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No. I shake my head with intent, casting away the unwelcome thought that he might have had anything to do with this. That can’t be it. I don’t want to believe that. He is an elusive businessman with a nose for lucrative investments, not a criminal. Right?
It would suit my pattern, though. Until Patrick, I’ve only been drawn to guys who were nothing but bad news. Drop-outs, liars, thieves, abusive assholes—covered in ink and hooked on all kinds of illegal substances. I was drawn to them like a moth to the flame, and I burned my wings more than once.
Never again. If this Logan has anything to do with that attack on the club, then that’s all the more reason to stay away from him.
I don’t want to have anything to do with criminals, never again.
After I lost my alleged safe haven with Patrick, I had no other choice but to move in with Mrs. Warden. She used to be my High School teacher and is the only person who really seems to care about me. When I dropped out of school, she tried everything within her power to keep me on the right path, always running after me so I’d get my diploma.
But I wouldn’t listen. Not back then. I wanted to be free and no longer dependent on others, and money is the only way to get there. You don’t get paid for school, but you do get paid for waitressing—and you get paid even more for delivering little bags filled with white, powdery rocks to junkies.
I let her down more than once. I stole, I lied, I ran away. I hung out with the wrong people. But Mrs. Warden never gave up on me. She helped me get out of my ex-boyfriend’s drug business, I earned my GED thanks to her—and now I have a home, thanks to her.
I owe it to her to get my shit together once and for all.
But that won’t happen if I retreat to old patterns and let myself be dragged back into the darkness that may surroundhim.An inked bad boy, exuding excitement and delicious danger. A man whose dark gaze dove right into the deepest corner of my soul, a man who appeared to read me like no other.
A man who truly saw me for who I am—and didn’t seem repelled by what he found.
My fingers clench around the coffee mug, while I follow the stream of thoughts that lead me back to him. I can’t get him out of my head, but I know I should.
“Katherine?” Mrs. Warden’s muffled voice tears me back to reality. She’s speaking in a low volume and seems to be standing right on the other side of my closed door. “Katherine, are you awake?”
“Yes, yes, I am,” I respond, turning around so I’m facing the room, when she opens the door and peeks inside, her graying mane falling over her shoulder in a rumpled braid.
“Morning, dear,” she greets me with a warm smile. “You’re up early today! I haven’t woken up to the smell of coffee in a long time.”
I reciprocate her smile and nod. “Yeah, I wanted to read in the sun for a change.”
She comes closer, arching her eyebrows in question as she seems to realize that I’m not holding a book in my hands.
“Still waking up,” I excuse myself, jutting my chin toward the sun. “Besides, the view from up here is quite distracting.”
“Yes, it’s quite a sight,isn’t it,” she says, now standing right next to me as her eyes idle across the street below. “People are always so busy nowadays, always hustling, always running, and you never know whether it’s toward something or away from something.”
I suggest a quiet nod, unsure what to say to that.
“You haven’t fed Johnny, have you?”she goes on, referring to the black cat she’s sharing her home with. He’s a rescue who was lucky to find shelter with her—much like me. “He’s been yelling at me as if he’s starving, but you never know with that one.”
I join her short chuckle and shake my head. “No, I haven’t. He has a right to be hungry.”
“Good.”She smiles and makes a move to leave my room. “So do we. Let’s have some eggs. I’m in the mood for eggs.”
She’s already halfway through the door before she finishes her sentence—and I follow right behind, happy to leave my musings about the captivating stranger behind.
For now.
Chapter 9
Logan
“I’m not sure if I understand what you’re asking of me, Mr. Reid.”
Miss Barry releases an exasperated sigh as she leans back in her chair. She sits with her arms crossed in front of her ample chest while pinning me down with an inquiring stare.
Her DC office resembles the facilities in Boston, kept in dark colors all around with the occasional bright red accent placed in a provident manner. The large windows behind her desk are framed with the same thick curtains that decorate the main hall of The Velvet Rooms—are telltale signsthat this is not your average CEO business office.
“I think I made myself pretty clear,” I say. “I know for a fact that your agency provides these types of services—”
