Page 48 of Logan

“It’s pretty self-explanatory. Besides, Cora, my sister, also likes to read those romance books.”

“Really?” I jump up and clap my hands. “What tropes does she like? Maybe she can recommend some books to me. Does she read digital or print? Or maybe even audio? Although I connect less with audio, they get embarrassing at exactly the wrong moment in front of the boss,” I say with a grin.

“Well, you’ve gone too far for me. I don’t know what tropes are. And don’t you read anything else besides that stuff? What about some thrillers? Drama?”

“God forbid. I have enough of those in real life.”

“And you don’t have enough sex in real life?” He raises an eyebrow.

“Romance. I’m lacking romance. Well, maybe the sex, too.” I laugh.

“I wouldn’t expect someone who looks like you to be lacking romance. Or sex.”

“Did you just give me a compliment, Logan Valeur?” I stand with my hands on my hips and tilt my head.

The corner of his mouth twitches in a hint of a smile. “Maybe. So that’s why you like reading romance novels? Because you’re lacking romance?”

“Because I want my happily ever after,” I blurt out. “Because if an author writes about a man who cheats, they’ll throw tomatoes at her. When I read those books, I know what to expect. I can, just for a brief time, believe that such a man exists for me. The man who will nevercheat on me, who will love me, who will see who I really am.”

“Someone cheated on you?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.” I divert my gaze and bite my lower lip. Damn, the hurt still stings.

“Okay.”

That’s it? He’s not going to insist? Doesn’t he want to hear how I was humiliated and had to leave my job? But he stays silent.

I gaze into his clear eyes. “I want one more thing from you. I want you to choose the book for me.”

“I’m not familiar with romance novels.”

“I know. I want you to pick a book you would like.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to get to know you.”

He squints, probably wondering if I’ve completely lost it. “Why?”

“Why what?” I return his question.

“Why do you want to get to know me?”

“Because you intrigue me. You look the way you do,” I say, waving a hand and gesturing at his muscular body wrapped in a well-fitted suit, “and could get any woman you want, but you don’t even seem interested in women at all. Maybe you’re gay or asexual? An enigma.”

I peeked at the links Emery sent this morning. A few publicity photos, a few pictures with one woman from about a year ago, who, if I may say, looks like a total bitch, and that’s about it.

“How do I look?”

I swallow hard. “Umm...youknow.”

“I don’t know.”

“You look…good,” I mutter, trying to climb out of the hole I’ve dug myself into. What can I say to him? That he’s hot? That my panties get wet every time he looks at me like he does?

“Good?” His pupils dilate, but that’s the only physical reaction he shows to my words.

I look straight into his clear eyes as I say slowly, emphasizing each letter. “Yes, gooood.”