Page 146 of The Holiday Clause
“Thanks,” she croaked, tugging the blanket over her shoulders.
Logan looked around, confused. “Where’s Grey?”
“He had errands.” No need to explain more than she had to. Her throat couldn’t take it.
“Are you... sick-sick? Or like... dramatically hungover?”
She hacked into a tissue. “Sick.”
“Damn,” he muttered. “Soren told me…” He scratched the back of his head, rethinking his purpose. “I didn’t realize you were sick.”
Should she tell him? Weakness made it difficult, but he deserved the truth. “Grey got sick first. I caught his cold.”
“This is a cold?”
She blew her nose and hacked. “Yes. I should feel better tomorrow.”
“So it’s true? You two are…”
She nodded and closed her eyes, too tired to face his censure. “If you came here to yell, please do it in a whisper.”
He exhaled and dropped into the armchair across from her. “It’s hard to yell at someone who looks like roadkill in August. You want tea or something?”
She knew Greyson was full of crap when he said she looked adorable. Peeking at Logan through one eye, she asked, “You’re not mad at me?”
“Come on, Wren. You know I can’t stay mad at you.”
“But you’re mad at Greyson?”
“He’s different.”
“How?” She reached for another tissue and blew her nose.
“Dear God, I think you just called a few ships into harbor.”
“Shut up.” She sniffled, resting her head on the pillow. “He didn’t do this to hurt you.”
“I know. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
Her heart pinched. “Logan…”
“Don’t. I don’t need anyone’s pity, and it would kill me to be on the receiving end of yours, Wren.”
“Sympathy isn’t pity.”
“Well, it’s damn close.”
Her head pounded, but she cared more about him than herself in that moment. “We can talk about it if you want.”
He shrugged. “What’s there to say? Greyson always gets what Greyson wants. Now, he’ll have everything.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“Come on, Wren. He’s got you, and now he’ll get the company. What else is there?”
She stilled. “That’s not what this is, Logan.”
“No?” He looked around. “You’re in his shirt, in his house, on his couch. Try and tell me that’s not winning.”
