Page 10 of Logan
She was privy to my deepest thoughts and feelings about him. I confided in her about my hopes for a future with Johnny, completely unaware that she was sleeping with him behind my back.
How could she deceive me like that? Standing right in front of me, listening, nodding, pretending to care, all while they both deceived me?
Neither of them thought it necessary to come clean and spare me the heartache. And what if I hadn’t found out? Would they still be sneaking around behind my back, living out their happily ever after as cheaters?
Now he has the nerve to come crawling back, begging for forgiveness?
Ha!
I refuse to subject myself to his manipulations. I won’t allow myself to be humiliated again, to fall for his lies and deceit.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve been alone for a year. Being alone is far better than being with someone who can’t be trusted.
But as I close the door on Johnny and his bouquet of apologies, I can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t the end of his attempts to worm his way back into my life.
I’m in bloody London.
I’ve made it.
Perched in the unfamiliar kitchen, I dig into the noodles of my takeaway—as they call it here in the UK—from the cardboard container, my eyes wandering around the space once more. It’s surreal that they’ve granted me use of the company flat in London.
Just the exterior décor of the building nearly caused me to have a meltdown. This place exceeds any expectations I had, and it’s smack dab in the heart of the city.
The interior is much more lavish than I expected, too, making me feel like the company owner rather than a junior employee. While not huge—having only two bedrooms—the living room and kitchen are splendid, boasting luxuriousfurnishings throughout with art adorning the walls that’s undoubtedly worth a fortune.
And to top it off, the flat’s balcony offers a view of London, bathed in the glow of nightlights.
The city pulses with life outside my window, the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby drifting up to the balcony. Below, the Thames River winds its way through the city like a shimmering ribbon, its surface reflecting the dazzling lights of the skyline.
I take another bite of noodles, relishing the moment of solitude in this bustling metropolis. It’s a far cry from the chaos of the office back home, where demands and deadlines loom overhead. Here, in this quiet sanctuary, I can breathe a little easier, if only for a brief moment in time.
My curiosity piqued, I grasp the remote I found on the table, its sleek surface cool against my fingertips, and tap a button.
A low hum fills the air, and a massive television screen emerges from the floor with a mechanical whir. I nearly leap out of my chair, my eyes widening.What on earth?
I press another button, and just as swiftly as it appeared, the television sinks into the floor, leaving no trace of its existence.
I explore another button, and a music system springs to life, filling the room with melodious tunes. I leave it on, then glance at the instructions placed on the kitchen table waiting for me when I arrived yesterday.
I recall mention of a diligent household staff who prepared the apartment for my arrival. If I require any additional services or assistance, all I need to do is send a message.
I’m surrounded by luxury, catered to by a team ofdedicated staff. This new reality—temporary though it might be—sends a thrill of excitement coursing through me.
Hell, being rich sure has its perks.
My first day in London was an absolute blast. I hopped on the iconic red bus, dodging traffic twice—seriously, those drivers have nerves of steel—then I hit up Madame Tussauds, the famous wax museum, where I basically rubbed elbows with Brad Pitt. Well, his wax figure, anyway.But hey, close enough for a selfie.
Everyone here has that accent that just makes your knees weak. I swear, I need to find myself a Brit to whisper sweet nothings in my ear, make my heart flutter, and make my internal organs vibrate while I imagine Tom Ellis at my side.
The jet lag I shrugged off yesterday has now descended upon me like a heavy blanket, weighing down my eyelids and fogging my thoughts.
I consider Emery’s words, her encouragement to seize the moment and indulge in a fleeting romance. But tonight, the idea of mustering the energy for such an adventure feels daunting. It’s not just fatigue that holds me back, it’s the gnawing anxiety that twists my stomach into knots.
Where do I even begin? How do I navigate the complexities of a casual encounter, free from expectations and complications? I’ve never done it before.
I’m not ready for such a leap into the unknown. Not tonight, at least.
I glance at my phone and scroll through the barrage of messages from Johnny, each one a persistent plea for reconciliation. Fifteen messages today alone. He’s relentless, I’ll give him that.
