Page 6 of Logan (The Valeur Billionaires #1)

Chapter Four

LOGAN

W asted, I stagger from the car, my body heavy with exhaustion. The delay in my flight has left me drained, both physically and mentally. Even the luxury of a private plane couldn’t shield me from airport delays.

Glancing at my watch, I curse under my breath. Two in the morning. Not the ideal time to arrive at my destination. I was supposed to be here early afternoon.

The driver unloads my suitcase from the trunk and I wave him off, preferring to carry it myself. I don’t want to prolong his presence any further than necessary.

The pounding in my head intensifies with each step I take, the painkillers offering little relief. I just need to lie down and escape into the darkness of sleep.

Turning on the lights in the apartment, I’m met with a blinding glare. With a grimace, I switch them off again, the sudden brightness only worsening my headache.

Fumbling in the dark, I make my way to the bedroom, the pain in my head unbearable now, a relentless throb that threatens to overwhelm me.

“Ouch.” A muffled grunt escapes my lips as I collide with something solid sprawled across the floor.

What the hell?

With a muttered curse, I reach for the switch, illuminating the room in a sudden burst of light. Blinking against the glare, I’m greeted by an unexpected sight.

A bulky suitcase rests on the bedroom floor.

But that’s not all. Nestled in my bed lies a woman clad in a sheer top, her long, ebony locks fanned out like a dark halo against the pillow.

Her shirt hugs her form, revealing every contour of her body, from the gentle curve of her hips to the swell of her ample breasts, their outlines visible through the thin material.

Did Lucas send me a hooker?

It wouldn’t be unlike him to pull such a stunt. He’s aware that I haven’t fucked in months, and this could be his way of nudging me back into the game.

But as tempting as it might be, prostitutes are off-limits, and truth be told, so is any form of female companionship. I’m better off alone.

“Who are you?” I demand, my eyes narrowing as she stirs in the bed, her tank top riding up, revealing a sliver of smooth skin across her stomach. Her dark, cat-like eyes draw me in as they blink open.

She’s stunning.

Flashes of light dance before my eyes, I need to lie down, and fast, but she’s blocking my path. “Who are you,” I press again, my tone terse, “and what are you doing in my apartment?”

She meets my gaze, her eyes wide. I can’t help but notice the way her nipples stand out against the fabric of her tank top.

“I don’t sleep with whores, so you can leave. Now.”

Her mouth falls open, and she blinks, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “Wh–what?” she stammers, her voice trembling.

I’d rather she didn’t cover up. I quite enjoyed the view.

“I said I don’t sleep with prostitutes. I don’t know who invited you here, but you can go,” I repeat, my patience wearing thin.

“I–I’m not a whore,” she protests, her fear palpable.

I narrow my eyes, sensing her genuine distress. I must have missed something here. She does seem familiar.

“I work at Valeur in the research department. I won the award for outstanding employee.”

“Fuck,” I curse under my breath, running a hand through my hair. Liam. That bastard. He mentioned something about an outstanding employee award, but I didn’t realize he intended to hand over my apartment as part of the deal.

She rises to her feet, and I scan her long, smooth legs and the enticing curves of her body before she wraps the blanket around herself.

Her eyes dart to the dresser next to the bed and then back to me, a split-second reaction that doesn’t escape my notice. I glance at the dresser and bite my inner cheek.

A colossal, bright pink vibrator sits on the dresser. Seriously ?

She grabs the vibrator and hides it behind her back, her cheeks flushing a bright red.

“What are you doing in my bed?” I ask, choosing to ignore the provocative sight before me. The last thing I need is a sexual harassment lawsuit.

“Your bed? No, I… I…” she says, apparently struggling to find the right words.

But, instead of inciting my usual anger, her flustered state almost amuses me.

Almost.

Perhaps I could have found the situation more amusing if my head wasn’t pounding.

“Yes. This is my bed, my apartment.”

“They told me this is the company’s apartment. I’m here by invitation. I didn’t break in or anything?—”

“Well, there was a misunderstanding. I need the apartment this week, so you’ll have to leave.”

“Yes. Yes, of course,” she mumbles, still attempting to hold the blanket around her with one hand while concealing the vibrator with the other. She glances around the room, confusion evident on her face. “What time is it?”

Two in the morning, I remind myself.

Shit. As much as I may be an asshole, I can’t let a woman wander alone outside at this hour, especially when she has nowhere to go and my head is throbbing too much to think of anything else. I need sleep.

“Look. I’ll sleep in the other room tonight. In the morning, we’ll figure out what to do and find you another place to stay.”

Her tense shoulders relax, and her face softens with obvious relief. Damn, she’s beautiful. Truly stunning. But I’m accustomed to beautiful women chasing me. Beauty hasn’t affected me for a long time.

I take a step forward, and she flinches back, fear flickering in her eyes.

I guess she heard the rumors.

I stop and press my temples, trying to ease the pain. “I’m going to bed.” Without another word, I turn and exit the room, retreating to the second bedroom and locking the door behind me.

My alarm clock blares incessantly, jolting me from the depths of sleep. It takes me a moment to register the noise coming from beyond the walls, my mind fogged by jet lag and the lingering headache.

I blink, struggling to focus in the dim light of the unfamiliar room. Ah, right. I opted for the second bedroom last night.

A faint stiffness lingers in my neck as I attempt to move, a remnant from yesterday’s headache. Thankfully, it seems to have subsided for now. I’ve weathered another attack.

Perhaps once I finalize the Wolfson deal, I can afford to take a few days off and allow myself some much-needed rest before I risk suffering an aneurysm or something.

And maybe not. The work never ends.

I dress and make my way into the living room, where I find the woman from yesterday seated at the kitchen counter, holding a mug that says, My brother is a son of a bitch .

Now she’s also drinking from my cup.

She glances up and spots me, her cheeks flushing red. For a fleeting moment, I consider mentioning the oversized cock I spotted on her dresser yesterday, but I quash the impulse.

She’s an employee, and I need to maintain professionalism. The situation already teeters on the brink of a potential lawsuit.

“Oh, you’re awake. Do you know snails can sleep for three years?” she says.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I tend to babble when I’m nervous. My brain loves to latch on insignificant facts.”

“About snails?”

“About anything, really.”

In the daylight, her beauty seems magnified, her features delicate and striking. Her chin forms a perfect triangle, and her cat-like eyes dominate her face, drawing me in.

Her deep brown hair cascades around her face in wild tendrils in a way that’s almost provocative, as if she’s just been fucked. I imagine my hands tangled in that hair, guiding her to take me into her sweet mouth, and the mere thought makes my cock swell.

It’s unusual for me to react this way to a woman, especially one I barely know. Perhaps it’s the result of my prolonged abstinence from sex, my dormant hormones now awakening with a vengeance.

Her eyes flit over my face as if trying to decipher my thoughts from the subtle cues in my expression. But I know better. No one can penetrate the fortress I’ve built around my emotions, not even my family.

I’ve mastered the art of hiding what lies beneath the surface, burying my feelings so deep that sometimes I wonder if they still exist at all.

Yet, despite my stoic facade, I sense her fear.

“Do you want some iced tea with ginger? It’s good for headaches,” she offers, her voice betraying a slight tremor.

I raise an eyebrow, caught off guard by her insight. How did she know?

She hesitates for a moment, her gaze flickering away before returning to meet mine. “My mother suffers from headaches. I recognize the signs. Ginger tea would always help my mother,” she explains, preempting the question I hadn’t yet voiced.

She stands and searches through the kitchen cabinets, her movements causing her tight jeans to cling to her curves.

Don’t eyeball your employee.

I avert my gaze and take a seat, trying to ignore the image of her bending over.

Last night, before I retired to bed, I fired off a text to Liam, demanding he rectify this situation. Then I switched off my phone.

It’s the dead of night in San Jose, but I’m tempted to call Liam and give him an earful for this colossal mistake.

A woman—no, not just any woman, but a damn employee—is occupying my apartment in London. In my bed, no less. Once I find out who’s responsible for this disaster, heads will roll.

I power on my phone.

She sets a cup of tea before me, and I take a deep whiff. The aroma is comforting. I’m not sure if it will ease a headache, but it’s worth a shot. Grasping the mug, I press it gently against my forehead, welcoming the icy coolness that radiates from it.

“So,” I begin, breaking the silence, “we need to find you another place to stay.”

“Yes,” she agrees, her tone tinged with relief. It’s clear she’s eager to leave the apartment. “I’ll email the company and hope for a prompt response on how to proceed.”

“I am the company,” I interject. “As CEO and owner, there’s no need to seek approval from anyone else.”

Her demeanor shifts, and she shrinks under my gaze.

My phone buzzes, and I squint at the screen before sliding to answer. “Liam? Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?”

“I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. I wanted to talk to you before you do something irreversible.”

“I had my phone turned off.” I rise from my seat and step out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind me to ensure our conversation remains private. “Irreversible? What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, I told Sloane?—”

“Sloane?”

“Yes, Sloane Harris. The woman who’s with you in London. Let me guess, you didn’t bother to ask her name.”

“No. Why would I? Is that supposed to interest me?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, undoubtedly Liam rolling his eyes. “She’s our outstanding employee.”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to hand out my apartment to complete strangers.”

“She’s not a stranger, Logan. Sloane works for the company. She’s the reason you’re in London right now, closing the deal on Wolfson’s cameras.”

“What? ”

“The AI program that detects unusual patterns in the skin? Our breakthrough? That’s all her. She’s the mastermind behind it. She’s the reason we need the Wolfson deal.”

I sigh and gaze out over the cityscape before glancing behind me to see Sloane still in the kitchen, moving about. “She invented the system?”

“Yes. She’s a genius, Logan. She’s the future of the company. We can’t afford to lose her. Logan, you can’t scare her. We haven’t even finished writing the patent yet.”

“I think it’s too late for that,” I murmur, remembering the frightened look on her face.

“What did you do? It’s only been a few hours since you arrived last night, and that was in the middle of the night.”

“Nothing, I swear. But she must have heard the rumors about me.”

Liam exhales loudly. “Give her the apartment and move to a hotel.”

“No way. I’ll be meeting with Wolfson soon. I’m not wasting time moving around.”

“Logan.”

“Liam.”

“I promised her a dream apartment at the company’s expense.”

“Then she’ll get a dream hotel. Not a big deal.”

“Do you really think telling her to pack up and move isn’t a big deal? We can’t lose her, Logan. If she quits because of you, so do I.”

“Don’t exaggerate.”

“I’m not exaggerating. What will happen to the product if she doesn’t finish writing the patent?”

“Someone else will write it,” I say, mentally shrugging .

“Someone who has no idea what’s in there. And she has other great ideas. She submitted an idea for a system that recognizes metrics from a phone’s fingerprint sensor. Can you imagine how big it could be? This girl is a genius. Do you honestly want her to take all her ideas to the competition?”

I glance back into the kitchen and find Sloane staring back at me, her gaze unwavering. A shiver runs down my spine. “Okay, fine.”

“Really?”

“I said okay, didn’t I?”

“Don’t mess this up, Logan.” Liam hangs up, leaving me to ponder the mess he’s gotten me into. The mess I just agreed to.

I return to the kitchen, moistening my dry lips as I gather my thoughts. “You can stay. I’ll move to a hotel.”

“What? No,” she exclaims, her reaction catching me off guard.

I furrow my brow. Doesn’t she want to stay? After all this conversation, she wants to move? Dealing with interpersonal matters isn’t my forte—that’s Liam’s job. I handle deals, not people. Perhaps I should call him again and let him handle this.

“I meant, that it doesn’t make sense for you not to sleep in your apartment. You’re the CEO, and you have an excellent apartment here. You’re not supposed to sleep in a hotel. I’ll move to the hotel. That’s fine.”

Liam will kill me. He’ll impale my body on a stick and put me on display in the square for all to see. He’ll never believe me if I tell him she insisted on moving.

“No. You were promised something, and as the CEO of the company, I have to ensure that promises made to you are kept.”

A silent pause follows before she blurts, “We could both stay here. There are two bedrooms, and I would stay out of your way. I mean, if that’s not a problem for you.”

I shake my head. “That’s not a good idea,” I say, already envisioning the potential lawsuit against me. I’ll lose my temper over something trivial or say something inappropriate, and she’ll flee, screaming.

What did Liam say? An employee resigned because I created a hostile atmosphere? And I was only on the floor for five minutes. I can just imagine what could happen after a week.

“I’ll be exploring most of the day,” she adds, “and you must have business meetings planned. We won’t see each other at all. It’ll be fine.”

I know I should refuse, but I hate hotels and love my apartment here. Plus, she’s right. I will be out most of the day.

What could happen?