Page 11 of Logan (The Valeur Billionaires #1)

Chapter Nine

LOGAN

I pace Wolfson’s office, the urgency in my steps betraying my inner turmoil.

“Our product can save lives. Imagine installing your cameras, enhanced with my software, in every hospital, every clinic. Envision the potential—detecting cancer from a simple image.” The hours stretch on as I advocate for the idea, my conviction fueled by the belief that the promise of saving lives would sway him.

Cora had insisted I focus on his compassionate nature.

Wolfson leans back in his chair, his eyes attentive and his expression thoughtful.

His tailored suit and the warm, inviting atmosphere of his office speak to his success and refinement.

A few subtle lines around his eyes and the hint of gray at his temples suggest he's a man who has seen a bit more of life than I have, perhaps a decade or so.

Yet there's a genuine kindness in his eyes that suggests he's not just about the bottom line.

He rubs his perfectly shaved chin. “It’s a compelling pitch, I won’t deny. But such proposals land on my desk daily, especially at your price point. My margins would be razor thin.”

The price point is a hurdle, but it’s one we must overcome to achieve widespread impact. “You have a family, don’t you?” I recall Cora’s advice. She insisted the key to his decision lies with his wife.

He acknowledges with a nod. “A wife and a baby girl.”

A glint of pride crosses his eyes. Cora’s words, “ they mean the world to him,” echo in my head.

“Think of them. Wouldn’t you want a readily available product that could screen for early signs of skin cancer?

Consider the countless individuals who miss these early warnings, who go untested because it’s out of reach or too costly.

And when they do seek help, it’s often too late.

Wouldn’t you want to ensure you’ve done everything to protect your family?

And remember, we’re not stopping here. We have a whole lineup of innovations. ”

“Are you a family man yourself?”

“Yes,” I reply, my voice a mix of firmness and reserve. Although, I’m not about to divulge my personal life with my family, not even to seal this deal.

“So, you understand then. Everything I do is for them—to leave behind something they can be proud of. Is your product the legacy I’m looking for?” His dark eyes narrow.

“I believe it is.”

He considers this for a moment before making an unexpected offer.

“Alright. How about this? I invite you and your partner to dinner at my place. We’ll talk more, get to know each other.

I value the personal connection with those I work with, and I trust my wife’s judgment.

If she sees the potential in your product, then we have something to discuss. ”

My mind races. Partner? That’s not what I meant by “family man.” I was referring to my siblings, not a romantic partner. “Um…”

“I’ll have Valentina set a date, and I’ll send it to you. She’s eager to meet your significant other. How long will you be in London?”

“Two weeks,” I say, realizing I need to clear up the misunderstanding. I need to tell him there’s been a mistake—that I don’t have a partner.

“Great. Then it's settled. I'll see you then,” he says, standing and signaling the end of our meeting. His handshake is firm and warm, his smile genuine. “Looking forward to meeting your better half.”

My better half? I’ve always been whole on my own. I’ve never bought into the idea that I’m incomplete without someone else. I’ll just have to clarify that I’m here solo, and he’s misunderstood. It’ll be fine.

Unless he’ll think I’m dishonest, which could jeopardize the entire deal.

Wolfson opens his office door, signaling it’s time for me to leave. I hesitated too long, and it’s too late now to correct him.

I leave the office, the weight of the impending dinner invitation sitting heavy on my shoulders. The city’s pulse doesn’t distract me from my thoughts. Instead, it amplifies the urgency of resolving the misunderstanding.

Reaching the grocery store, I push through the glass doors, the mundane task of shopping grounding me. I enjoy cooking and always prefer cooking over eating out.

Chicken or fish? The age-old question. I settle on chicken, grabbing twice the usual amount with Sloane in mind. It would only be right to cook for two.

The apartment greets me with silence; Sloane’s absence hangs in the air.

Truth be told, solitude suits me, liberating me from the charade of feigned interest in another’s words. I set to work on the chicken, searing it in the pan, chopping and adding vegetables.

I dish out a portion onto a plate, put the rest into a bowl, snag a cold beer from the fridge, and take my seat at the table.

My phone buzzes with a new message.

Aidan Wolfson

How about Sunday night? My wife’s thrilled. It’s been ages since we’ve had American guests. She’s eager to share stories.

Fuck. His wife’s already looking forward to it. Backing out now could jeopardize everything.

The sound of the door swinging open cuts through my thoughts.

Sloane steps in, the light fabric of her dress embracing her waist, highlighting her curves and full breasts in a way that captures my entire focus. But only for a moment before I lift my eyes to meet hers, finding a warm smile that speaks of a day well spent .

At least one of us has reason to smile today.

Her look from yesterday floats in my head after the erotic scene she played for me on the speaker. I never would have guessed that’s what she was listening to, but perhaps the incident with the pink vibrator should have been a clue.

She bends over to set down her bags, and I avert my gaze, respecting her privacy.

She has an interesting combination of wisdom and sexiness that I like. I have no problem admitting that, but she’s off limits, and the closest she’ll get to my cock is in my fantasies. I don’t sleep with women who work for me. It’s a rule I’ve never broken, and I have no intention of starting now.

I don’t have a death wish, and I will not destroy my life's work for a fuck or fleeting euphoria. I have my right hand for that.

“Did you have a nice day?” I ask out of politeness and take a sip of my beer.

“Yes, thank you. I went up on the Tower Bridge and took a lot of pictures. Did you know it’s not called London Bridge?

That’s another bridge, quite ugly, to be honest. I went to the wrong place at first, but the real bridge is really beautiful, and the floor there is transparent, which is actually cool.

Not my brightest idea to wear a dress, though.

There’s a mirrored ceiling, and, well, I inadvertently put on a bit of a show for everyone.

” Her laughter fills the space, light and unbothered.

The image seizes my thoughts, unwelcome yet vivid. I shift uncomfortably, striving to steer my mind in another direction.

“After that, I headed to the Tower of London and stood in line for almost an hour to see the Crown Jewels. But it totally paid off.” She pauses, a dreamy look crossing her face.

“I pictured myself with a crown and scepter, kind of like those childhood fantasies of being royalty. But apparently, my name wouldn’t cut it.

” She chuckles, shaking her head in mock disappointment.

“I heard you only get to pick from a specific list of names. And it’s crazy to think, after seventy years, there’s finally a king.

Makes you wonder what it’s like for him, finally stepping into that role. ”

Her laughter fills the room once more as she spins, her dress lifting to reveal her long, tanned legs.

I blink.

She makes my life more complex in the most intriguing way, and I can’t help but admire how she’s not intimidated by me, openly sharing her experiences. It’s so rare for me that I can’t remember the last time I had such a light, carefree conversation with anyone except for maybe Cora.

Conversations with Georgina were always short and to the point. But Sloane keeps the conversation flowing.

Anyone who knows me would think her nonstop chatter might annoy me, but it doesn’t. Not one bit.

“How was your day?” she asks.

“Busy with meetings.”

Her gaze drifts to the spread on my plate, an unspoken question in her eyes.

“Would you like to join me?” The invitation is out before I can even think it through. “There’s enough.”

“You don’t mind? I don’t want to impose…”

“You’re not imposing,” I assure her, and I’m surprised to find sincerity in my voice. It’s unusual for me—wanting company. Others usually feel like an intrusion, forcing me to feign enjoyment. But with her, I really hope she stays.

“I would love to,” she says, taking a seat and filling her plate eagerly. “I’m pretty hungry. Was about to settle for cornflakes or something, but this looks much better.”

“Cornflakes for dinner?” I can’t hide my amusement.

“I’m not much of a cook,” she admits with a shrug, “and eating alone in restaurants feels odd. Feels like I’m being watched, so I usually avoid it.”

“Cooking is a bit of a hobby for me.”

“Wait, you made this?” She samples a bite, her pleasure in the taste unmistakable as her eyes close and she moans, a sound that goes straight to my cock. “This is amazing.”

“Between this or cornflakes? Not a tough decision,” I joke, deflecting her praise.

“And you don’t have chefs or anything? I’d think you could afford that luxury.”

“At home, yes. But I’m often on the move. Cooking for myself is simpler than finding chefs that meet my standards.”

“So, you cook because it’s easier than hiring someone? I find that hard to believe. Cooking is a skill,” she challenges.

“Alright, you caught me. I genuinely enjoy cooking more than dining out,” I confess.

“You really enjoy it?”

I shrug. “Yes. Is that so odd?”

“Not at all. And I can attest that you’re quite good at it,” she says, sounding impressed. “How’d you pick up the talent?”

I can lie, say something casual and non-binding, but when I look into her eyes, I don’t want to.

“My mom taught me. She had this passion for cooking and always insisted on cooking for the family herself, even though we could have easily had a full-time cook. We had all kinds of help around the house, from housekeepers to drivers, but never a cook.”

I pause to take a bite and chew, letting the memories fill me. “I can still picture her in the kitchen, humming to herself as she moved, the air filled with incredible aromas. I loved being there with her, just soaking it all in, learning by watching and doing.”

“She sounds wonderful.”

“She was,” I acknowledge, the memory bittersweet.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s alright. It was a long time ago.”

Sloane nods, momentarily lost in thought, judging by her expression, and then resumes eating. As she attempts to spear a cherry tomato, it rebels, bouncing off her plate and rolling across the table right toward me.

“Oops.” She lunges forward to catch the rogue tomato before it reaches the floor.

I go completely still.

Her eyes go wide. “Oh. Oh, no. I–I’m so sorry,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing a rapid succession of colors.

Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I say, “Maybe you should... uh… let go of my balls.”

Instantly, she withdraws her hand, which, for a startling few seconds, had been cupping my cock and balls. The blush on her cheeks could rival the hue of the escaped tomato.

“I didn’t mean to...”

I can’t resist lifting an eyebrow. “You weren’t trying to give me a hand job, were you?”

My amusement probably isn’t appropriate, but the scenario unfolds too comically. The woman was holding my cock, and instead of being mad at her, I have the urge to wrap her dark hair around my fist and pull, tilting her head so that I can conquer that sweet mouth.

“God no! I wouldn’t— I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with your cock.

.. I’m sure it’s fine—more than fine. I’m sure it’s huge, actually, and I’m sure many women would want to give you a handjob— I mean, you’re you, and—” Her words tumble out in a flustered halt, her blush deepening to new depths.

This is turning into quite the spectacle.

“So, you think I’m huge?” I tilt my head.