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“Oh, sure. Anything for you, babe. And while we’re at it, stop kissing me. It’s like being mauled by a rabid animal.”
His expression morphs into shock just before his eyes narrow into slits. “Rabid animal, huh?”
“Yeah! It’s becoming annoying.” Oh crap. His sudden heated stare tries to break me down until I forfeit and admit I’m a complete liar and his kissing techniques are absolutely spectacular. “So…now that that’s out of the way, I’m going to just…yep.” I turn around without another glance and hurry into my bedroom, shutting the door. Why do I open my mouth? Rabid animal? Really, Addy?
I debate on locking myself in until he gets the hint and leaves. Sounds much easier than having to face him after that humiliating production. But I also know if he goes bye-bye, so do my chances of getting this story.
No matter how broody and gorgeous he is, I need to learn to get along with him. And if I’m being honest with myself, I really want to continue the kissing. It’s actually quite lovely, and I’m enjoying it immensely.
I grunt again and turn around, walking back into my tiny living room. “Okay, listen. We’re obviously stuck—”
My words die in my throat at the sound of glass shattering from my front window.
“Get down,” Logan barks as I dive to the floor. I cover my head but don’t miss the gun he draws from the back of his jeans.
“Wh—What is it?” My voice shakes.
“Stay the fuck down.” He runs out the door, and I stay frozen to the floor until he returns, his gun down. “It’s clear.”
I sit up. “What was it?”
“Kids playing with BB guns.” He walks over to the window to further assess the damage. “You need to call your landlord and have them come fix this.” He pulls the blinds back, and a gush of wind mixed with the onset of rain is let into my apartment. “Shit. Sit tight. I need to make a call.”
He disappears outside into the hallway. While he’s gone, I search out some supplies to rig the window covered.
I’m ripping off a piece of tape when Logan returns.
“Pack a bag.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you’re not safe here.”
I scoff at his ridiculousness. “I’m perfectly safe. It was an accident. You said so yourself.”
“And now I’m saying you’re not. Look, you may think you’re playing a fun game here, getting in Vincent’s good graces, but the only thing you’ve done is put a spotlight on yourself. He’s fascinated by you, which isn’t a good thing. He’s ruthless. Cruel. You think his little flirtation is for fun? It’s a show of dominance. You keep this shit up, he’s gonna make a move, and there won’t be shit I can do. No one gets in the way of what he wants. You want to play coy for a story? I promise you, you won’t make it long enough for that shit to hit print.”
I want to argue with him and tell him it’s not about a story, but it seems pointless.
“I want this story.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. Stop telling me what I want—”
“Someone needs to! You’re messing with the wrong man. When are you going to get that through your tiny brain?” I gasp at his cruel comment. “Fuck, that’s not what I—”
“Just get out.”
“Addy—”
“Get out! You’re just like the rest. Throwing hurtful words at me, thinking I’m this frail little mouse with no backbone—little Addy who doesn’t shine as bright as the rest. I don’t care what any of you think of me. I’m a darn good journalist, and I will get this story. With or without you.” I turn on my heel and storm into my bedroom, slamming the door behind me.
Dismissing Logan’s warnings, I snuggle into a pair of my favorite pizza patterned pajamas and pull out my journal. I left my laptop at work, so I need to document my findings old school. I scribble notes, trying to piece together all the information I learned today. I write down the name of the man on the file. Victor Norfolk. The ports that were highlighted. I memorized one of the barcodes in hopes of figuring out what it meant. One thing that keeps swarming in my head I can’t seem to move past, though: Vincent’s comment about the ports already being secured for their shipment. I know firsthand Mayor Brighton is the city official who oversees that port, but why would he have anything to do with drug smuggling? Being a dirty politician is one thing, but being in business with the drug cartel? Is it even possible?
I have to be missing something. A connection somehow. I reach for my phone to Google the barcode and Calumet Harbor when I remember Logan took it. “Darn it!” I toss myself back against my headboard. Now that we’re on the subject of googling, I wonder what would come up if I googled Logan. My fingers twitch, and I slam my closed fists against my bed. I should just go out there and demand my phone. But then I would have to face him. Not that that’s a bad thing. But he’s causing this strange feeling inside me, and I really don’t know how to decipher it. Girl crush butterflies? Or maybe it’s just fear that I’ve simply gotten myself into a big heap of trouble. It’s that. I’m going with that. I hear the TV turn on, which means he doesn’t plan on leaving. Gosh dang it!
