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I stir in bed. My mouth widens into a huge yawn, and I stretch my arms above my head. I slowly open my eyes and—
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” I screech, finding Logan standing at my bedside staring down at me.
“Get up. We got shit to do today.”
Is he ever not bossy? “What kinds of things? I have a job, you know. Responsibilities. A life.”
His brow goes up at the last one. Darn it. “Okay, fine, I have a job. People aren’t going to kill themselves, so why don’t you get to yours, and I’ll get to mine?”
“You have fifteen minutes,” he says, then storms out of my bedroom.
I sit up, throw off my sheets, and climb out of bed. With a scowl on my face, I rush around, completing my morning routine. When I remember he’s not the boss of me, I lay down on my bed, counting the cracks in my ceiling until my clock shows sixteen minutes have passed, and emerge from my bedroom.
“What are you even doing here? I thought you left last night?” I ask Logan, internally laughing at locking him out. His sneer tells me he doesn’t think it was funny.
“I told you to get dressed. Why the fuck are you still in those ridiculous pajamas?”
I look down at my pizza pattern pajamas. “What’s wrong with them?” These happen to be extremely comfortable. And how can someone appear so angered by a pair of pajamas? “What do you not like now?” His phone goes off, and he puts his finger up. Saved by the ringtone once again. “Jesus, never mind. Just get fucking dressed. Real dressed. I’ve got to take this.” And out the door he goes. I consider locking the door again, but it’s obvious he knows how to get back in. Despite his demands, I need to get to work. I stare at my front door, then peer over at the broken window—the window that leads out to the escape ladder…
“You’re gonna have to do your errands on your own, pal.” I run to the window and climb out, careful not to cut myself on the shattered glass, and drop the ladder. Once I’m down the steps, I run across the street and hail a cab.
I bust through the doors of Celebrity Dirt like a madman on a mission. Justin, Bill, and Rebecca all whip around staring at me like I’m missing my head, and I wave lamely.
“Morning to you too,” I say, whipping open my laptop. I need to Google those names. Maybe I should start with Logan’s.
“That’s all you have to say?” Justin pipes in.
“Um…is there something else I should say?” I open my browser and type in: Logan Justice.
“Dude, you were dragged out of here by some gladiator and never came back to work. And now, you show up, late again, which is—well, completely normal for you, wearing pajamas that are horrendous,” Justin points out.
Well, that gladiator is actually a mob thug, and there was no time to dress for the day while throwing myself down the window escape. “It’s pajama day. Not my fault you didn’t get the memo.” Drats! When I press enter, nothing comes up. That’s impossible. I try a different spelling: Logen Justyce. Nothing again. “How is that possible?” I think out loud.
“Good question, because I swear on my right testicle we’ve never had a pajama day. What’s up with you?” I gaze up at Justin, giving him my look of disgust. I don’t need to know anything about his private parts.
“Sorry, I was thinking out—listen, I just have work to do. As I’m sure you guys do.” I need them to stop talking to me. I give up on Logan and try that name on the list. Or the barcode! 55433856333—
The slamming of our office door captures everyone’s attention but mine. I have a good feeling I know who it is. I’m hurriedly typing on my keyboard, trying to get the full number entered to get any sort of lead, when I have to pull my fingers away to avoid them being crushed by my laptop being slammed shut.
“Babe,” Logan hums. I’m sure Rebecca is drooling in her chair at his deep, seductive voice. Too bad she hasn’t figured out there’s nothing but danger lurking in his tone.
“Hi, lover boy. What brings you to my work again?” I look up at him, fluttering my eyelashes in hopes of winning him over and seeing another day.
His hard stare holds my gaze captive. Yep. Not gonna fight this one. “Did you miss me that bad? I told you I would be home after I got some work done.” You know what they say about poking the bear? Actually, I have no idea, but it’s probably a bad idea.
He reaches down and snags my bicep. “Baby girl, you know I don’t like it when you leave the house without your umbrella. You’ll get sick in this rain. Let’s go and buy you a new one. Anything you want. Any color. Then maybe we can take a detour to my place. Do that thing you like.”
