Page 12 of Logan (The Valeur Billionaires #1)

Chapter Ten

SLOANE

“ N o. Yes. I mean, I don’t know. I didn’t notice if it was…big,” I try to explain, my words tumbling out in a clumsy rush.

I’d give anything for a colossal, purple monster to appear and devour me whole. Or for the ground beneath my feet to crack open and swallow me.

Anything has to be less agonizing than standing here, in front of my boss, trying to articulate why I was holding his cock and why I blurted out anything about its size.

And what’s the lesser of two evils? Admitting I felt enough to judge, or denying it? But the truth, as mortifying as it is to acknowledge, is undeniable.

Yes, he was big.

And I know, because, holy hell , I was actually holding Logan Valeur’s cock.

And he wasn’t exactly in a relaxed state, either.

Not that he was fully erect, but there was a definite firmness, a subtle hint of hardness that seemed to grow under my unintentional touch.

Or perhaps that’s just my mind spinning out of control with anxiety and conjuring sensations that weren’t there.

Honestly, with the way my thoughts are somersaulting through sheer panic, I wouldn’t trust my judgment right now.

Seriously, where is that purple monster when you need it?

“Not sure it’s that big. Maybe you just stuff socks in there or something,” I blurt out in a pitiful attempt at humor. The words tumble out before I can reel them back in, and I’m immediately mortified. Why did I say that?

Shut up, Sloane.

My teeth find my lip, biting down as I dare to lift my gaze to his. The joke, meant to diffuse the tension, hangs between us. My heart races, and I brace myself for his reaction, unsure whether to expect laughter, annoyance, or something entirely unpredictable.

Logan smiles.

In that instant, my heart stalls—then stumbles over itself in a frantic rhythm. Witnessing Logan's smile is akin to spotting a unicorn in the wild. From everything I’ve heard, smiles from him are as rare as a hen’s teeth.

I imagine the last person to see such a phenomenon might have been his mother, when he was a baby, just learning to smile. And even then, I’m not entirely convinced. He strikes me as the type who might have skipped the smiling milestone, born with a solemnity far beyond his years.

This smile transforms him, lighting up his features and softening the usual hard lines of his face. For a fleeting moment, he appears wholly human and startlingly accessible .

In the depths of his blue eyes, I catch a spark of something warm, a hint of passion that melts the habitual ice.

His lips, full and usually set in a straight line, curve into an expression of genuine amusement. It’s a glimpse into a side of him I suspect few have seen, a brief unveiling before the familiar mask resettles over his features.

Too late, Dark Lord. Now I know. You have a human side.

“So you need another feel to decide?”

His words hang in the air, a challenge or a tease—I can’t tell which. Logan’s face gives nothing away, his expression as unreadable as stone.

Could it be humor twinkling in his eyes, or is it just my hopeful imagination?

The notion that Logan Valeur, a man whose reputation for seriousness precedes him, might be teasing is almost too ridiculous to believe.

Panic flutters in my chest. Is this how it all ends? Have I finally pushed too far, my incessant rambling leading me straight to disaster? It seems my notorious lack of a filter has caught up with me at last.

I gulp, my throat dry and my hands wringing in my lap. “You’re going to fire me now, right? Can I at least stay until the end of the vacation? My return flight is two weeks from now.”

His eyes narrow, his mouth closed, leaving me in a torturous silence that stretches into eternity. Then, just as I’m on the verge of rising, resigned to packing my things, he finally breaks the silence.

“I’m not going to fire you,” he says, “but I do want you to do something for me.”

He’s not going to fire me. The proclamation replays in my mind like a lifeline in the sea of my earlier panic. I sink back into my chair, the tension draining from my shoulders, yet a thread of curiosity weaving its way through my relief.

“What can I do?” I ask.

“I need you to accompany me to a business meeting, a dinner.”

A dinner meeting? That’s manageable. A few hours out of my life, acting as professional support. I nod, mentally bracing myself for an evening of corporate small talk and appetizers.

“And,” he says with a moment of hesitation, “I need you to come as my girlfriend.”

I blink. “What?”

“I need you to pretend we’re a couple, just for a few hours.” His explanation is calm and matter-of-fact as if proposing a simple solution to a routine problem.

Pretend to be Logan Valeur’s girlfriend? For a business dinner? The absurdity and the suddenness of the proposition scramble my thoughts. “Why?”

“I’m here to close a deal to buy high-resolution cameras for the software you developed.

Wolfson Electronics has what we need, but convincing them of the importance of our product and why they should partner with us, has been a challenge.

Wolfson invited me and my ‘partner’ to dinner.

Showing up alone would essentially torpedo the deal. ”

“But why does he think you have your partner here in London with you?” This whole scenario seems tangled in unnecessary complexities.

“Misunderstanding.” He shrugs, though the tension in his frame belies his casual demeanor.

“I could refuse the invitation, but then all the hard work you’ve put into this project might be for nothing.

We can’t let that happen, right? And with you here, it feels like fate.

You’re not just any employee. You understand the technical nuances. You can help make the case.”

“You’re aware of what I do at Valeur?” Surprise laces my words. Until now, I hadn’t considered he might know of my contributions.

“Liam filled me in.”

Liam. Of course. Logan probably had no clue who I was before this unexpected apartment encounter. Why would he?

Still, I see how important it is to him. He thinks he’s hiding his feelings behind his mask, with the light way in which he says the words, but I see the tension in his eyes, the way his jaw tightens when he mentions the deal—it all reveals how much he’s banking on this.

Why my project—of all the initiatives under Valeur’s vast umbrella—has captured his attention is a mystery.

My product is solid, a fact I’m proud of, but Valeur is a titan in the industry, home to countless innovative minds.

The question of why mine nags at me, but I hold back, choosing instead to focus on the immediate task at hand.

“I’m not good at lies. As soon as he asks me something, I’ll get confused, and everything will fall apart.” My tongue has no restraints, especially when I’m near Logan for some reason. It’s as if being in his presence lowers all my defenses, leaving me exposed in ways I’m not used to.

“Don’t worry, you just have to talk about the product. Leave the rest to me.”

Considering everything, dedicating a few hours to assist him seems the least I can do, especially after such an...intimate incident. And truthfully, I relish the idea of discussing my work, my creations. Such opportunities are rare, and my enthusiasm for my projects rarely finds an audience.

Yet, the fear of failing, of disappointing him, gnaws at me.

“Okay. But if this doesn’t go as planned, if I screw up, and the deal falls through, please don’t blame me.”

He gives a firm nod, sealing our agreement. “Deal.”

I try to relax after that confirmation to no avail. “You know nothing about me, and we’re going to pretend to be a couple. Won’t that be strange at dinner?”

“I know enough. And for whatever comes up, we’ll improvise.”

“Even so…”

“Okay, tell me something about yourself.”

“I don’t know what there is to tell.” I flush with the sudden spotlight on me. What could I possibly say that would be of interest?

“You brought it up. Start with something basic. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, just me. An only child. You? Oh, wait. That’s a silly question. You have Liam.”

“Yes, Liam, Lucas, and Cora. Four of us in total. I’m the oldest.”

“What’s it like, having so many siblings? I always wished for a brother or sister. I even got mad at my mom once for not giving me any until she explained that another pregnancy would risk her life. I couldn’t be mad after that. Having a mom is more important, I realized.”

“Yes,” he replies, his voice softening. “I agree.”

His expression reminds me that he lost his mother, and a pang of guilt hits me. “Do you want to talk about her?”

“No,” he answers, his expression closing off .

Guess I hit a nerve.

“What about your parents?” he asks, redirecting the conversation.

“Pike and Maureen. We’re close, but they live far away, so we mainly talk over the phone.” Curiosity piqued, I ask, “And you? Are you close with your father?”

“My father, Peter Valeur, heads Valeur Industries. So yes, we’re in constant contact.”

“I meant outside of work.”

“We were closer before my mom passed away. Grief changed things, drove us apart.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay.”

We finish our meal, and to avoid further embarrassing revelations, I stay silent. Leaning back, I let out a satisfied sigh and pat my stomach. “That was delicious. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. So, Liam told me you have more product ideas.”

“Yes, I do.” I sit up straighter and smile.

“The neural network I developed for tracking eye movements has potential applications beyond what we’ve tapped into.

It can be adapted to recognize signs of life-threatening conditions, like strokes, by analyzing eye movements.

All it needs is access to the relevant databases. ”

I grab a napkin and a pencil and begin sketching the basic framework of the system to illustrate my point. “Many health issues could be diagnosed through the subtle nuances in eye behavior. The applications could revolutionize how we approach early detection.”

I pause for a moment to let it sink in. “And that’s not all. I’ve begun work on a new network designed to analyze skin salinity. The preliminary results are promising. It could open doors to non-invasive diagnostics, offering insights into a patient’s condition based on skin chemistry.”

His gaze, intense and unyielding, halts my words in their tracks. He looks at me, truly looks, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes drift to my lips.

Instinctively, my tongue darts out to moisten them, a nervous reaction to the scrutiny. I’m rambling again, nerves pushing words out faster than thoughts.

“Sorry. I babble when I’m stressed. It’s a talent I have for driving men away,” I confess, half-joking, half-serious.

“I’m still here.”

“Yes, because you’re my boss. You’re thinking about the benefit of my ideas for your company,” I say, trying to mask the disappointment that always seems to follow when I share too much of myself. “Men usually find an urgent need to be elsewhere when I talk about my work and then never return.”

“If they run away because you’re smarter than them, then they’re not real men,” Logan remarks, his voice low, stirring something deep within me. “A smart woman is attractive.”

An expression of animalistic desire comes over his face, one that fogs my mind and causes my heart to flutter. His jaw clenches, a subtle twitch betraying his calm demeanor. His gaze is so intense it’s almost tangible, a caress without touch.

The room’s temperature seems to spike, my skin tingling with an awareness of him that’s both exhilarating and terrifying.

For a brief, reckless second, I imagine stripping down, offering myself to him in a silent invitation to explore this charged space between us.

Alone, with no eyes to judge or tongues to tell, the possibility feels tantalizingly real.

But then, as quickly as it appears, the moment vanishes. His face returns to its usual impassiveness, erasing any sign of the desire I thought I saw.

“You’re right. I am your boss, and I’m not interested in you in that way,” he says, breaking the sliver of hope that glimmered in me until a moment ago.

Emery is right, I probably read too many romance novels.