Page 67 of Sin Bin

“Only recently.” She let out a small breath. “For the longest time, I didn’t want to see the paper trail. I’d spent years repressing my childhood, trying to put the past behind me. Even while working for DFS, I never attempted to access my records. But shortly after I left, I caught a really bad respiratory infection and had to get a chest X-ray. It was revealed that I had two previously broken ribs.”

“Jesus,” Logan muttered darkly.

“I didn’t remember sustaining those injuries, so it was pretty shocking news.” She swallowed. “That’s when I decided to start seeking some answers. Unfortunately, I haven’t had much success.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve only received a partial file with not much information, and I keep getting the runaround. One time I was told there’s a backlog of requests. Another time I was told that my complete records couldn’t be found because I’d been out of the system too long.”

“What the fuck?” Logan growled. “You were a caseworker for DFS, and you still have to deal with bullshit red tape?”

“I know. It’s crazy.” Meadow frowned, frustration rising in her. “My old supervisor could have helped me, but she got laid off shortly after I did.”

“You might have to hire a lawyer. You can use mine. He’s the best.”

“I’m sure he is,” Meadow said ruefully. “Which is why I could never afford him.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just say the word and I’ll put him to work. He’ll take care of you.”

“Okay. I’ll, um, let you know.” She bit her lip. “Thank you, Logan.”

“No problem. What are friends for?”

She smiled softly, her insides warming at his kindness and generosity. “Do you have people, Logan?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you have a team of high-powered fixers at your disposal?”

He gave a low chuckle. “I don’t know about all that. I mean, I have an agent to manage my career and endorsements; a publicist to clean up my messes; an accountant and a broker to look after my investment portfolios. And, yeah, I keep a lawyer on retainer to protect my legal interests.”

“So in other words,” Meadow teased, “you have people.”

“I guess I do,” he said with a sheepish chuckle.

She had never been more acutely aware of their socioeconomic differences. It was sort of depressing.

“So tell me more about your volun—” Logan broke off at the sound of the doorbell.

Meadow immediately pictured a scantily clad woman waiting on his doorstep. “Do you have company?”

“Nah. That’s my dinner. Hold on a sec.” He put the phone down while he went to answer the door.

When he came back, she asked lightly, “What’d you order?”

“Some Cuban food. Arroz con pollo with a side of plantains.”

“Mmm,” she breathed. “Chicken with rice and plantains. That sounds delicious.”

“It is.” He was smiling. “It’s a great little restaurant. I’ll take you there sometime.”

“How about Saturday for our dinner?”

“Nah. I made reservations somewhere else. Somewhere fancy with white tablecloths and candles.”

Her stomach did a crazy flippity-flop. “Um, that sounds like a date.”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” Logan said, low and husky.

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