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I had a stained soul. I’d traded it at eighteen.

You didn’t come back from that.

I’d never be clean again.

Charles chuckled softly when I didn’t respond, his gaze flickering over my shoulder as he straightened up. “You can try to pretend you’re something else tonight, but we both know the truth, don’t we?” He smirked, and with one final look, he turned and walked away.

I exhaled shakily, my heart pounding. A bead of sweat slid down my forehead, and I hastily wiped it away, wishing there was a way to wipe away my worthlessness at the same time.

Logan returned a few minutes later, sliding back into his seat with that easy smile. “You didn’t leave.” He sounded relieved, and once again I had an insane urge. I wanted to pick up my mashed potatoes and throw them at him, because there was no way he was for real.

You shouldn’t play cruel jokes on people who are already broken.

It never went well.

I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff. “Yep. Still here.” And as an afterthought, I added, “What you’repayingme for.”

He frowned at that, his eyes flicking to where Charles had been standing moments ago. “Who was that?”

My gaze dropped to the table. He’d seen.

My stomach knotted, and I felt the heat of shame crawl up my neck. “No one,” I finally muttered, picking up my glass of water, hoping the cool liquid would calm down whatever was happening inside me.

Logan didn’t press it, but the magic that had been there before he left was gone. The rest of the dinner felt strained, the conversation awkward and stilted. Logan tried to pull me back into the moment, asking questions, making light jokes, but I couldn’t focus. I was too in my head, too wrapped up in this familiar, sick feeling.

Logan noticed. I could see it in the way his smile faded, the way his eyes darkened with concern, but he didn’t push. He didn’t ask again. He just watched me, and the weight of his gaze made me feel even worse.

By the time dessert came, I was barely touching my food, my thoughts spinning in a thousand directions. I felt like I was slipping, like the ground was crumbling beneath me, and no matter how hard I tried to hold on, it wasn’t enough.

I was never going to be enough.

* * *

LOGAN

The second I saw him standing at the table and the scary blankness on Sloane’s face as she looked at him, I’d known something was wrong.

I didn’t have to be a genius to guess what had happened. She’d had a run-in with a former client…I saidformerbecause, obviously, he was never going to be a client again.

Dallas was huge, but Charles Spiker was a known entity around town. His law firm was actually one of the sponsors for the team.

And I was about to ruin him.

I texted Lincoln’s PI on the way to the table.

Charles Spiker. Find me something on him. Anything.

I sat back down at the table, trying to cajole Sloane out of the shell she’d crawled into, but her walls were up. All the easy conversation from before I’d gone to the restroom was gone.

I cursed my bladder.

And then my phone buzzed.

Spiker’s dirty. Skimming from his law firm. Offshore account in the Bahamas. I’ll send you the details.

I stared at the message, a small grin spreading across my face.

Sloane was picking at her apple crumble when Spiker finally got up from his table, a cocky swagger in his walk as he headed toward the restroom.