9. Casey

Chapter 9

Casey

Logan’s words completely caught me off guard.

We’d spent the past few days dancing around the issue. Life kept popping up and things kept getting in the way.

But as we sat in the torn-up garden among the scattered flowers, there was no place to hide.

Now I just needed to know what Logan meant by ‘changed everything.’

“What do you mean?” I asked.

Logan’s candor had left me momentarily stunned.

I shifted closer to him, searching his expression as if testing his sincerity. Between us was silence thick with tension, and without realizing it we both leaned in.

It was as if we were magnetically drawn together, a moment of charged intensity. An unspoken agreement that was finally being secured.

Logan reached over and brushed a stray leaf from my shoulder. Our eyes locked and before either of us could think twice, our lips met in a brief but electric kiss.

Our lips touched and the connection seemed to freeze us in time. For a few seconds, the world narrowed to only this moment. Logan’s hand resting on my leg, warmth radiating from his palm. The fresh scent of soil mingled with a hint of Logan’s cologne.

The kiss ended as quickly as it began.

We both pulled back, visibly affected.

My heart raced, both exhilarated and anxious about the boundaries we’d just crossed.

My mouth opened as if to speak, but I struggled to find words.

Before either of us could utter a word, the shrill ring of Logan’s phone cut through the air like a knife. Logan flinched then quickly fumbled for his phone in his jacket pocket. Glancing at this screen, his expression shifted to one of deep concern.

“It’s work,” he said, already stepping away to answer. “Hello, this is Dr. Westbrook…”

Logan’s posture straightened, and his tone shifted into one of an authoritative surgeon. It was as if I could feel the loss of Logan’s presence as it evaporated into the cool evening air.

Logan ended the call and turned to look at me with an apologetic expression. “It’s an emergency. I have to go.”

I masked my disappointment with a polite smile. “Of course, go save lives.”

Logan hesitated, lingering for just a moment as his eyes locked with mine. It was as if he wanted to say something more but couldn’t think of the right words. I knew the exact feeling.

Crickets chirped around us and stars twinkled above, signaling a perfectly romantic evening that had been spoiled by a work call.

Suddenly, Logan turned and rushed away, leaving me in the garden, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

My mind raced once Logan was gone.

I brushed my hand over my lips, feeling the ghost of his kiss. The moment had been brief and fleeting but it had changed everything. And I knew with a smile that, one way or another, there was no going back.

Betsy was the undeniable queen of throwing a lavish event that would make your jaw drop. This evening’s art auction was no exception.

Even with the glamorous party swirling around me, the only thing consuming my thoughts was the kiss I’d shared with Logan in the garden a few hours earlier. The kiss lingered in my mind, eclipsing even the most dazzling moments of the soiree so far.

Looking around, I surveyed the room which was filled with Charleston’s wealthiest residents. Logan had gone to fetch drinks, and without him by my side, I felt out of place among finely dressed strangers.

The differences between me and them couldn’t have been more obvious.

Most of the auction-goers wore subtly expensive outfits that whispered their wealth instead of shouting it. Yet, after spending lots of time around people like this, I’d learned to spot the truly elite—the ones who wore tailored ensembles with effortless confidence, leaving no doubt in my mind that they lived in a different stratosphere.

The grand ball room at Westbrook Meadows had transformed into a sea of bespoke suits, shimmering jewelry, and couture gowns. The women in the room were elegantly clad in floor-length gowns of emerald, blue, and wine red. The gentlemen looked debonaire in custom-tailored tuxedos. Their pocket squares were folded with precision, and their shoes were shined to an almost mirror-like state.

Above us was a beautiful chandelier that cast a warm glow upon waitstaff that fluttered in and out of crowds in crisp uniforms. Guests mingled, champagne flutes in hand, creating a low hum of conversation punctuated by the occasional laugh and sharp tings of glasses clinking. Towering flower arrangements stood at intervals throughout the room—fresh white roses and eucalyptus.

Art pieces were displayed with precision all along the walls, and other pieces were scattered throughout the space on elevated pedestals. Paintings hung on the walls ranging from sprawling landscapes to abstract bursts of color. Items ranging from sculptures to more delicate works were displayed on black, velvet stands.

It was painfully obvious that I didn’t belong. The weight of the wealth in the room was overwhelming, almost radiating.

Logan suddenly appeared next to me.

“Don’t worry,” he said in a comforting tone, “they’re more bark than bite.”

His reassurance was a welcome relief. He handed me my drink as one of his coworkers, Danielle, came over to say hello.

As he introduced me, Logan put his hand on my shoulder.

Everyone around us noticed.

I was more focused on the smile radiating from Logan’s eyes. He knew I was nervous, and it was kind of him to guide me this way.

Logan’s colleague pulled him away to speak with a group of hospital staff.

Alone again, but this time feeling slightly more confident.

That was, until I noticed the whispers and stares.

Suddenly, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching me. It was completely understandable, given that Logan had essentially just demonstrated his first public display of affection with me. Hopefully the first of many to come.

Still, I felt eyes on me. People kept glancing at their phones then back up at me. Much to my own bewilderment. I decided to go to the restroom just for a breather, and when I returned, Logan was nowhere in sight.

But still… eyes followed me everywhere I went, tracking my every move.

Instinctively, I knew it wasn’t just paranoia.

Unfortunately, I noticed Veronica approaching me from the other side of the room. I could never quite figure out why the family continued to invite her around. Maybe blood ran thicker than I imagined with the Westbrooks.

She sidled up next to me with a mischievous grin on her face. “Casey, darling, how are you holding up?”

I was confused about why someone like Veronica would inquire about my wellbeing.

“It’s a beautiful event,” I said with a forced smile. “Betsy really went all out.”

She furrowed her brow. “Oh dear, you haven’t heard the news, have you?”

“What news?”

Veronica grinned with false sympathy. “Such a shame, really. But I’m sure Logan will understand… once he sees it.”

She held her phone up so I could view the screen. I squinted and noticed that it was a headline for a news article.

Nanny or Gold Digger? Westbrook Heir’s Controversial Relationship Raises Questions.

My blood ran cold as I skimmed the scathing words contained within the exposé. There were allegations of social climbing, comments about my “suspicious background,” and thinly veiled implications that I was using Logan for financial gain.

Each of these things was reportedly told to the blog writer by an “insider source.”

I immediately knew that the source was Veronica.

If I wasn’t so embarrassed by the article, I’d be furious with her.

How could anyone question my motives? I’d been hired to be a nanny. I was just doing my job.

Unless they’d found out about my kiss with Logan, which had happened only a few hours before.

There’s no way anyone could know, I thought.

Suddenly, it seemed like the room was shrinking. I started to feel a slight dizziness as I realized that everyone in the room was looking at me. And it wasn’t paranoia or delusional thinking—they were gawking.

Before I knew it, Logan appeared next to me, still smiling as brightly as before.

He must not have seen it.

At the same time, Dr. Evans appeared next to us wearing a concerned expression.

“Logan,” he said, clearing his throat and holding his phone in Logan’s view, “you might want to see this. It’s stirring up some talk and I thought you should be aware.”

Logan skimmed the article, his expression changing as he absorbed each line.

I searched his face for reassurance, but he avoided my gaze. The wall of silence between us felt endless.

Guests around us watched, their whispers amplifying as they awaited Logan’s reaction.

When Logan finally spoke, his voice was controlled but cold. “This is outrageous. Casey is here because he’s our nanny. He’s not an opportunist.”

I raised my hand. “Logan, you don’t have to defend me. It’s very clear where everyone stands.”

Dr. Evans shook his head. “Logan, I think you need to come with me and speak to a few of the hospital bigwigs. They’ve seen the article, and I think a reassuring, calming conversation might be in order.”

I waited, eagerly hoping that Logan would choose to stay and talk with me. I needed reassurance and comfort more than some hospital executives from Pinehurst Medical.

Logan looked at me with sympathy in his eyes.

“This is hurtful,” I said, my voice nearly trembling as I tried to maintain my composure. “Being seen as a scandal is not what I want.”

Logan was obviously frustrated and uncomfortable with all the public attention.

He frowned at me. “Can we discuss this later? You’re making a scene and that’s exactly what they want.”

Making a scene?

I was gutted by his response.

Before I could answer, Dr. Evans placed his hand on Logan’s back and guided him away from me toward a group of men in stiff suits.

Veronica eyed me with a disdainful smile. “Fame doesn’t come cheap, Casey. But perhaps that’s what you wanted all along?”

I shook my head coldly. “Veronica, I don’t care about your family’s money. But it’s clear that you’d rather see Logan miserable than happy.”

Two hours later, I watched from my bedroom window as the final guests left Westbrook Meadows.

The estate felt empty without the clamor of the crowd. And even emptier without Logan next to me.

I’d stationed myself alone in my room since Logan had walked away from me earlier. We hadn’t spoken since. He’d been too busy calming everyone’s nerves and putting out fires among his coworkers.

I tried my best to search my inner saint for the capacity to forgive, but it was difficult to excuse the way I’d been treated earlier. I knew that Logan was struggling with the looming custody threat from the Mercers, but I didn’t want to manifest excuses for his behavior.

My feelings mattered too.

Glancing around the cavernous room, I suddenly realized I was alone with my thoughts—and that was the last thing I wanted.

So, I went downstairs to head toward the kitchen for a late-night snack. Martin kept the freezer stocked to the brim with various flavors of ice cream. My plan was to snag one then head back upstairs to cuddle up with a pillow and eat my heart out while watching reality TV.

As I crept down the wide hallway, I hoped I’d find myself alone in the kitchen. Betsy was sharp; I knew she’d notice my sadness and ask questions.

I wasn’t in the mood for that.

Plus, I didn’t have any answers.

As I neared the living room, I noticed Logan and Betsy speaking quietly with two formally dressed people. The air was alive with tension, and as I stepped closer, I recognized them: Helen and Robert Mercer.

Helen caught sight of me first, her expression icy.

Finally, everyone else noticed me as well. It was clear that I had stepped into a very heated conversation.

I had no idea what was happening, but I found myself hoping it was unrelated to the article published earlier in the day.

As I entered the room, I could tell that they’d just started their conversation.

Helen turned to Logan and, without any pleasantries, said, “We’re here because we are concerned about our grandson’s wellbeing. We saw the article published earlier today.”

Damn. They saw it.

I suddenly felt as if I was nothing more than a dark cloud over the Westbrook family. Since my arrival, chaos seemed to engulf them, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake.

Robert nodded in agreement with his wife. His face was frozen in a deep scowl.

“You should be aware,” Helen added, “we’re filing paperwork tomorrow seeking full custody of Henry. We won’t stand by while he’s raised under…”

Helen turned and looked at me. “Questionable influences.”

This was personal. She truly hated me.

Logan’s posture tightened as he stepped forward, closing the gap between him and the Mercers. His voice was measured and calm, but it carried an edge of steel.

“Henry is my son,” he said, his gaze locked on Helen. “He’s being raised in a home filled with stability, love, and guidance.”

Helen scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’ve been too distracted lately, Logan. Your long hours at the hospital. Your… lifestyle.”

Logan’s eyes widened and his tone hardened. “My work saves lives.”

Helen squinted at him, unimpressed.

Logan didn’t relent. “And my ‘lifestyle,’ as you put it, is none of your damn business. It has nothing to do with my ability to raise my son. Henry is thriving, that’s all that matters.”

As I watched from the sidelines, my heart pounded as Logan’s protective side radiated through the room—I’d never seen anything like it. He was unyielding but composed, a father ready to move mountains for his child.

It was magnetic.

Helen pressed on. “We’re worried about the kinds of people you’re exposing him to, Logan. He needs structure. He needs discipline. He needs a proper⁠—”

Logan cut her off, his voice firm. “Don’t you dare question the people in Henry’s life. Casey has been nothing but supportive and kind to Henry. That’s what Henry needs—not your judgment.”

Relief washed over me at Logan’s unwavering defense of my character. His words gently patched over some of the sting caused by his reaction to the article during the auction.

Helen switched tactics, clearly realizing she was losing ground. “If you truly care about your son, you’ll reconsider. The court will examine this situation and question your judgment. We’re prepared to argue that you’re choosing companionship over stability, and that Henry is better off being placed in our care.”

Betsy finally stepped forward, breaking her silence. Her expression was as sharp as a blade.

“Well, aren’t you both brave?” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “Marching in here with your self-righteous indignation. As if you’ve already won. But let me be clear: when you poke a Westbrook bear, you’d better be prepared to deal with the claws.”

Helen rolled her eyes, but Betsy leaned in toward her, like a predator sizing up its prey.

Betsy’s eyes narrowed. “Henry is staying right where he belongs—with Logan. And if you attempt to continue down this foolish path, I’ll ensure that regret becomes your closest companion.”

Helen’s composure faltered for a fraction of a second, but she quickly recovered and offered a tight-lipped smile. “Betsy, is that a threat?”

Betsy’s eyes gleamed with icy confidence. “Oh, Helen, threats are a waste of my time. This? This is a favor to help you avoid ruin.”

Helen scoffed before reaching into her bag and producing a sealed envelope. She walked over and handed it to Logan.

“This,” she said with a haughty tone, “is formal notice of our intention to pursue custody.”

Logan glared at Helen, a blaze in his eyes. “If you think you can take my son away from me, you’d better be ready for the fight of your life.”