Page 133 of Logan
Fuck. Every cell in my body screams at me to go to her, to bury myself in her until the rest of the world fades away. But I can’t, not yet. As much as I long to escape from the shitstorm that’s about to hit, to hide away with Sloane and pretend nothing else matters, I know I have to face this head-on. I have loose ends to tie up and people to hold accountable before everything comes crashing down around me.
I take a deep breath as I stride into the office. First stop the IT department.
“Sam,” I bark as I enter his office, not bothering with pleasantries. “Tell me you have something for me.”
“Mr. Valeur. I didn’t know you were coming in today.”
I level him with a flat stare, in no mood for small talk. “I didn’t realize I needed an engraved invitation to show up at my company.”
“No, of course not,” he mumbles.
“So, what do you have for me?”
Sam clears his throat, his fingers flying over his keyboard. “Well, whoever sent the video wasn’t exactly a criminal mastermind. They didn’t even bother to use a proxy server or spoof their IP address. Amateur hour, really.”
“Bottom line it for me, Sam. Who sent the fucking email?”
“Right, sorry.” Sam swallows, picking up on my barely leashed anger. “The email originated from the personal account of a John Rambett. That name ring any bells?”
I go still, a roaring filling my ears as the pieces click into place. “‘John Rambett’?” I repeat. As in Johnny, Sloane’s ex? The one she brought to the company gala?
Part of me is almost disappointed it wasn’t some shadowy corporate rival trying to oust me, some Machiavellian scheme to bring down the mighty Logan Valeur.
At least then, it would make sense, have a twisted sort of logic to it. But this? This is just petty, vindictive bullshit, the actions of a small man with an even smaller dick.
Oh, he has no idea the world of pain he just brought down on himself. No one fucks with what’s mine and walks away unscathed.
“Logan? You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I bite out. “What else?”
“I was able to scrub the video from all the company servers and email accounts that received it. But...” He hesitates, something like dread flickering over his face.
My eyes narrow to slits. “But what?” I demand, my voice a low growl.
Sam shifts in his seat, refusing to meet my gaze. “Before I could complete the purge, I found evidence that the video had been...forwarded from one of the original recipient accounts to a personal device.”
The world goes red around the edges, a strange buzzing filling my head. “Someone forwarded the video,” I repeat, a muscle ticking in my jaw. “To their private phone. One of my fucking managers.”
It’s not a question, but Sam nods anyway.
“Who?”
“Nicholas Porter,” he says.
I’m moving before I even register the intention, my body propelled by pure, unadulterated rage. Sam calls after me, but I’m already out the door, my feet eating up the distance to Porter’s office.
I don’t bother knocking but throw the door open hard enough that it rebounds off the wall with a crash. Porter leaps to his feet, his face draining of color as he takes in my expression.
“Logan, what?—”
“That’s Mr. Valeur to you,” I snarl, stalking forward until I’m looming over him, using every inch of my considerable height to intimidate. “I’d say you’ve lost the right to use my first name, wouldn’t you?”
Porter stammers, his eyes so wide the whitesare showing. “Y–yes, of course, Mr. Valeur. My apologies. How can I assist you today?”
As if he doesn’t know. As if he can’t read the murder in my eyes, the violence straining against every line of my body.
“It’s been brought to my attention that you received a certain video. One featuring a female employee of this company, filmed without her knowledge or consent. Ringing any bells?”
