Filed to story: Sedona Preston and Logan Hayes Book PDF Free
The meeting with the Singapore investors ran long, lasting until nearly three o’clock. By the time I got home, I was exhausted and irritable, my head pounding from lack of coffee and too much negotiation.
I found Nick in his room, still looking pale but no longer actively sick. He was sitting on his bed, struggling with his school shoes.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “You’re not going to school today. You’re sick.”
“I feel better now. And I don’t want to miss art class.” He tugged harder at the shoe, his face scrunching in discomfort as he hissed.
“But these hurt my feet.”
“They’re new shoes. They need to break in.”
“Mom always makes them not hurt before I wear them.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. She does something with them and then they don’t hurt anymore.”
I took the shoe from him, examining it. It was stiff, the leather still new and unyielding. How did you make new shoes not hurt?
The nanny appeared in the doorway like magic, I didn’t even know how she was anticipating my shortcomings. “Mr. Hayes, I can help with that if you’d like.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” I didn’t know why I said that. Pride, maybe. Or some misguided attempt to prove I could handle basic parenting tasks without help.
After she left, I turned to Nick. “How exactly did your mom do it?”
He shrugged. “She had this thing. The hot thing for her hair. She used it on the shoes.”
A hairdryer. She used a hairdryer on the shoes to soften the leather. It was such a simple detail, one I never paid attention to as usual.
I found Sedona’s hairdryer in our bathroom-still plugged in where she’d left it, a few strands of her hair caught in the vent. I carried it back to Nick’s room and spent the next fifteen minutes heating and flexing the shoes, trying to mimic what I imagined Sedona had done.
“Is that right?” I asked Nick.
He slipped the shoe on and walked around. “Yeah! It doesn’t hurt anymore. Thanks, Dad.”
Such a small victory. But to me in this moment it felt significant. I had finally gotten a glimpse into all the invisible work Sedona had done, all the small ways she’d made our lives easier without any recognition of appreciation.
How many other things like this were there? How many tiny tasks, small considerations, that I never noticed yet assumed it was there all along.
I was still thinking about it that evening when I got dressed for the charity gala I was supposed to attend.
It was one of those mandatory social events, the kind where there was need to attend and it was a means to chat with some kind of people to get a business deal you needed, more than it was about the charity it was initially organized for.
I’d committed to attending months ago, back when I’d assumed Sedona would be by my side.
She hated these events, complaining, saying that she found them exhausting and pretentious, that she hated being surrounded by fake people, who wouldn’t bat an eye if the charity wasn’t being televised and hence made them look good while doing it-but she always came anyway, always played the role of supportive wife with grace and charm.
Catherine had agreed to come as my plus-one when Sedona left.
It was perfectly innocent-just friends attending a work function together. But as adjusted my tie in the mirror, I felt uneasy about it in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
The gala was being held at the Four. Catherine looked beautiful infa floor-length emerald dress, her wrist brace the only thing that looked odd on her otherwise perfect appearance.
“You look handsome,” she said when she met me in the lobby. “Sedona has good taste in suits.”
The comment made me uncomfortable, though I couldn’t say why. “Thanks.”
Logan’s POV
We made our way into the ballroom, and we were immediately surrounded by Chicago’s social elite. I recognized most of them, having worked with them before, fellow business associates, future potential clients, people that I needed to network with.
But without Sedona beside me, it all felt hollow somehow. Wrong.
“Logan! Good to see you.” Marcus Ashford, one of my biggest clients, appeared with his wife Amy beside her as they both beamed at me, as I saw the subtle frown on his face when he looked at Catherine before fixing it as he continued smoothly.
“And Catherine! How lovely. How’s the wrist?”
“Healing well, thank you,” Catherine replied graciously.
Marcus’s smile was pleasant, but I saw the way his eyes flicked between Catherine and me, calculating, assessing the situation. His curiosity won out over being polite as he asked. “Where’s that lovely wife of yours? I was hoping to see Sedona tonight.”
“She’s not feeling well,” I said smoothly. “Sends her regrets.”
“That’s a shame. Amy and I were just talking about her the other day.” He glanced at his wife, who nodded. “Remember that dinner we all had at Alinea last spring?”
“Of course,” Amy said. “Sedona was delightful. So funny and smart. We laughed all evening.”
I had no memory of this dinner, which probably meant I’d spent it talking business with Marcus while Sedona entertained his wife.
“There was this moment,” Marcus continued, and something in his tone made me pay attention. “We were talking about international travel, and someone mentioned the dangers of doing business in certain parts of Mexico especially people like us who are often kidnapped and ransomed for money. And Sedona-” He chuckled shaking his head. “Sedona said something that stuck with me since that night. She said, ‘If Logan ever got kidnapped in Mexico, I wouldn’t even wait for the ransom call. I’d just book the first flight there and find him myself.”
Amy laughed at the memory. “Everyone thought it was a joke, but the way she said it… you could tell she meant it. Like she’d actually do it, consequences be damned.”
“She’s very devoted to you,” Marcus said, his tone carefully neutral glancing at Catherine again. “I hope you know that.”
There was something in his expression-a gentle criticism, maybe, or a warning. I felt my defenses rising.
“Of course I know that.”
“Good. Good.” Marcus sipped his champagne backing down as he flashed a smile that showed he wasn’t looking for a fight. “Because between you and me, Logan, I’ve noticed you and Catherine spending quite a bit of time together lately. And while I’m sure it’s all perfectly innocent, you might want to be careful about appearances. People talk, and sometimes that talk can be… damaging. Especially in circles like this. It would be both damaging to your and Catherine reputation if someone was to start an unsavory rumor.”
The words were diplomatic, carefully phrased, but the message was clear: You’re making a fool of yourself, and you’re hurting your wife in the process.
“Catherine is a friend,” I said stiffly. “A friend who needed support during a difficult time with her injury.”
