Page 48 of The Secret Heir Next Door

10

LOGAN

Itwist the key in the lock, the familiar click of the door a small comfort as we step inside. My house is quiet, the dim light from the hallway spilling in before I close the door, shutting out the world.

She follows me inside, her footsteps hesitant. I can sense the tension rolling off her in waves, the way she keeps glancing around like she’s expecting something to jump out at her.

“This is nice,” she says, her bright voice a little too forced.

Her eyes dart around, taking in the dark wood floors, the leather couch, and the bookshelves lining the walls. It’s not really a homey feel but more of a logical space.

“Thanks,” I say, setting my keys on the table by the door. “Make yourself at home.”

She nods but doesn’t move. Instead, she stands there, shifting from foot to foot, her arms crossed over her chest. It’s like she’s trying to protect herself from something, and it hits me how vulnerable she looks right now, how out of place she seems in my space.

“Wine?” I ask, heading towards the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

I need to do something, anything, to break the tension that’s hanging in the air between us. I also don’t think it’ll be appropriate to kiss her right now when she already seems timid.

“Sure,” she replies.

I hear her footsteps follow me into the kitchen, and when I glance back, she’s standing in the doorway, watching me with wide, uncertain eyes.

I pull out a bottle of red from the rack and grab two glasses, trying to appear relaxed. “Do you like red?”

“Yeah, red’s fine,” she says, but she seems distracted.

She’s not really thinking about the wine, and neither am I, to be honest.

As I pour the wine, I steal another glance at her. She’s still standing there, arms crossed, looking like she’s ready to bolt at any second. I need to get her to relax to calm down, but I’m not sure how.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” I suggest, nodding towards the living room. “I’ll bring the wine over.”

She hesitates, then nods, finally uncrossing her arms and moving towards the couch. I watch as she sits down, her posture stiff, her hands fidgeting in her lap. There’s something endearing about the way she’s trying so hard to keep it together, even though I can tell she’s a mess of nerves.

I bring the glasses over and hand one to her before sitting down on the opposite end of the couch. She takes the glass with a quiet “thanks” and sips it quickly like she needs the liquid courage.

“Where do you want to start?”

She looks at me, confused. “What do you mean?”

“With your financials,” I clarify, setting my glass down on the coffee table.

Her eyes widen slightly, and I can see the panic creeping back in. “Oh, right. That. Um...”

She glances around the room like she’s searching for an escape route. I can tell she’s uncomfortable with the idea, and it makes me wonder just how bad things are for her right now.

“It’s okay,” I assure gently. “We’ll just take it one step at a time.”

“I’m not sure where to start. It’s kind of... a mess.”

“That’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

She takes a deep breath, then sets her glass down and pulls a stack of papers out of her bag. They’re a jumbled mess, some crumpled, others with notes scribbled in the margins.

I can tell just by looking at them that there’s no real organization, no system. It’s like she’s been trying to keep everything together with sheer willpower alone.

She hands the papers to me, her hands shaking slightly. She pulls out her battered laptop and starts tapping away.