ISABELLA
The f*****g audacity. The sheer, unfiltered, mind-numbing audacity.
Logan stood in my apartment, arms crossed, as if he had every right to demand answers from me. I should have rolled out a red carpet and handed him a notepad so he could take notes on just how ridiculous he sounded.
My lips parted, a snarky retort bubbling up, but I bit my tongue just in time. I almost asked him if I suddenly owed him an itinerary of my movements outside of work.
If I had unknowingly signed a contract stating that all my whereabouts required his personal approval. But then I remembered.
Technically, he was my boss. Technically, I still needed this job.
So instead, I exhaled slowly, leaned back against the dresser, and crossed my arms. “I went home because my shift was over.”
Logan dragged
