Chapter 4
Logan
I peer up, pretending to be absorbed in my work, eyeing her closely through the glass-fronted office. She places her bag on the desk and sits down, reaching out to turn the computer on, and then freezes.
She licks her lips and glances over her shoulder at me. I’m still seemingly immersed in my work, so I pretend not to notice her.
Then she does something unprecedented.
She rises, picks up her bag, and scurries off.
I frown and look up, craning my neck to see her in the distance, stabbing the elevator button impatiently, looking frantically around as she climbs on when everyone else gets off.
“Huh. Well, I didn’t expect a lunchtime quit, and it’s not even lunchtime.”
I lean back in my chair, the back inclining under the weight. Twirling my pen around, I narrow my eyes as Allison comes rushing over.
“What happened?” she barks.
Thankful for her brusque attitude, I sit up straight again and sigh. “You tell me. She ran out of here like her ass was on fire.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “What did you do, Logan?”
Snorting with mirth, I shake my head. “Nothing! I swear, this time, it wasn’t me.”
Allison purses her lips. “Hmm. Fine. I’ll call down to the admin pool and have them send someone up. I’ll get an advert up online. They know us by now.” Her accusatory glare amuses me, but I try to remain serious.
“Thank you, Ally. You’re the best.”
Her face uncreases, and she preens slightly as I shorten her name and praise her. I may not enjoy being around people, but I know how to work them.
“Aww, you’re sweet,” she says, pretending to brush it off. She bustles off to find me a new assistant. Something tells me that Quentin will be messaging me any second now to fill me in on why I had to dump Dolores.
As if on cue, my phone beeps.
Picking it up, I glance at the screen.
Your new assistant will be there tomorrow.
“Great.”
He did all of this to lumber me with someone of his choosing. I don’t claim to know much about Quentin’s family. Nobody does, so this could be anyone from his son or daughter to an old family friend.
I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like it.
Nepotism usually doesn’t work out so well for everyone who has to work around the favored one. Tomorrow is going to be…fun.
Sighing, I get back to work, ignoring three calls from Shelley until lunchtime, when she calls again, I block her number.
Without a shadow of a doubt, she is going to cause trouble for me further down the line. It is something that I anticipated and will deal with when I’m not so preoccupied with Quentin’s maneuvering and my own past coming back to haunt me in a package the size of a shoebox.
At 5.30 PM, after a day of constant nagging by the temp, until I told her to get fucked and made her cry, pissing Allison off on a scale of a million when ten was the max, I head out into the cool night air, the slight drizzle cooling down my temper.
I can only hope that tomorrow’s offering will be slightly more inclined to be proactive and take charge.
It’s really a big turn-off when people are needy and unfocused, unable to perform the most straightforward task without guidance and handholding.
When I push open the door to my apartment fifteen minutes later, the smell of gorgeous food hits my nose. My stomach growls in protest of being ignored since the bagel at the asscrack of dawn.
Removing my coat and hanging it up to dry off the slight dampness from the rain, I head straight for the kitchen and see a post-it on the counter.
EAT!
The demand is in Rose’s handwriting and placed next to a bowl, a spoon, and a pair of oven gloves.
I chuckle, opening the oven door to pull the stew in the ceramic pot out with the gloves. Dishing up an ample portion, I pluck up the note and carry it to the dining table, where a glass and a bottle of neat single malt are waiting for me.
Grinning, I sit down to my feast, pouring some scotch into the glass and taking a small, savoring sip.
Sticking the post-it to the front of my shirt, I prop my phone up against the glass and dig in. A few seconds later, it rings for a video call.
Leaning over, I answer. “Hey, Rose.”
Her face swims onto the screen. “You eating there?”
“I am, and it’s delicious.” I make a point of bringing the spoon laden with food to my mouth so she can watch me take a bite.
Her approving nod is met with a smug one from me. “See.”
“Hmm. I’m going to sit here and watch you eat the lot, young man.”
A man’s face looms into view. “Logan,” Paddy’s gruff voice rings through the apartment. “You eating there?”
I waggle my spoon at him.
He nods. “Good, good. Rose tells me you looking for a fight. I don’t beat on scrawny fucks, so you better get that food into you and bulk up.” He lets out a loud guffaw and ambles off as Rose shakes her head.
“You heard it here first.” She jabs her finger at the screen.
Snorting into my stew, I’m entertained, to say the least. This is better than spending the night alone.
That thought rears its head out of the blue. I narrow my eyes and shove it aside, shoveling food into my mouth until it’s all gone as Rose watches me, nodding appreciatively and making approving noises.
“This is like some sort of kink,” I chuckle, picking up the bowl and showing her it's empty.
She blushes and giggles at the word kink. “You’re a good boy,” she says.
I press my lips together, enjoying the praise in a way that I can’t express to my housekeeper.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Rose.”
“Night, Logan.”
We hang up, and the apartment falls back into an eerie silence, which does little to settle my concerns over tomorrow’s surprise assistant. I’m sure Quentin has his reasons, but that’s all well and good for him. I’m the one who’s got to put up with whomever it is.
It also requires me to be on my best behavior, which is something that is harder for me than it looks.
Cursing him as I make my way back to the kitchen to clear up and maybe grab a bit more stew while I’m already eating anyway.
Making short work of it, I disappear upstairs, pulling out the box from the closet and placing it reverently on the bed to stare into, resisting the urge to touch the contents.