Page 62 of Billionaire Bachelor

I grab Logan’s ring and toss it into the junk drawer, slamming it shut like I’m sealing Pandora’s box. Before I can reach for the cologne, Logan’s signature scent—warm spice, cedar, and pure sex appeal—fills the air.

I whip around, finding my cousin pointing the bottle toward the sky. “Sylvie! What are you doing?!”

Her eyes go wide. “Oh, shit!” She waves a hand around, as if that’ll make the scent magically disappear. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I just wanted to know what it smelled like, and you can’t get the true effect while it’s in the bottle!”

“Well, now anyone walking into my apartmentwill get the true effect of walking into Logan’s chest!” I shriek.

“I can see why you want to bang him all the time if he smells like that up close,” she muses.

“Sylvie!” I throw my hands up. “Ryan’s going to know that’s Logan’s cologne!”

“Will he?” She cringes. “Maybe Ryan has a cold? We can hope his nose is plugged, right?”

I groan. “We have to light a candle! Now!”

“Ooh! Good idea!” Sylvie jumps off the stool and heads toward the coffee table where a three-wick candle is sitting. “Wait. Where’s the lighter?”

I frantically spin around in my kitchen. “I don’t know!”

“Well, we have to find it!” she insists.

“No shit, Sherlock! Look around!”

We both take off in opposite directions, rifling through drawers and cabinets. I yank open the junk drawer again—pens, receipts, a pack of gum, seventy bajillion packets of hot sauce—but no lighter.

“Where the hell is it?” I shout. “It’s a long candle lighter. Finding it should not be this difficult!”

Sylvie squats down on the floor, looking under the TV stand. “Damn, Rosa, when’s the last time you vacuumed down here?”

“Why would it be under the TV stand?!” I yell.

She gets back up, brushing off her knees. “I’m just trying to be thorough. No need to bite my head off.”

I spin in another circle, eyes narrowing on the refrigerator as a memory surfaces. “The fridge! It’s on top of the fridge!” I stretch my toes, blindly patting the top until my hand lands on the prize. “Yes! I got it!”

Why in the hell did I put it up there in the first place?

“Catch.” I launch the lighter across the room, where it bounces off Sylvie’s chest and clatters onto the floor.

“Ow!” She rubs her boob, bending over to pick it up. “You don’t need to be so violent!”

“I wasn’t trying to be! I said,catch!”

Sheesh. It’s like the universal sign for, ‘Heads up, I’m about to throw something at you.’

“Well, excuse me for not having catlike reflexes!” she huffs.

I point to the candle. “Light the damn candle, Sylvie!”

The butane must be low because it takes a few tries before the flame ignites.

“Hurry!” I shout.

“Bitch, I’m trying!” Sylvie leans over the candle after all threewicks are lit, waving a hand toward the front door.“There. Problem solved!”

“I’m pretty sure it needs to burn for more thantwo secondsbefore the scent actually spreads,” I deadpan, hands on my hips.

“How long could it possibly take?” she asks. “This loft is tiny.”