Page 99 of Logan
I bite the inside of my cheek. Yes. Johnny. Of course. “I guess so,” I say, my voice flat and lifeless even to my own ears. I can’t show up to the event alone. I need to show Logan I’ve moved on, too, even if it’s a lie.
“I wouldn’t take Johnny back if I were you. You had to leave your job because of him, for fuck’s sake. Where’s your spine?”
Gone, apparently, along with my heart and my dignity, sacrificed on the altar of Logan Fucking Valeur. “I haven’t agreed to take him back. It’s just a date.”
Emery shakes her head, her expression a mix of pity and exasperation, and she walks away. I turn back to my work, my thoughts racing everywhere except the task at hand, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail.
Almost against my will, I pick up my phone again and peek at the pictures of Logan and that woman, a fresh wave of nausea washing over me with each incriminating frame.
Fuck, why do I care? I knew this was what would happen. I was prepared to go back to my regular, boring life. Weagreed in advance that it was just a fling, a temporary escape from reality.
So he’s a good fuck. So what? I had orgasms with Johnny, too. No big deal.
Okay, maybe not three in a row. Didn’t see literal stars exploding behind my eyelids, either. Actually, neither did I come every time, if I’m being brutally honest. But we had nice sex.
Nice. God, even the word tastes like ashes on my tongue.
I huff out a breath and toss the phone back on the desk, watching it skitter across the polished wood.
This attempt at gaslighting myself isn’t working, no matter how hard I try to force it.
I can’t go to the gala alone, can’t bear the humiliation, and I need a dress. One that will make Logan’s eyes pop out of his skull, make him regret ever letting me go.
I pick up the phone again and dial Johnny’s number with shaking fingers, my heart a leaden weight in my chest.
“Hey.” His voice is warm and familiar, and I try to ignore the wave of disappointment that crashes over me. It’s not his voice I want to hear. “How are you feeling?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned, and I feel a pang of guilt. He’s trying, I know he is.
“Much better, thanks.” I force a smile, even though he can’t see it.
“Anything for you, honey.”
The endearment grates on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “Don’t call me honey.”
“Okay. No honey, whatever you want.” He’s quick to placate, and it just annoys me more. Where’s his backbone? “Did you think about my date offer?”
I take a deep breath, steeling myself. “Yeah. I have a gala event at work this weekend. Would you like to come as my plus-one?”
“You’re inviting me to your work event? Does that mean you’re agreeing to a date? Of course, I’ll come.”
“Can you come dress shopping with me? I need to buy something appropriate.” My office door swings open, and I hold up a finger to signal I’ll be free in a moment without bothering to look up.
“But you have a ton of dresses. You know I hate shopping.”
“It’s a formal event. With all the managers. I need the right dress, and I don’t have one. Can’t you come?”
“Can’t you go with one of your girlfriends?”
I thought he wanted another chance. I thought he’d jump at the opportunity to spend time alone with me, to prove he’s changed. Apparently, I was wrong. He hasn’t changed at all.
“Fine, never mind. I have to go.” I hang up before he can respond, tossing the phone back on the desk.
I lift my gaze, an apology for the interruption ready on my lips, and freeze, the words dying in my throat.
“Hi.” His voice is deep, smooth, and familiar in a way that makes my toes curl in my sensible work flats.
My heart stutters, then kicks into overdrive, slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. The effect he has on me doesn’t wane, doesn’t diminish no matter how much time passes, how much distance I try to put between us.
I’m burning up from the inside out, feverish, and not because I’m sick this time, but because Logan is standing in my doorway, his imposing frame filling the space, pinning me in place with the sheer force of his presence.
