Page 21 of Keeping Kasey (Love and Blood #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Kasey

I knew within ten minutes of being with Matteo and Ford that I’d taken Damon’s laid-back presence for granted.

Ford’s distaste for me might as well be written across his forehead. The only time he acknowledges me is to glare like I’m personally responsible for all suffering on planet Earth, which is probably why he mostly just ignores me.

Matteo isn’t bad , but he resembles an annoying—albeit harmless—frat boy more than he does a mafia capo.

The three of us left Chicago yesterday morning to head to Nashville, the smallest of the Consoli bases, to install their security system. At least, that’s what I did. Matteo was in a meeting, and Ford worked on other assignments that I assume were just a cover for him to keep an eye on me all day.

I finished Nashville’s security installation in a few hours, and by dinner, we’d already landed in Cincinnati. Though bigger than the Nashville base, Cincinnati didn’t take me long either. I finished up this afternoon.

Now, we’re on a flight to Detroit for the final installation.

I slept great last night in the hotel room, but I have a feeling it had to do with the time Logan and I spent together at the crack of dawn before I left.

I’m not so optimistic about my sleep tonight.

My thoughts about the tyrannical boss prompt me to open the Pac-Man program and reread our conversation from yesterday evening.

Kasey: Stop being an ass to everyone.

Logan: Now Damon’s gossiping like a schoolgirl?

Kasey: I haven’t talked to Damon since I left. I just assumed you were being an ass and thought I’d do the good deed of telling you to stop.

Logan: Have I ever told you how unbearable you are unless you’re naked?

Kasey: At least twice now. You should really be nicer to your soldiers.

Logan: I don’t remember asking for your advice.

Kasey: You should. I’d start by telling you to get rid of your Bugatti Chiron. It’s tacky.

Logan: I won’t be taking car advice from someone who can’t drive.

Kasey: It’s more of a “won’t” than a “can’t.”

Logan: How is it that the most independent human alive can’t even drive herself to the grocery store?

Kasey: She has groceries delivered. Besides, I prefer city life. No need to drive. How do you justify having ten cars? You realize you can only drive one at a time, right?

Logan: Sixteen, actually, but you’re not going to use my perfectly normal hobby to avoid answering the question. Why don’t you drive?

Kasey: If you’re looking for some deep philosophical reason, there isn’t one. I don’t drive because I don’t want to. I rarely leave my home, and when I do, I walk or call a car.

Logan: Too good for the bus?

Kasey: Too crowded. I aim for minimal human contact. Now, it’s your turn. Why so many cars?

Logan: I like nice things.

Kasey: The mansion, suits, and private jet weren’t enough?

Logan: The mansion is a family estate, the suits are a work necessity, and the private jet is used exclusively for business travel.

Kasey: Your point?

Logan: The cars are mine. A luxury hobby that I choose to indulge in simply because I can.

An announcement comes over the speakers, telling us to fasten our seatbelts for landing, and I close my laptop. Ford keeps his out where he sits on the opposite side of the plane—quite literally as far away as he could possibly be from me.

Matteo lounges in the chair next to mine, with the footrest fully extended and eyes closed, though I know he isn’t sleeping because every few minutes he opens them to watch the flight attendant.

Matteo’s phone rings, and after a glance at the caller ID, he groans and answers.

“Matteo,” he greets.

I can’t hear what the caller says, but I do hear a low, gruff voice. With no other context to go on, I study Matteo’s face, which is mostly covered by his hand as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“James sent our itinerary over yesterday. We haven’t experienced any delays,” Matteo says in a detached tone.

He listens for several seconds, then his hand slides down his face before balling into a fist. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

Then he hangs up, muttering a slew of curses under his breath.

“Boyfriend troubles?”

He turns his glare to me in a comically slow movement that I meet with a smile.

“I can’t imagine there’s a single person who appreciates your commentary.”

“I think it’s part of my charm.”

“I can assure you it’s not,” he deadpans.

“But you admit I’m charming?”

“As a bullet to the brain.”

I laugh and nod to his phone. “What was that about?”

He rolls his head back until he’s staring at the ceiling again, and I don’t think he’ll answer, but after a few moments, he sighs.

“Logan’s vindictive,” he grumbles.

“That wasn’t Logan,” I say, and realize too late how that sounded.

Matteo’s small grin is the only indication that his thoughts mimic mine.

“No, it wasn’t. But he sent me on this trip in the first place.”

“Why?”

His grin widens to a smile. “Because I spilled my drink on you at the club last week.”

“What?”

“My father is the head capo of the Detroit base,” he explains, “and he might be the only person less likeable than you. Logan sent me instead of Damon as payback for teasing you.”

“That sounds like a stretch.”

Matteo spilling his drink was annoying, sure, but harmless.

“Stretch or not, it’s true.”

I look at Ford, who hasn’t spared us a single glance this entire flight.

“And here I thought Ford had enough illogical rage for everyone.”

“You think it’s illogical?” Matteo asks, openly checking the flight attendant as she passes by.

“Isn’t it?”

He looks to where Ford sits, just out of hearing range. “Ford is many things. Illogical isn’t one of them.”

“I know I’m not everyone’s favorite person, but I’ve done absolutely nothing to warrant how he treats me.”

Matteo looks genuinely amused. “I thought you were some genius.”

“I never had that misconception about you.”

He rolls his eyes. “How many women have you met in our industry?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Matteo shrugs.

“ He’s the one who found me in the first place,” I say, but Matteo shakes his head before I even finish the statement.

“Ford had a file of qualified candidates, and you were not in it. He heard you were difficult to find and selective, so he opted for candidates he felt would better fit our timeline.”

“Then why was I hired?”

“Logan heard about you from some associates, and one of them gave him your IP address,” he explains.

“Who?”

All this time, I’d assumed it was rigorous research that led the Consolis to me, not the convenient supply of an associate with my IP address—which changes every week.

“Beats me,” he says, then gestures to Ford. “So, imagine his thoroughly vetted recommendations being ignored, only to end up going with a five-two, headache-in-human-form woman whose skill threatens Ford’s very role in the family.”

“I’m not going to apologize for being a woman or for being good at what I do.”

“No one’s asking you to,” he says with a shrug. “But you wanted to know his issue with you.”

“And you?” I ask.

“What about me?”

“What’s your issue with me?”

“Who said I have one?”

I lift my brow, and after a moment, he sighs.

“Aside from the obvious,” he says, gesturing to me in a way I can only assume implies the obvious is my personality. “Things have been weird since you got here.”

“Because you all lived such normal lives before I came along.”

He ignores me.

“Logan has always been high-strung, but it’s gotten worse since my uncle died. Stepping into the boss role so suddenly is a big adjustment—but it’s more than that.”

Matteo doesn’t elaborate on what more than that includes, but based on my observations, I can fill in the blank.

Logan may have spent years preparing for this job, but it wasn’t his birthright the way it was Damon’s.

And while I don’t think a single one of his soldiers believes he’s unworthy of the job, I wonder if there’s a part of Logan that questions himself.

“He seems distracted,” Matteo finishes.

I laugh. “Your problem with me is that I make Logan happy? Sounds like you should be thanking me.”

Matteo doesn’t share my amusement. “ Distracted , not happy. It could be dangerous.”

“What do I have to do to convince you people that I’m not some criminal mastermind trying to dismantle your family?”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “A family’s boss is their symbol, and that symbol needs to project strength.

Logan is only a few months into this job following his brother and father’s deaths, and the impending marriage of his sister to a former enemy.

Every move he makes is being scrutinized by his enemies and allies.

They’re looking for any weakness they can use against him. ”

“And you think I’m a weakness?”

“I think you could be,” he says with an unapologetic shrug. “This family is everything to Logan, and I wouldn’t want him to jeopardize that for… whatever it is you are.”

I start to tell Matteo that our fling isn’t significant enough to distract Logan from his job, but I hesitate, remembering how desperate we’d been for each other after only two days apart.

It’s just lust , I tell myself, and I’m relieved to still believe it.

There’s no question about what Logan and I are. The expectations have been clear from the beginning.

Just sex.

Nothing else.

I lean back in my seat as the plane touches down. “Well, I’m happy to report that you have nothing to worry about. Logan isn’t the type to put anything before his work. No distractions from me.”

Matteo nods, not looking particularly convinced.

Once the plane comes to a complete stop, the three of us gather our things. The door opens, and bright afternoon light streams in as I grab my bags, and Ford is gone before I even turn toward the exit.

Ford’s muffled words reach Matteo and me from inside the plane, and we exchange a curious look before heading to the exit.

The reason for Ford’s uncharacteristic expressiveness becomes clear when I stop dead in my tracks at the top of the stairs and see who he’s talking to.

Logan stands on the runway.

He says something to Ford, and then his eyes flick to me, and my stomach turns in a way that is both pleasant and nauseating.

He looks relaxed, hands in his pockets, wearing a lazy smile that makes him roguishly handsome.

Matteo breathes a humorless laugh at my back. “Yeah, he’s not distracted at all .”