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She shakes her head, “It’s too far to drive at this hour, Mr. Bardin, but thank you. I’ll just call an Uber.”
“I’ll have to insist,” I take her hand in mine. It’s very small, and very cold. She seems nervous around me, and the gentle tremble of her fingertips only confirms it.
Despite her nerves, her green eyes are gleaming.
“Mr. Bardin…” she says in a whisper.
“It’s just the two of us. Call me Logan,” I say with a smile.
“I’m sorry Mist… Logan,” she smiles, apologetic. “I’ll have to insist too.”
She pulls her hand back and turns around, reaching for her phone in her purse to call herself a ride back home.
But I intervene one last time.
“Then sleep at my house,” I place a hand on her bare shoulder. “Who knows what kind of maniac you’ll get driving you at this hour.”
Joyce considers my words then nods and accepts my arm when I offer it.
Chapter Nine
JOYCE
Bynow,Iknowthis house like the back of my hand, but it’s weird to be here after hours, and as a guest, not an employee.
Logan, as he wants me to call him, kept quiet on the drive back. To be fair, it was a quick ride, but I still would have preferred some of his banter to the awkward silence.
As we enter through the front door, he stands at the foyer and points me upstairs.
“You know where the guest bedroom is upstairs, don’t you? The one at the end of the hall?” he asks, his voice sounding tired.
“I do, thanks,” I say, walking past him to get to the staircase.
But he circles me, as if not wanting to see me go.
“Mr. Bardin?” I ask, confused. His body language is actually very clear, but I am struggling to believe he could really be interested in me.
“I’m sorry,” he smiles like a charmer. “Go ahead.”
He clears the way so I can walk past, and I climb up the stairs with him right at my tail.
He stops at the first bedroom’s door to check on Anna. I peek over his shoulder, and she’s sleeping peacefully under the covers. The next room is a spare room, where Jane is asleep.
“Anna has taken over the whole bed…” he whispers as he closes the door and shakes his head.
“This is Mrs. Ritz’s perfume?” He asks it in an airy tone. I get butterflies in my stomach from the attention.
“No, it’s mine!” I whisper back and head to the end of the hall. He lays a hand on my hip.
“Smells good,” he approaches to sniff the curve of my neck, his hot breath against my skin giving me goosebumps.
“Logan?” Now I make sure to call him by his name. “Are you making a pass at me?”
He blinks several times, and his cheeks go the color of ripe strawberries. “Is it working?” he finally asks.
I laugh quietly, but he seems angry when I do, so I soften the blow by saying, “A little?” I say, “But why me?”
He touches my arm, gentle but firm.
