Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
KAYLEE
I slide my key into my door and step into my little one-bedroom apartment in the heart of Canmore, the small town in the Alberta Rockies I’ve called home for most of my life. The door closes softly behind me and I flip the lock, setting my purse and keys down on the worn table by the front door.
The apartment itself is beautiful, and is by far the nicest place I’ve ever lived. It has big windows, a gas fireplace in the living room, stainless steel appliances and quartz countertops in the kitchen. I even have my own in-suite washer and dryer and an underground parking space.
Sounds great, right? Well, the truth is, I can barely afford it.
Canmore isn’t cheap, and the rent on this place eats up nearly seventy-five percent of my meager salary.
Which is why my place is so sparsely furnished, and why there are no curtains on the windows, and why everything I own is second hand, found on Facebook marketplace or at garage sales.
I never turn on the gas fireplace because I don’t want to spend extra money on the gas bill.
I eat a lot of pasta and canned vegetables.
My car needs work, but I can’t afford it.
I don’t even have Netflix because it’s too expensive on my tiny budget.
None of this is anything new. I’m used to barely getting by. I’m used to not having enough, or having to make do with two meals a day instead of three until payday.
From the day I was born, I was told I was a burden. Another hungry mouth to feed, another back to put clothes on. My mother didn’t want me. My father didn’t want me. The aunt who raised me barely tolerated me. I was an inconvenience. A leech.
I left all of that behind the second I turned eighteen. I got a job and moved out on my own.
So now, I look after myself, without anyone’s help.
And yes, it’s hard and it sucks, but I’m okay.
Sometimes I wish I had someone to lean on, but is that weak?
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just lonely. I’ve always felt alone in the world.
I’ve always felt that no one truly cared about me.
It would be nice to know that someone did.
That someone cared if I ate or was cold.
For once in my life, it would be nice—more than nice—to be cared for.
Is that pathetic? Maybe. But it’s the truth.
My financial situation won’t be like this forever, though. Once I pass my realtor’s exam and get my full license, things will change for the better.
If I can get Logan to just buy a freaking house already, the commission will pay my rent for months.
God, Logan.
I sink down onto my beat up couch and pull a blanket over my legs, shivering slightly. I keep the heat low to keep the bill within my budget. I tuck my legs under myself and pull the blanket up to my shoulders.
Logan.
He is the pickiest man I’ve ever met. I don’t even know how many houses I’ve showed him now, and he’s rejected all of them.
He’s also, hands down, the most gorgeous.
He has these warm brown eyes that make me want to melt, and little lines fanning out around them that do funny things to my stomach.
His voice is deep and deliciously rumbly, and it makes my toes curl in my shoes when he says my name.
And he’s so big. So broad and strong and tall.
So deliciously…capable, in everything he does.
I sigh, pulling my knees up to my chest as a dull ache flares between my thighs.
I realize then that I don’t want to be cared for by just anyone. I want Logan. God, I would happily climb into his lap, let him wrap those strong arms around me and solve all of my problems. If he wanted to take on the world for me, I’d let him, no questions asked.
Not that that’s ever going to happen. But it’s a nice fantasy.
I bite my lip, thinking back to all of the houses we’ve seen. The way he studies each room, his eyes scanning every detail. I love watching him like that, so focused, so intense. It makes me wonder what it would feel like to have all of that focused intensity directed at me.
And just like that, even though I know I need to let it go, I’m replaying the moment I tripped earlier today and Logan caught me. I’ve already replayed it a dozen times.
I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the memory of his arms around me.
He was so warm, so firm. His chest was like a hard wall of muscle.
The way his eyes had held mine, the way he’d looked at my mouth…
I’d wanted him to kiss me. I’ve never been kissed—never had the time or luxury for things as frivolous as boys and dating—but in that moment, I wanted Logan’s mouth on mine.
I wanted to know what it would feel like to have him claim my mouth, to feel that stubble brushing against me.
A shiver runs through me, but it’s not from the cold this time. It’s from the memory of Logan’s hands on me, his huge hands splayed across my back. What if we were naked? What would that feel like?
The thought sends excitement spiraling through me, and my skin prickles with awareness as I imagine Logan’s strong, calloused hands sliding over my bare back as he kisses me hungrily. As he owns me, fully, and completely.
I blow out a jagged breath, rubbing a hand across my face.
I know I shouldn’t be thinking about him like this.
He’s so much older than me, so much more experienced.
He’s successful and competent in ways I can only dream of.
I’m out of my mind if I think a man like Logan Armstrong would actually be interested in a naive girl with nothing like me.
He probably just sees me as his inexperienced, clumsy realtor.
There’s no way he thinks of me the way I think of him.
And even if he wanted me, I’m utterly clueless and completely inexperienced. I wouldn’t know what to do with a man like Logan. I wouldn’t know how to…to please him.
But knowing all of that doesn’t stop heat from pooling low in my belly. It doesn’t stop an ache from pulsing between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together, trying to ease the tension, but that only makes it worse.
I imagine Logan’s hands on my thighs, spreading me open for him as he tells me exactly what he wants me to do, and what he wants to do to me. As he tells me that I’m his good girl, and I’m going to give him everything he needs.
God, I would take such good care of him if he was mine. I’d learn how. I might be inexperienced, but I’m smart.
And very eager when it comes to Logan.
I palm my breast over top of my shirt, wondering what his massive hands would feel like on me. What would he do to my nipples? What would it feel like if he…played with them?
I swallow thickly, my face going hot at the thought. My heart is pounding hard and fast, my skin hot and prickly.
My phone starts to ring, making me jump as the trilling sound slices through the silence of my apartment. I scramble for it with shaking hands, frowning slightly when I see that it’s my asshole of a boss, John.
I take a deep breath before answering, hoisting a smile onto my face even though he can’t see me.
“Hey, John,” I answer, curling deeper into my sofa and pulling the blanket around me.
“Kaylee,” he says, and I swear I can already hear the irritation in his tone. “What’s the status on the Armstrong deal? Did any of the viewings pan out today?” No pleasantries, no small talk. Just barked questions showcasing his aggravation with my inability to sell Logan a house.
John wants Logan’s business. Logan is well known and respected in town thanks to his thriving construction company and the sway his apparent wealth gives him. He’s an important client, and John was loath to let me take him on, but Logan insisted for some reason.
Maybe he thinks John is a bit of a dick, too.
That thought makes me smile.
“No, unfortunately. We’re still looking,” I say, aiming for maturity and professionalism and hoping none of my frustration with the situation comes through.
“Logan’s…particular. But I’m confident I can find the right house for him.
We’re narrowing down what he’s looking for,” I add, even though I’m not sure how true that is.
All Logan does is reject everything I show him as he smolders at me from across the room.
Okay, the smoldering is probably not on purpose, but still. That’s all he does. Reject and smolder.
John lets out a sound somewhere between a scoff and a sigh.
“You’d better. You know what’s riding on this.
Do not screw this up. I have given you the opportunity of a lifetime by letting you take on Armstrong as a client.
Don’t make me regret it. Close the Armstrong deal or you’re done, Kaylee.
Prove to me you can make a sale, or I’ll find someone who can. ”
And what’s riding on this? Oh, you know. Just my job and my future as a realtor here in Canmore. The tiny bit of financial stability I have. No big.
I breathe through the tightness in my chest, my jaw clenched. “I won’t let you down, John. I promise. We’re going to see some more places in a few days.”
“Good. Close the deal, Kaylee. I’m losing patience here.” And then he hangs up, no goodbye, no words of encouragement.
I toss my phone onto my couch beside me, my hands shaking slightly. I hate that he has so much power over me. I hate the way he talks to me. I hate that I don’t have anyone I can talk to, get advice from.
In this moment, I hate that I’m completely, utterly on my own.
I rub a hand over my face and stand up off the couch, going to where I set my bag down by the front door and pulling my laptop out. I head into the kitchen and turn the kettle on, making some tea to help chase away the permanent chill in here.
And then I open my laptop and get to work. I will find Logan a house. Not just a house. The perfect house.
I have to.