Page 6

Logan

" W hat the fuck do you mean, he asked you if Lauren is in an insane asylum?" I growl, pacing in circles around Alice's office. "What the fuck kind of question is that?"

"I don't know," she says, her tone calm. "I blew him off, but we're not going to be able to blow him off forever, Logan. Montaque is like a dog with a bone when he wants something."

"He isn't getting it." I whirl on her, fury pumping through me. "Lauren isn't a goddamn story."

"I know." Alice holds up her hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not suggesting that she is. Of course I'm not. I'm just warning you that Montaque isn't going to quit unless you give him incentive."

I know she's right, even though I hate to fucking admit it. He ruins careers like it's lightwork and then sits back and enjoys the show. He'll have absolutely zero qualms about dragging Lauren's entire life story out for public consumption just because he can. The prick gets off on dropping bombs and watching the chaos that unfolds in the aftermath.

Christ, this is going to break her heart. Right now, that's the last thing she needs. We'll never convince her to trust herself with Lachlan if she's looking over her shoulder, feeling like the paparazzi and press are following her everywhere and judging every little thing she does. That'll only feed the paranoia that comes along with her illness.

"How the fuck did he even find out about her history?"

"I don't know. I couldn't very well ask him without confirming…"

I grit my teeth, so pissed I want to hit something. Preferably Montaque's face. Repeatedly. "How the hell am I supposed to tell her that the world's biggest asshole is sniffing around? And that he, apparently, knows enough about her to know she's been committed?"

"I'm sorry, Logan," Alice says softly. "We can try to find a different story to wave in front of him."

"Yeah." I scrub my hands down my face. Isn't that what I always do? Throw something else in front of them until they stop looking? I've made a career out of being a dog and pony show, just to manipulate the story and keep them focused where I want. But Montaque? I'm not sure the same old tricks are going to work with him. He's seen them from me too damn many times, and he's too fucking smart to fall for it.

Every time something happens with Lauren, I get in a fight. I let myself be photographed with some girl whose name I don't even know. I fuck up and do something big, just so people look left instead of right. He's seen that song and dance my whole career. And he's smart enough to know there's a reason I do it.

That's not the only problem, either. If I try to pull that bullshit now…well, any chance I had with Peyton is long gone. I promised her that I'm not the asshole she thinks I am. Acting like that guy will only reinforce everything she thinks she knows about me.

I can't do that. Christ, I don't want to do it.

There has to be a better way…one that doesn't mean ripping open still healing wounds for my sister or watching her become some goddamn story. One that doesn't cost me the sassy little minx consuming every thought in my mind.

"I've gotta go," I mutter. "I need to think."

Alice shoots me a sympathetic smile. "Do you want me to cancel Peyton's interview?"

"Shit." I glance at the clock and realize it's already almost ten. She'll be here any minute. "No. Don't cancel." Right now, she's precisely who I need to see. Actually, that's a lie. I don't merely need to see her. I need her in my arms. I need her air in my lungs. I need that smart-ass mouth and take-no-prisoners attitude of hers.

Maybe she can make sense out of my life because I sure as hell can't.

Alice rises from her desk, grabbing a file from the top.

"Mind if I take this one alone?"

She stares at me levelly for a long moment and then sighs, holding out Peyton's file. "Do not have sex with her in the conference room, Logan. I mean it."

"Don't plan on it," I growl, grabbing the file. There are cameras all over this arena. No one is seeing my girl naked and riding my cock except me. I might fuck her in a supply closet, though. As soon as she decides to forgive me for doing what the fuck I had to do to get her in my bed, anyway.

If she's waiting for me to regret that, it'll never happen.

I duck from Alice's office, striding toward the conference room. Halfway there, our new shrink, Emilia Lariat, pops around the corner, nearly plowing into me.

"Christ on a cracker," she yelps, glaring at me with exasperation written all over her face. "They should put a bell on you."

"Me?" I smirk, shaking my head at her. Emilia is a fucking trip. The first time we met her, she waltzed in on us naked in the locker room…and then spent the whole goddamn time insulting our dicks. Now that she's officially settling into her new role as our staff psychologist, she's here all the damn time. "You're the one racing the halls like you're on a mission."

"I am on a mission."

Why am I not surprised? The woman is hell on wheels. I like the hell out of her, though. Nash is losing his mind over her already. I'm pretty sure they're fucking all over the arena, but that isn't my business. The less I know, the less likely I'm going to be caught up when Coach kills him for sleeping with his daughter.

"Who are you terrorizing now?" I ask her, genuinely curious. The whole team has been in her sights this week. They've been bitching about it nonstop. But I'm the only one who hasn't gone to see her.

I've got nothing against therapy. I'm just not in the mood for the shit. I've spent too many hours on the couch in my life already, listening to shrinks explain Lauren's condition and state of mind and progress. Being asked how I'm doing or how I feel or if I want to talk.

"Why do you always think I'm terrorizing people?"

"Why can't you ever answer a question without asking a question?"

"You…I…" She huffs at me, blowing strands of hair out of her face. "I can so answer a question without asking a question," she finally mumbles. "But it's way more fun for me if I'm getting something out of it."

A quiet laugh rumbles from my lips. At least she's honest. "You went into psychology because you're nosy as fuck, didn't you?"

"Maybe." She shrugs, grinning mischievously. "It's not a crime to like knowing everyone else's business." She narrows her eyes on me. "Just like it's not a crime for you to mind yours."

I grin at her. "You done busting my balls now?"

"I've seen your balls, Moreno. Trust me, I will not be going near them." She leans back against the wall, her expression turning serious. "Are you okay? I was with Alice last night when Montaque chased her down."

"Fuck." I tip my head back, cursing up at the ceiling. "Of course you were there."

"Jeez. It's not like I planned it or anything. Honestly, I figured he was there about me and Nash."

"What's going on with you and Nash?" I ask, arching a brow.

"What? Who said anything about me and Nash? Never even heard the name." She bats her lashes at me. She is so full of shit. "I know what you're doing, Logan. It isn't going to work."

"I'm just asking after my dear old friend," I lie innocently.

She harumphs loudly. "Right. Go away and stop bugging me. I have relationships to hide. Players to terrorize. You know, important things."

"You don't have shit on your schedule this morning, do you?"

"Not a thing," she sighs, heading down the hall.

"You should really try talking to Alice if you're that hard up for someone to annoy. She's awful fucking bossy. She probably has shit to work out. Therapy would help."

"I'm telling her you said that!" Emilia calls over her shoulder as she hurries down the hall.

"I'm denying I said it!" I shout back to her, chuckling. Jesus Christ. There's no way we're going to survive with her, Coach, and Alice running the show around here. They're like the three ghosts sent to harass Ebenezer.

Huh. Maybe I should set them loose on Montaque. That prick could use a proper haunting.

Christ. What am I going to do about him?

By the time I make it the conference room, I'm no closer to figuring it out and Peyton is already inside, seated at the long table with her hands folded in front of her. I stop in the doorway, just staring at her for a long moment.

Goddamn, she's stunning.

She has her blonde hair pulled up into a demure bun, though pieces have fallen free around her face. Her cheeks are stained the same pink as her lips. I want to kiss that gloss off her.

I clear my throat, closing the door behind me.

She bolts to her feet, her eyes locked on me. "Um, hi," she squeaks, smoothing her hands down the sides of her form-fitting skirt. It clings to her curves, and I'm once again jealous of a piece of fabric. Guess that's my permanent state of being now: jealous of her fucking clothes because they're touching her in places and ways I'm not.

"You look beautiful," I rasp.

"Logan," she says, disapproval heavy in her tone. "This is an interview."

Yeah, fuck that noise. If she expects this to be some bullshit where I ask stupid fucking questions and she gives rehearsed answers, we aren't doing that. Hell no.

After the morning I've had, I'm not in the mood for that game.

I decide to play one of my own instead.

I drop her file on the table, sauntering toward her. "First question," I growl, my eyes locked on her face. "What are you wearing under that skirt, baby?"

"Logan!" she hisses.

"Answer the question, Peyton. Is it lace? Leather?"

"A chastity belt. It's made of titanium and has ten locks on it," she snaps. "And a troll has the keys."

"You going to let me see it later?"

"Sure," she says sweetly. "Just as soon as hell freezes over and demons rule earth." She glances around the room pointedly. "I don't see demons yet, Mr. Moreno."

"Next question," I say, my dick throbbing. "You going to call me Mr. Moreno next time you're playing with yourself while we're on the phone? Because I can work with that."

If looks could kill, I'd be in a woodchipper right about now.

Fuck. Why is it so goddamn sexy to me when she's pissed? The fire in her eyes and the flush of her cheeks shouldn't turn me on this much, but they do. So does the way she holds herself with her chin up and her shoulders back, like she's perfectly willing to battle dragons and wage war. When she's mad, she knows her worth. Confidence blazes from her like the fucking sun. There is nothing unattractive about that.

I step up beside her, pressing so close I smell her vanilla shampoo. "How many fingers did you take last night?"

"Logan."

"How many, Peyton?" I growl.

"T-two."

I press my lips up against her ear. "You know you need more than that stretching that pretty little hole open for me, angel. I've been inside you."

She whimpers softly, swaying on her feet.

"You ready for another question, baby?"

"Stop calling me that," she whispers, the pulse in her throat beating like the wings of a hummingbird. "Stop flirting with me. Just stop, Logan."

"Never," I growl. "Not until you thaw and give me what I want."

"I thought this was supposed to be an interview," she mutters. "If it's just going to be an hour of you being like this, I'm opting out."

"I'll behave if you kiss me."

"You can't manipulate me into getting your way, Logan."

"It's not manipulation. It's using the tools at my disposal to remind you that you feel the same thing I do." I run my hand down her arm, watching the way her skin pebbles in response to my touch. "You can't tell me you don't feel that."

"Maybe I do," she says softly. "But it doesn't matter. You still lied to me. That doesn't just go away because you've decided it's inconvenient."

"Would you have gone home with me had you known the truth?"

She bites her lip, refusing to answer.

"Tell me," I command, stroking her arm again.

"No," she groans, turning to glare up at me. "I wouldn't have gone home with you, okay? I would have run out of the bar, mortified that…"

"Mortified why?"

"Because it wasn't supposed to be you!" she cries, grinding her palms against her eyes. "My boss was supposed to be someone safe like Micah. Someone with a wife and kid at home. Not someone…"

"Not someone you wanted to sleep with," I finish for her.

She jerks her head in a nod.

"We're consenting adults, baby. What happens between us is our business."

"Spoken with all of the confidence of someone with nothing to lose," she mutters. "You have a fortune in the bank and a legion of adoring fans. You get to walk away with your reputation intact, no harm, no foul. I don't have that luxury. I'll be your employee. You know what they'll say about me? I seduced you. I'm a puck bunny. I wriggled my way into your life just so I could wriggle my way into your bed. That's how the story goes for girls like me."

"That narrative is bullshit, Peyton. It isn't you."

"It won't matter once they find out you're sleeping with your employee. It's the story they'll tell anyway. I'll be the villain. And when you decide you're–"

"When I decide what?" I prompt when she breaks off, biting her tongue.

"When you decide you're finished with me, I'll be the one picking up the pieces," she says, avoiding my gaze. "And I'll have to do it without a job."

I stare at her for a long moment, caught off guard. This isn't about me, at least not entirely. This is old pain, the shit that took root a long fucking time ago and made her terrified to trust. She likes me, a whole helluva lot, but she's running scared because it's all she knows how to do.

"Who hurt you, Peyton?" I ask, a growl in my voice.

"Who says anyone hurt me, Logan? Maybe I'm just being a realist."

"Now who's lying?"

"Fine." She glares up at me. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah, I do." I can't kill the prick if I don't know.

"My father."

"What'd he do?"

"You mean aside from get my mother pregnant, tell her to abort me, and then spend my whole life refusing to acknowledge my existence? Nothing."

Jesus Christ. I'm going to find him and tear his throat out through his asshole.

"What's his name?" I growl, my hands clenched into fists.

"Doesn't matter. None of it matters. It was a long time ago. I answered the question. End of story."

Yeah, I guess she did. But she's lying to herself if she thinks it doesn't matter. It clearly fucking does because she's still bleeding over it. Whatever his name is…fuck him. He doesn't deserve her.

Hell, maybe I don't, either. I don't know. But I'm willing to work my ass off to be the guy who does deserve her. That has to count for something, right?

I don't know.

Maybe I should walk away. With Montaque hanging around and all the shit with Lauren, maybe that is the safe, sane thing to do. But I've never done the easy thing just because it's easy. I've always fought for what I wanted, even when the shit was hard, especially when it was hard. And what I want is standing in front of me right now, scared to trust because her father scarred her in ways that no child should be scarred.

I'm not going anywhere.

I reach for her hand, tangling our fingers together.

"Take the job, Peyton," I murmur, turning her to face me. "Trust me enough to believe that I'm not like the prick who never deserved you or your mother. You're safe with me."

"Logan."

"You really think I'd do anything to hurt you, angel? That I'd let anyone else hurt you?" I ask, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Is that really who you think I am?"

She stares up at me for a long moment, her tongue peeking from between her lips, before she huffs a massive sigh. "No," she says reluctantly. "I don't think that, okay? I just…"

"Don't trust me."

"You lied to me."

"And I'm an asshole for not regretting it," I mutter. "I get it. But regretting it means regretting the best night of my life. It means not knowing what you sound like, what you taste like, what you feel like unraveling on top of me." I press my face to her hair, breathing her in. "I don't regret you, Peyton."

"You make it really freaking hard to be mad at you, Logan."

"Yeah?" I grin, my lips against her crown. "That's probably a good thing because I have a feeling I'll be pissing you off a lot."

"Yay for me," she says sarcastically.

I tip her head back, brushing my lips across hers in a soft kiss. At least, that's my intention, but the road to hell and all of that. As soon as I feel her lips beneath mine, my restraint unravels. I haul her into my arms, devouring her lips like a man starving. That's what I am. Starving. Drowning. Going out of my fucking mind in want of her. I've been in hell since the minute she ran out on me, and the furnace is only growing hotter.

"Goddamn," I groan, nipping her bottom lip when she pulls my hair, whimpering. "I could kiss you all day."

"I told you not to kiss me, Logan."

I grin against her lips. "Oops. My bad."

She huffs quietly, pulling back to look at me. "I'm going to live long enough to regret this, aren't I?"

"Nope. You're going to live forever."

She rolls her eyes at me, but she can't hide her smile. She's thawing, slowly but surely. Christ. How long until I can take her back to bed?

Judging by the way her smile slips and her brows furrow…not soon enough. Goddammit.

"Come on," I growl, grabbing her hand. "We have places to be."

I wasn't lying to Alice when I told her that I planned to tell Peyton everything. I'm doing that today, before she finds another reason to be pissed at me for withholding information from her. If she's going to be part of my life, I want her to know every part of it. I owe her that much.

"What?" She tugs against my hold in protest. "I don't work for you yet, Logan."

"Then it's a good thing this isn't work, isn't it?"

She huffs loudly, but I just smile in response. She isn't fooling anyone. What she feels isn't hate. It isn't even annoyance. It's the makings of forever. I just need her to cooperate and let me prove it.