Dress like you own the room,
not like you’re about to rob it.
—Olivia’s Secret Thoughts
She’s not wrong.
I don’t have boots.
Damn it.
A quick perusal of the limited collection of shoes I’ve brought with me leaves me with little options to feed the fucking cows. I don’t even own a pair of those kind of boots.
How did I get here? I’m certainly not afeed the cowskind of girl.
My sister would have the exact boots I need. She’d have a suitcase full of casual tees that look appropriate but still make her look sexy and cut-off jean shorts that make her ass look incredible. Me—I don’t really have clothes like that. Shit. I sift through the suitcase I’ve moved into Logan’s walk-in closet buthave yet to unpack completely. My suits and a few dresses hang next to Logan’s clothes, but I haven’t gotten around to unpacking everything yet. I really should have done that already.
“Olive,” Logan calls out over his soft knock against the open closet door, and I inhale a deep lungful before turning around. He’s holding an old pair of boots in one hand. “Thought you might want these. Not sure if they’ll fit you, but they’re probably better than anything you brought with you.”
Damn him for being sweet. And double damn him for being stupidly handsome too.
My pride cracks just a little as I glance back down at my open suitcase and the one pair of designer jeans resting on top of the neatly folded pile of clothes. “Thank you.” I hate that I hesitate almost as much as I hate what I’m about to do. Damn it. “Could I borrow a shirt?”
Amusement flashes in his eyes. “A shirt? You didn’t pack a shirt?”
Yup. I also hate that he’s not wrong.
“I brought shirts. They’re just a little...” My eyes scan the luggage again. Two sweaters, a few silk tanks, and a few camis to wear to bed. How the hell do I not have a single t-shirt with me?
He chuckles, and I swear to God if I could incinerate him where he stands, I would. “You’re enjoying this a little too much, husband.”
Logan crosses the span of the walk-in closet and opens a drawer, his lips curved and shoulders relaxed for the first time since Nina walked through the door earlier tonight. He hands me a white tee. “What husband wouldn’t love seeing his wife in his clothes? It’s programmed into our DNA, Olive.” He stands tall, silently laughing. “It might be a little big though.”
I look up through my lashes, wishing I couldn’t feel the heat radiating off his body. “I’ll make do. You can leave now.”
“It’s my room, Olive.”
“I’m not changing in front of you, Adler.” Even if my nipples perk up at the very idea of doing so. Damn him.
He turns his back to me and looks down instead of at the mirror in front of him as frustration continues to build in my chest. “You said we needed to talk, Liv. So talk.”
Liv. . . Logan rarely calls me that.
It’s practically a truce coming from this man.
If he can meet me halfway, I guess I can do the same.
I keep my eyes locked on the reflection in that damn mirror as I slip out of my clothes, telling myself I’m just making sure he doesn’t sneak a peek. But lying to myself has never been my thing, and the tension building in the confines of the closet is screamingliar. “Nina knows.”
Logan’s eyes meet mine in the mirror in an instant, a flash of fear followed by a flash of heat as I slip out of my shirt before he looks away. “You told her?”
“I didn’t need to,” I assure him and slide his tee over my head. It’s soft and clean and smells like grass and crisp rain and something entirely Logan. “She’s one of the smartest women I’ve ever known, and she dropped enough subtext to let me know she knows without asking. We’ve got to do better.”
His eyes lift for another second before dropping again. “How?”
I lift my jeans, and he laughs. “Those cost more than my car, Olivia.”
“How do you know what I’m holding, Logan?”
