Page 46 of Logan

“Keep your distance from him, Sloane. It’s bad enough you’re in the same apartment, at least make sure you keep your distance. Now go tell him you changed your mind.”

“About what?” I sit up, frowning.

“About the card, dummy. Go splurge. You don’t get an opportunity like that every day. He probably has a black card, right? I could get off just holding it.”

“You’re awful, Emery.”

I debate telling her about the fake dating scheme planned for tomorrow, then decide against it. She wouldn’t understand, and I’ve had enough lectures and humiliation for one day.

Even I don’t fully understand why I agreed to this arrangement, but it intrigues me, and I guess my nosy nature trumps my concerns.

“Can you send me everything you found on Logan?” I request, changing the subject.

“What?”

“You said you looked into him. Can you send me everything you found?”

“Sure. There’s not much. He doesn’t appear in public often. I suspect he’s a vampire.”

I snort. He’s probably not a vampire, but the fact there’s not much public info on him fits with what I’ve observed so far. The corner booth at the restaurant and cooking for himself. He avoids people. I wonder why.

“Send me whatever you have.”

“Sloane, please be careful. I don’t know what you’re planning, but you don’t know him, and he’s your boss. If something goes wrong, the consequences will be disastrous.”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen.”

“Good morning.” I emerge from my bedroom, ready for the day, and find Logan in the kitchen, drinking coffee, wearing a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

Who wears tailored clothes on the weekend? Except for the one time I surprised him at night, I’ve never seen him out of a suit.

Although I have to say, he looks pretty damn good in those amazing suits, the slim-fitting button-downs that look custom-made for his measurements and probably are, highlighting his trim waist and muscular arms.

I lick my lips.

“Good morning. Why are you looking at me like that?”

I blink the fantasy away. “I’m, uh, taking you up on your shopping offer,” I say, ignoring his question and plopping onto the chair across from him.

His forehead wrinkles.

“If the offer still stands, that is.”

“Yes,” he answers, his face expressionless but his cool voice conveying displeasure. “It still stands.”

I imagine icicles forming from his breath. I don’t think it’s possible to say yes in a more detached way. But he offered. Why is he regretting it now?

“Great. Because I want to buy a book.”

“A book?” He arches an eyebrow. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious. I don’t take my reading habits lightly.” I rest my elbows on the table.

“How much does a book cost? Twenty dollars?”

“Here it’s pounds, but yes, something like that. Unless it’s a special edition, those can be expensive and go up to maybe a hundred dollars.” I shrug.

“A hundred dollars?”