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His office door clips shut behind me, leaving us inside a lifeless room, void of any color or scent, except for the cologne he wears. My nose twitches at the way it masks his woodsy essence that was once a comfort to me.
Without pause, he walks to his workspace–a simple L-shaped desk adorned with stacks of papers and manilla folders–but I don’t move another step.
“Mom would have a field day in here,” I say.
The woman sees a blank room exactly as a painter sees a blank canvas, full of endless possibilities, and I’ve always envied her talented eye for design.
“I like to keep things simple,” he clips, knowing what I mean without needing me to voice it.
“Since when?”
His eyes cut straight to mine, and I shift uncomfortably.
Right. Guess we’re not ready to hash all that out yet.
“You could have said please.”
Leaning against the front of his desk, he gestures for me to sit. “Care to elaborate?”
Defiantly, I rest my bounty on the arm of the chair in front of him and hug my arms across my middle. Carrie’s thin outfit doesn’t do much to ward off the chill in here, and I wish more and more that I had stood my ground and wore something comfortable.
Those cunning eyes absorb my every move, gliding up my legs as if dedicating every bare inch to memory—and I lose myself for a moment, giving his broad body the same painstakingly diligent treatment.
We’re nothing more than strangers now, yet that invisible tie remains. The force of that connection is so lifelike, so real, that I could almost reach out and tug it.
And maybe I would if I knew I wouldn’t be the one who unravels first.
“To Margret,” I clarify. “Do you bark orders at everyone who works here as if they’re beneath you?”
Logan casually crosses one ankle over the other, lengthening his body as he relaxes back, and I refuse to swoon over those exposed forearms he uses to support himself.
Dammit. He’s just so put together. So sure of himself in his fancy position working for his father, and I’m oddly self-conscious, if not curious, to know if he sees the same hot mess my family witnessed this morning.
“She technically is beneath me, as far as our roles are concerned.”
“I’m just saying, it probably wouldn’t hurt to add a ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ to your list of demands.”
He has the audacity to huff. “Fine. Will you and your pleasure arsenal have a seat, please?”
We glare at each other, over a decade of questions building to the point where we’re both clenching our jaws, waiting for the other to explode. But I take a piece of humble pie, remembering what brought me here in the first place.
Begrudgingly, I slide into the fancy leather chair, but only with one cheek. Can’t get too comfortable or he’ll think I’ve let my guard down.
He smirks at my blatant rebellion before all but pitching me off my high horse with a soft, unexpected compliment. “You look good, Pen.”
I curse my body’s reaction to this man. How my cheeks flame under his full attention.
“Aw shucks. Wish I could say the same.” I smile too sweetly, intentionally annoying him. “Never did care for the suit type, though.”
Filthy, filthy liar.
He points at my outfit. “You’re unexpectedly composed yourself.”
My eyes roll. “For your information, Carrie squeezed me into this. If it were up to me, I’d be in a pizza-stained T-shirt and bottoms that are way easier to take off.”
Really starting to think those eyebrows have a personality of their own with the way they keep arching like that.
I hold up a finger as a hint of humor tugs at his full lips. “Okay, that’s not what I meant.”
