Page 96 of Logan
“Maybe. But why should I?” She twists her mouth into a smile.
Yeah. Why indeed? Why would she change her lifestyle when I’m agreeing to all this extortion?
And the funniest part is, I don’t even care. I don’t care if she reveals to the world what she knows. But after Mom’s accident, Dad changed. He shut down. And I’m not sure if he, or Valeur Industries, could withstand the explosion that would come with the exposure. I don’t think I want to test that theory.
“Fine. You’ll get your million.”
Her smile widens, but it vanishes immediately as I stand.
“Where are you going?”
“We’re done here.”
“You’re not eating with me?”
“I’ve lost my appetite. But feel free to order whatever you want. You have a million dollars now, after all.” I leave therestaurant, but not before collecting my takeout order from the entrance and paying for it.
I park next to Sloane’s apartment building, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, the leather creaking under my fingers.
It was a bad idea to come here, and at night, no less. I should just keep driving, press the gas pedal to the floor and let the miles erase this momentary lapse in judgment. But damn it, I just want to hold her and take care of her until she recovers, until the color returns to her cheeks and the light to her eyes.
She fills my every thought, my entire day, an unshakable presence in my mind. I’m going crazy.
I get out of the car and head up to her apartment, taking the stairs two at a time. I hold a container of soup from the restaurant in one hand, the warmth seeping through the plastic and into my palm. I raise my other hand and knock on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway.
I knock again, louder this time, impatience rising in my throat. My hand is still raised in the air when the door swings open, and I freeze, the words dying on my tongue.
“Who are you?” I ask, my brow furrowing as I take in the unfamiliar man standing in the doorway. He’s tall, with dark hair and a chiseled jaw, and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung sweatpants.
“Who are you?” The man returns my question, crossing his arms over his bare chest.
“Isn’t this Sloane Harris’s apartment?” I glance at the number on the door again, doubt creeping in. Maybe I made a mistake, maybe I got turned around in the unfamiliar building.
“Yes. I’m her boyfriend. What do you need?” He leans against the doorframe, his posture casual but his eyes sharp.
Her boyfriend? The words hit me like a punch to the gut, stealing my breath. “Sloane doesn’t have a boyfriend,” I say with more conviction than I feel, my mind reeling.
“Yes, she does. Not that it’s any of your business, but we were a couple in the past, and we got back together.”
“Johnny?” I guess, the name bitter on my tongue. This is the asshole. The one she bought the condoms for. The one she’s been... My field of vision turns red, a hot rush of anger surging through my veins.
He widens his eyes, surprise flickering over his face. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“I need to see Sloane.” I take a step forward, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“Who are you, and why do you need to see her?” He doesn’t budge, his posture shifting subtly into something more defensive.
“I’m her boss.”
“The one who asked her to come in with a fever?” His eyes narrow, contempt written clear across his face.
I grind my teeth, the muscle in my jaw jumping. “Let me in. Now.”
“She’s resting right now. She’s not interested in visitors.”
I place my hand on the door, leaning in close. I’ll give it to this guy, he has guts. Most people would’ve folded at my first sentence, wilting under the force of my glare. “And I said I need to see her.”
Johnny licks his lips. “She’s sleeping. You want to wake her up? It’s not enough you demanded she come in, and she nearly passed out. Now you also want to disturb her rest andrecovery? I’m sure a complaint can be filed for something like that.”
