Page 33 of Logan (The Valeur Billionaires #1)

Chapter Twenty-Five

SLOANE

I crack open one eye, trying to ignore the wave of dizziness that washes over me as I fumble for my phone on the nightstand without sitting up. I squint at the screen.

Work. Shit.

I emailed the office earlier, letting them know I’m sick and won’t be coming in today. What could they want?

“Yes?” I croak into the phone, my voice rough with sleep and sickness.

“Sloane, this is Emily, Logan Valeur’s secretary. I’ve been asked to remind you about the meeting at ten this morning where you’re scheduled to present to the executives. You need to be in the conference room by nine-thirty.”

I suppress a groan. “I already notified everyone that I’m not feeling well. I don’t intend to come in today. ”

“Mr. Valeur said there are no exceptions. He expects everyone to be here.” Her tone is apologetic but firm.

“Then please inform him I’m ill and unable to attend.” I cut off the call, tossing the phone onto the bed beside me.

The audacity of him, demanding I show up when I’ve already called in sick. Is that even legal? God, my entire body aches. I think even my hair hurts.

I close my eyes and press a hand to my throbbing forehead. Pretty sure I’m running a fever. I should drink something hot, like tea, but I don’t even have the energy to get up and make a cup.

The phone rings again. I reach out blindly, jabbing at the screen without looking.

“Tell your asshole boss that when someone is sick, they don’t come to work. I’m not coming in today, and he can go fuck himself and his precious presentation.”

“Your asshole boss is demanding your presence at the meeting today,” Logan’s deep voice crackles through the speaker, cold and unyielding.

“It concerns the product you developed, and I need you to come in and give the presentation I asked you to prepare. You understand the technical side better than anyone, and my department heads have questions.”

Fuck. Of course, it’s him.

“I—”

“You were perfectly fine last night. And even now, I can hear that sharp tongue of yours has no problem working. So if you think you can skip out on this meeting because you had a hot date and partied all night, you’re mistaken.”

If I didn’t feel like death warmed over, I might laugh. He almost sounds...jealous? I guess those condoms I grabbed last night really got under his skin. I wanted to rile him up, and it seems I succeeded. Too bad the plan blew up in my face.

“I prepared everything. The presentation is ready, I can email it to you. I really don’t feel well, Logan.”

“Mr. Valeur,” he corrects, and I wince. “And if you want to keep your job, I expect to see you here at ten.” The line goes dead.

Fucking asshole.

I was warned he was a hardass, but I honestly thought it was just vicious gossip from people making assumptions based on his appearance.

He seems tough at first glance, sure, but I actually enjoyed his company in London. He was the furthest thing from a tyrant then. But just like he said, the moment we returned to the office, we went back to being strangers.

Still, does he really expect me to drag myself in when I’m this sick?

Well, I suppose he doesn’t understand the concept of taking a sick day. The man wouldn’t know the meaning of the word “rest” if it bit him on the ass.

He works through headaches and pushes himself, and he’s made it clear he won’t ask anything of his employees that he doesn’t demand of himself. The fact that his expectations are completely unreasonable and inhumane doesn’t seem to faze him.

I slowly push myself into a sitting position, groaning as the room spins around me. I fumble for the bottle of Advil on my nightstand, shaking out two pills and swallowing them dry.

A glance at the clock tells me it’s almost nine. That doesn’t leave me much time to get ready, and making it by nine-thirty is already a lost cause. At this point, all I can hope for is not to be horrendously late.

I stumble to the bathroom, splash cold water on my face and try to brush some color into my pale cheeks. My sunken eyes stare back at me from the mirror, glassy and fever-bright.

“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. “It’s just one presentation. Survive that, and you can come home and sleep for a week.”

I tug on a clean blouse and pencil skirt, jabbing myself in the eye twice while trying to apply mascara to my clumpy lashes. My hands shake, and cold sweat beads along my hairline. I look like an extra from The Walking Dead , but it’ll have to do. No way I’m getting dolled up for this farce.

By some miracle, I make it to Valeur-Tech only a few minutes late, wheezing and clutching my side as I hurry down the hall toward the executive conference room. I burst through the glass doors and nearly collapse in relief as I see Logan hasn’t arrived yet.

There’s only one empty seat at the large oval table, and of course, it’s right next to his. I feel everyone’s eyes on me as I limp over and collapse into the chair, trying to catch my breath.

Across from me, Liam Valeur offers a sympathetic smile before turning back to the email he’s composing.

If Logan notices my bedraggled state as he strides in a moment later, his face betrays no reaction. He simply takes his place at the head of the table and calls the meeting to order, launching into a detailed analysis of the Wolfson deal and the company’s projections for the next quarter.

I listen and try to take notes on my computer. He won’t catch me unprepared, and I’m sure he’ll try .

I attempt to focus, I really do. But his deep, honeyed voice keeps fading in and out, my fevered brain latching onto random words and phrases that make no sense out of context.

Merger... Profit margins... Downsizing...

I hear my name and jerk upright, blinking. Shit. I was drifting off. How long have I been zoning out? I glance at my watch and feel my stomach drop. Nearly an hour. Logan’s presentation is winding down, which means...

“Sloane.” He looks right at me with one dark brow arched. “It’s your turn.”

Fuck, don’t screw up now. Everyone’s watching.

I raise a hand and tuck the wayward strands of hair behind my ears, trying to take a moment to stabilize myself before I rise. The room tilts and spins as I struggle to my feet, gripping the edge of the table for balance.

I swallow hard, trying to force a smile as I fumble with my laptop, willing my clumsy fingers to cooperate. Just need to pull up the PowerPoint. Just need to…

I press several buttons and disconnect and reconnect the cord, but nothing happens. My hand trembles.

“Let me.” Logan places his hand on my arm, stopping me from continuing to try.

His eyes remain locked on mine, looking like narrow slits, his pupils so dilated his irises appear black instead of their usual clear blue.

Oh, now I get what those authors mean when they write, “…his eyes darkened.”

I continue to stare at his face, at the crease appearing on his forehead. I hadn’t noticed it until now...

“Everyone out,” he orders.

“What?” I mumble. “I’m ready to start. ”

“Everyone, leave the room now. Take a break,” Logan commands, and before I can grasp what’s happening, everyone shoots up from their seats, hurrying to escape, leaving their equipment behind like mice fleeing a sinking ship, rescuing nothing. I take a step toward the exit.

“You, stay,” he commands again.

I want to object, but my butt lands back in the chair. Better to sit, really. My legs feel like rubber right now and the dizziness isn’t slowing.

The moment the room empties completely, Logan approaches my chair and touches my forehead.

I flinch, and he removes his hand.

“You have a fever.”

I place my hand on my forehead. “Oh. That’s why I’m so cold,” I mutter.

His lips press into a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me you have a fever?”

“I did. I said I wasn’t feeling well and that I was taking a sick day. You insisted. You said you’d fire me if I didn’t show up.”

He leans in close, his fingers tucking an errant curl behind my ear again, and I shiver. “I thought?—"

“That I was lying?” I arch an eyebrow. Yes. That’s what he thought. That I was lying. I can’t believe after we spent two weeks together, he thinks that of me. That I would lie to get out of work. How little he thinks of me. My chest clenches.

“I’ll take you to the doctor.”

“I’m fine, just a mild cold. No need for a doctor.”

“I’m not letting you leave like this when you’re unwell. You’re shaking all over,” he whispers .

Could it be he’s worried about me? The aching knot in my stomach unravels as his eyes burn into me and his harsh features soften. But I can’t fall for his trap.

“You forced me to come in like this and didn’t care.”

My phone screen lights up, and a message pops onto the display.

Johnny

Was great seeing you yesterday. How about that dinner?

Logan snatches the device off the table before I can react. “Who’s Johnny?” He waves the phone at me, his face ice cold again. All the warmth present a moment ago vanished like it never existed.

“What?”

“Who. Is. Johnny?” he asks again, emphasizing each syllable.

“Johnny is my ex.”

Logan twists his mouth. “Doesn’t sound like he’s an ex, if he’s messaging you about dinner. Is he who you bought condoms for? Who you were with last night?”

“No. I didn’t buy them for anyone. I?—”

“Are you dating him?”

I shake my head. “No. But it’s none of your business.”

“Sloane,” he says in a low voice and leans down so his face is near mine. “You’ll always be my business.”

“So now I’m your business? How? We agreed to go back to being strangers, remember?” I look him straight in the eye.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

“I’m not interested in being your business. Just leave me alone. Don’t give me false hopes. ”

His eyes widen. “I?—”

“Do you want me to stay and give the presentation?” I’m not interested in hearing the apologies, the excuses and whatnot. It’s all crap. He’s the CEO of Valeur-Tech. There’s nothing he can’t make happen if he wants to. But the reality is, he doesn’t want to.

“No. You’re not feeling well. Go home. I’ll handle it.”

I close my eyes for a brief moment and will the tears to stay where they are, then gather my things and hurry out before they emerge. I make it to the street before a single one wets my cheek, swiping it away with the back of my hand.

I won’t cry over him. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Miss Harris? Miss Harris! Please wait.”

I stop and find an unidentified man in a black suit hastening after me.

I hug my purse to my body. “Who are you?”

“My name is James Barron, I’m Mr. Valeur’s driver. He asked me to take you home since you’re not feeling well.”

“He asked you to take me home? How lovely,” I mutter. “It’s okay. I have a car.”

“If you give me your keys, I’ll take care of your vehicle.” He extends an open palm.

I’m pretty dizzy and unsure if I’m able to drive, so I hand him my keys. “I live on?—”

“I have the address, Miss Harris.”

Of course, he does.

He walks over to a huge black car and opens the door for me. Black leather seats greet me, and I hesitate a moment before climbing in and sinking into one.

The driver gets in and looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Do you need me to stop at a clinic for you first, Miss?”

“No, just take me home, please.”

He pulls out and merges into traffic.

After a minute, I ask, “So, does Mr. Valeur often ask you to drive employees home?”

James smiles at me through the mirror. “No, Miss. You’re the first.”

My heart contracts. Why does Logan have to be like this? Cold and distant one moment, but caring and considerate the next? It makes it hard for me to hate him.

And I need to hate him.

Have to hate him.

Because otherwise I might fall in love with him.