Chapter 5: Chapter 5

LOGAN

Logan sat at the booth in his restaurant, sipping his whiskey. The amber liquid burned on its way down his throat, and he welcomed it. He needed something strong to get his mind back on the date he had been set up on.

The girl opposite him was gorgeous, blonde curls framing a face that didn’t yet need Botox. Her physical features were pleasing to the eye, with perfect curves he was sure had cost a fortune. She was everything he usually wanted.

But his mind was on a short, fiery girl with the attitude of someone double her height.

She had left the restaurant over twenty minutes ago, and he was still thinking about the confrontation. She had argued, put him in his place, and teased him.

Now he wanted to know where she had gone, where her date was, and whether the lucky guy was fucking her the way her eyes had begged for.

Logan sucked more whiskey between his teeth then tapped his glass for another. She had smelled like vanilla, a scent he usually found sickly sweet. But on her? It had suffocated him, made him crave it, made him want to see if her skin tasted of it.

Her eyes were round like her face, her hair perfectly waved to just below her shoulders where the strands brushed against her olive skin every time they moved.

He wanted to touch that skin. It looked smooth, a dark tan that highlighted the sprinkling of light freckles along the bridge of her nose.

“Logan. Are you listening?” his date said, interrupting his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, nodding in thanks to the waitress who replaced his whiskey. He took a sip, met his date’s gaze, and said, “Mm-hmm.”

She sighed. “You’re not interested in dating, are you? Would you rather we skip dinner and head back to your place?” She tilted her head to the side.

It wasn’t a bad idea. He could use the release, being more frustrated than normal. He’d bet his entire empire that this woman knew her way around a man’s body, but he couldn’t remember her name.

He doubted he’d remember her pinup-worthy face or body after tonight.

But the girl from before? She was burned into his head, filling it with desires he wanted to act out. And after acting them out, he’d be able to forget her. Which meant tracking her down and finding out whether that look in her eyes had been an invitation.

Fuck, he hoped it was.

His want for the night secured in his mind, Logan said to his date, “Not tonight.” He raised his hand for the waitress, his abruptness startling the woman opposite him.

The waitress rushed over. “Sir?”

Locking down the heat that word caused in him and pushing aside the echo of her smoky voice saying it, he asked the waitress, “The girl that was sitting at the table over there when I came in”—he pointed at it—“do you have her details?”

She nodded. “I can get them for you.”

“Please,” Logan said. He sipped his whiskey, leaning back against the booth.

His date scoffed and folded her arms. “I knew you were an asshole, but asking for another girl’s number while you’re on a date? Guess I underestimated just how much of an asshole you are.” She stared at him and leaned back in her chair, her straight features pinched.

Logan didn’t want to entertain the girl’s fight, so he just shrugged. “Now you know. Tell all your friends.” He pulled out his phone and began reading emails, hoping she would leave.

Instead, she threw a tantrum, yet another common reaction from a common woman. “Who was she? An old flame? Prettier than me? More followers on Insta?” Her voice rose more as she leaned closer.

Logan’s life was an open book. As the founder of a billion-dollar empire, and the youngest one ever to accomplish that, he saw no advantage in lying. Especially to the women he dated. He’d told all of them up front he was not interested in something long-term.

He wanted this date to end, so he shrugged again and said, “She was a plain woman with no stand-out features.” Logan leaned forward, keeping his face indifferent. “But a few minutes in her company was more exciting than the half hour I’ve spent in yours.”

Her jaw dropped, then it closed and set. Grabbing her glass of wine, she stood while speaking. “You are so fu—”

“Please,” he said, raising his phone in front of him as if he were taking a video, “don’t embarrass yourself. This is live.” He locked eyes with her. “And I ~do~ have more followers than you.”

His bluff worked, and she set the glass down. “I deserve better than this,” she whisper-shouted, grabbing her purse and hanging it on her shoulder.

“Yeah, probably.” Logan nodded, phone still up and pointed at her.

With a huff, she turned and stormed off.

Smiling at the waitress’s perfect timing, he grabbed the card she handed him.

“Her name’s Lauren Landon,” she said.

Logan smirked. Landon. He knew that name well, and now he knew where she got her attitude. Oscar Landon was just as stubborn.

The waitress continued, pointing at the card. “That’s the number she gave when she reserved the table.”

At this, he snorted. What kind of man would have the woman make reservations? And for Valentine’s Day, no less? Was he relying on Lauren’s name to secure a spot in exclusive fine-dining establishments? Was he using her?

Anger flashed within him, but a sense of kinship toward Lauren replaced it. Logan knew all too well what it was like to be pursued solely because of a name and its connection to a bank account.

Lauren deserved better than that.

“Did you get the name of her date?” Logan asked, wanting to know so he could find out what kind of man he was, and what kind of man she was interested in.

She shook her head, her curls bouncing like springs. “He wasn’t on the reservation, and he never showed up.”

Anger toward the man bubbled up again, but the waitress kept speaking.

“Felt bad for her, to be honest,” she said, clearing his date’s side of the table. “She comes here every month or so, each time with a new date. Seems they never last.”

That was interesting. Was it by Lauren’s choice, or the men’s?

“A bit like you, if I’m not being too forward,” the waitress added, giving him a small smile.

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed. Logan dismissed the waitress with a nod and then picked his phone up.

It was an alert from his office. It was meant to be empty, but the motion detectors on the top floor had been triggered.

Logan emptied his whiskey glass, wondering why Shana would be there. It could only be her; the security guard wouldn’t let strangers go up, and only she knew the access codes, which changed weekly.

Unlocking his phone, he opened his security app. The small image displaying not Shana stepping out of the elevator filled him with hot anger.

It was a spy! Those corner-cutting assholes were always looking to take a piece of him—just because he had a talent for people and a mastery of exploiting their vulnerabilities that made him immensely successful.

He slammed the glass down, his knuckles white as he clutched it, and switched to another camera angle.

Logan’s body went rigid when the spy’s face became clear along with her soft waves of hair, big hazel eyes, and silky olive skin.

Why was Lauren Landon sinking into his assistant’s chair and accessing files she shouldn’t have access to?