Page 85 of Logan

Sloane, her face alight with childlike wonder as she takes in the grandeur of Buckingham Palace, the iconic red double-decker buses, the charm of a bookstore.

So excited, so alive, captivated by the little things I’ve long since stopped noticing, the things that can’t be bought or sold. The things that have nothing to do with my money, my status, or my power.

She’s like a breath of fresh air in my stagnant, suffocating world.

Attractive and sexy, yes, but also brilliant and funny and so wholly herself. I wanted her from the moment I laid eyes on her, wanted to bend her over my desk and fuck her until I purged this all-consuming desire from my system.

What I didn’t expect was that I would enjoy her company, would crave more than just her body. And I did want more. I still want more. I think I might have actual feelings for her.

I exhale. Of course, I would fall again—develop feelings for a woman who could never love me back. Story of my fucking life.

“You make it sound like I fell in love with you. Trust me, that will never happen.”

Her words echo in my head on a never-ending loop, closing in on me, making it hard to breathe, like a rope tightening around my neck.

She made it clear where things stand for her, reminding me yet again why I don’t let myself get attached, why my decision to keep everyone at arm’s length is the only sane choice for a man like me. I’m not the type people fall in love with. I never have been, and I never will be.

I withdrew her resignation letter before it reached its destination. No one knows about her little stunt. As far as everyone is concerned, she still works at Valeur and never left. She was my employee the entire time.

She’s supposed to return to the office today, and we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. I wince as I recall the way she slammed the door in my face, both literally and figuratively shutting me out without giving me a chance to explain.

She said she would pretend we don’t know each other, that nothing happened between us, and yet, I can’t help butwonder if she’ll actually do that. If she tries to hurt me, she could do a hell of a lot of damage.

Damage to the company, to my family’s reputation, to everything I’ve spent my entire adult life building.

My head gives a vicious throb as if in agreement with my dark thoughts. Gritting my teeth, I heave myself out of the chair and stalk out of my office, jabbing the elevator button with a bit more force than necessary.

I need to see her. Need to gauge her state of mind and try to do some damage control before this whole thing blows up in my face.

The elevator dings, and I step out onto the employee floor, stopping short in the middle of the bustling lobby. It occurs to me I don’t know where her desk is located. I’ve never bothered to find out before now.

Several harried-looking employees scurry past me, their eyes downcast, not daring to make eye contact with the infamous Logan Valeur. I almost let out a chuckle at their obvious fear.

Pathetic. I would respect them so much more if they had the backbone to look me in the eye, to speak their minds, and to propose new ideas instead of just following orders. If they dared to stand up to me every once in a while.

Sloane has never been afraid to challenge me. She’s always met my gaze head-on, unflinching, unafraid to tell me what she thinks of me and my bullshit.

Asking someone where she sits would be a bad idea. I rarely visit employees. I barely even come to this floor more than once or twice a year because Liam claims I intimidate the staff. Inquiring about her would draw unwanted attention.

I need Liam.

I turn to head toward his office but stop in my tracks.

It’s her.

Sloane. Striding toward me, her head held high, her expression calm. Fuck, is she seriously going to make a scene? Right here, in front of everyone?

I brace myself for impact, my pulse quickening as my gaze rakes over her lithe form. She’s wearing a white blouse with some kind of ruffled, puffy sleeves with a fabric that clings to her perfect tits like a second skin, and a black pencil skirt that hits her mid-thigh, showcasing her long, toned legs.

Legs that were wrapped around my waist not even a week ago as I pounded into her, my face buried in the crook of her neck, drunk on her scent, her taste, the feel of her silky walls fluttering around my cock.

Shit, I miss her. Miss her quick wit, her razor-sharp mind and the way she challenges me, pushes me and makes me feel more alive than I have in years.

How in the ever-loving fuck did I let this happen?

I don’t miss people. I don’t need people.

I swallow hard past the sudden lump in my throat as she draws closer, steeling myself for whatever fresh hell she’s about to rain down on me.