Page 62 of Keeping Kasey
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the low voice mutters, and I hate that my heart flips in my chest.
Logan’s suit is ruined just as much as my clothes, but that’s the only thing about him that isn’t pristine. He trimmed his stubble while I was gone, and the neat cut emphasizes his sharp jawline. His hair is styled to its usual perfection, and I catch a whiff of his scent—which is somehow even better mixed with coffee.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in a scolding tone that snaps me back to reality.
The accusatory question bothers me more than I care to admit. I was actually excited to see him, but obviously, he doesn’t feel the same.
I shouldn’t be surprised. If he wanted to see me, he would’ve last night.
I match his glare the same way I always do. “Checking the security system. What’s your problem?”
“I didn’t have a problem before you ruined my suit.”
“You’re telling me you don’t have two extras in your office?”
“Three,” Damon says through a cough.
“I’m the one without a change of clothes,” I finish.
Logan looks exasperated when he regards his brother, like somehow this is Damon’s fault. “Get her a change of clothes. I’ll stay with her until you’re back.”
“I don’t need a babysitter to sit in Ford’s office.”
Logan looks down. “If you ask me, you still need a sippy cup.”
“You’re just as much to blame for this.”
“And how the—”
“Yeah,” Damon says, cutting in with a bored expression. “I’m leaving. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He walks in the direction of the garage.
“Sweatpants and a crop top,” I call after him.
“Jeans and a T-shirt,” Logan corrects, but Damon only waves us off as he goes.
“You don’t get to dictate what I wear,” I tell him.
His eyes scan my attire, stopping where the tank top clings to my chest, even more now that it’s wet. After a deep sigh, he shrugs his stained jacket off and drapes it over my shoulders.
“It’s wet,” I protest, trying to push it away.
“Your shirt is practically see-through,” he says through gritted teeth.
His words aren’t gentle by any means, but the protective sentiment isn’t lost on me. After a stare-off that lasts several seconds, I accept the jacket.
Logan pulls out his phone. “What kind of coffee was it? I’ll have Caleb bring you a new one.”
“Don’t bother,” I tell him, and we start in the direction of his office. “I don’t even like coffee.”
He lifts an eyebrow.
“I don’t like the taste,” I explain. “I only drink it when I’m exhausted.”
“You realize there are a million other drinks that have caffeine, right?”
“Not in the kitchen. I took what I had to.”
