to kill him before the month was up. "You're kind of a nightmare. You know that, right?"
She winked. "But you love it."
Logan balked as she departed. God, did Jack love it? More power to him. Logan would personally go mad if he had to spend his life trailing Chloe around, making sure that she didn't accidentally trip over a stool and set fire to herself.
Chloe was back a moment later, two cups of steaming mulled wine clutched in her hands.
"Thought I'd switch it up," she said, passing one to Logan. "I liked the cocktail, but I figure since it's Christmas we should—"
"Logan!"
Logan froze. Oh, no. Please, god, no. He recognized that voice.
But it was too late — Kate was already making her way over to them.
Logan was panicking.
Kate weaved neatly around wooden tables, her dark ponytail swinging behind her. She was wearing a pair of white earmuffs that should have looked stupid, but actually looked incredibly sexy. Damn her. Logan couldn't afford to be distracted.
"Logan," Kate said breathlessly. "What on earth are you doing here?"
He hated crowds. They both knew it. Just like they both knew that the person sitting at this table in a crowded alpine bar was, in fact, Logan Winters — not Jack.
He clenched his jaw.
"Sorry," he said. "You must know my brother."
He slid his eyes to Chloe, who was glancing between the two of them, her hands crushing her paper cup. Fortunately, Kate caught on.
"Oh, I work with Logan," Kate said quickly. "At the magazine." She batted her eyes innocently. "I didn't realize he had a twin."
Logan hid a smirk. He had to hand it to her — if Shout! ever went under, Kate would make a fantastic actress. Hell, he'd nominate her for an Oscar.
"Jack," he said, sticking out a hand. "Pleasure."
"Kate."
They shook. Chloe relaxed, and she smiled at Kate with much more warmth than she had shown a few minutes ago.
"You work with Logan?" she repeated.
Kate nodded. "How do you know him?"
Logan looked at her curiously. He doubted Chloe would say they were dating, but she did think that they made out on a balcony. That was hardly "just friends" territory.
Chloe flushed. "We go way back."
"Ah." Kate's eyes sparked. "You must be Chloe."
She perked up a little at that, and Logan groaned inwardly. Damn Kate. Damn her to hell. Now Chloe was going to think that Logan talked about her incessantly at work and wanted to marry her and buy a two-storey home in Kent.
And Kate knew it.
He shot her his best "I'm-going-to-kill-you-later" look.
She smirked.
"Cute jumper, Jack," Kate said, nodding at his shirt. "Where's it from?"
No, scratch that. He was going to cut her into pieces and stuff her into their Christmas turkey. Ka-Turkey à la King.
"Jack Wills," he ground out.
Kate nodded. "Sensible choice," she said. "Logan's always wearing the most ridiculous designer clothing to work."
He narrowed his eyes. "Really?"
"Oh, yeah." Kate nodded emphatically. "You wouldn't believe how ugly some of it is."
Nah, mate. That was enough.
"We should go," Logan said abruptly, rising to his feet. "Chloe?"
She blinked. "But we just got more drinks."
"We can take them to go," he growled, seizing her arm. "Come on."
Chloe looked appalled. She shot Kate an apologetic look as Logan frog-marched her out of the bar, one hand still firmly gripping her arm. He couldn't risk Chloe trying to set herself on fire again. Particularly not now.
"What are you doing?" she hissed. "She clearly likes you!"
Logan stared at her. "What?"
"Didn't you hear her compliment your shirt?"
Logan snorted. Oh, the dramatic irony. It was killing him.
"Trust me," he muttered, dragging her through the exit. "She doesn't like me."
"Yes, she does," Chloe said stubbornly. "And she's cute, Jack." She was jogging to keep up with him as they started down a dirt path through the park, illuminated by wrought iron lampposts. "You should ask her out!"
"I didn't get her number."
"Well, ask Logan for it, then."
Logan wanted to laugh. No, really; the irony was killing him. Chloe was encouraging him — the man that she fancied — to ask out another woman. If only she knew.
"Oh, come on," Chloe said, nudging him. "You think she's cute, right?"
Logan paused. Did he think Kate was cute? Well, yes. He supposed he did. And sexy. And a really bloody brilliant writer. He even had the piece she wrote on extending school lunches for vulnerable students on his coffee table. Not that Logan would ever admit that to her.
In fact, now that Logan was thinking about it, it was a miracle that he hadn't slept with Kate yet. Why hadn't he?
HR policies?
Nah. He couldn't give a shit about those.
Something else was holding him back. Some feeling that Logan couldn't quite put his finger on. And as a journalist, he was terrified of that. The unknown.
"Jack?" Chloe asked.
"What?"
"She's cute, right?"
"Yeah." Logan licked his lips. "Yeah, she's cute."
He just wished that he hadn't realized it.