Page 14 of Logan

It’s unusual for me to react this way to a woman, especially one I barely know. Perhaps it’s the result of my prolonged abstinence from sex, my dormant hormones now awakening with a vengeance.

Her eyes flit over my face as if trying to decipher my thoughts from the subtle cues in my expression. But I know better. No one can penetrate the fortress I’ve built around my emotions, not even my family.

I’ve mastered the art of hiding what lies beneath thesurface, burying my feelings so deep that sometimes I wonder if they still exist at all.

Yet, despite my stoic facade, I sense her fear.

“Do you want some iced tea with ginger? It’s good for headaches,” she offers, her voice betraying a slight tremor.

I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by her insight. How did she know?

She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering away before returning to meet mine. “My mother suffers from headaches. I recognize the signs. Ginger tea would always help my mother,” she explains, preempting the question I hadn’t yet voiced.

She stands and searches through the kitchen cabinets, her movements causing her tight jeans to cling to her curves.

Don’t eyeball your employee.

I avert my gaze and take a seat, trying to ignore the image of her bending over.

Last night, before I retired to bed, I fired off a text to Liam, demanding he rectify this situation. Then I switched off my phone.

It’s the dead of night in San Jose, but I’m tempted to call Liam and give him an earful for this colossal mistake.

A woman—no, not just any woman, but a damn employee—is occupying my apartment in London. In my bed, no less. Once I find out who’s responsible for this disaster, heads will roll.

I power on my phone.

She sets a cup of tea before me, and I take a deep whiff. The aroma is comforting. I’m not sure if it will ease a headache, but it’s worth a shot. Grasping the mug, I press itgently against my forehead, welcoming the icy coolness that radiates from it.

“So,” I begin, breaking the silence, “we need to find you another place to stay.”

“Yes,” she agrees, her tone tinged with relief. It’s clear she’s eager to leave the apartment. “I’ll email the company and hope for a prompt response on how to proceed.”

“I am the company,” I interject. “As CEO and owner, there’s no need to seek approval from anyone else.”

Her demeanor shifts, and she shrinks under my gaze.

My phone buzzes, and I squint at the screen before sliding to answer. “Liam? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. I wanted to talk to you before you do something irreversible.”

“I had my phone turned off.” I rise from my seat and step out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind me to ensure our conversation remains private. “Irreversible? What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I told Sloane?—”

“Sloane?”

“Yes, Sloane Harris. The woman who’s with you in London. Let me guess, you didn’t bother to ask her name.”

“No. Why would I? Is that supposed to interest me?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Liam rolling his eyes. “She’s our outstanding employee.”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to hand out my apartment to complete strangers.”

“She’s not a stranger, Logan. Sloane works for the company. She’s the reason you’re in London right now, closing the deal on Wolfson’s cameras.”

“What?”