Trapped in Hate, Drawn to Love

Chapter 3

-LOGAN-

Aria lifted her face from behind the monitor, baby‑blue eyes wide. Fear flickered there for a heartbeat before she steadied herself.

"What do you mean?" she asked, blinking twice as I closed the distance to her desk.

"My computer, Aria. It’s linked to my phone. You tried to open restricted files, and the alert flagged your wrong password."

Did she really think I wouldn’t catch that? I hired her green, but I’m not blind. Access isn’t freedom. Every keystroke runs through me.

Truth is, I don’t usually bring someone like her onto my team. Too polished. Too soft. With that angel face and careful posture, she looks like she belongs at a cocktail reception, not in the grind of Mars Logistics. This place chews people up on a good day.

And most of our days are bad.

Still, when I’d written her off, she blindsided me with sharp wit. She salvaged a contract Samuel botched with the wrong paperwork. Risky move with the plane, but it worked.

She’s more than a pretty face. She thinks differently. She thinks fast.

But there’s something else in Aria Davis. I can’t pinpoint.

So I’ll keep her close. On a short leash.

I’ll sleep with my eyes wide open.

"Ah, you mean that," her perfect pink lips curved in a smile. "I thought you said all files were unlocked."

"Just what you need to work with." My eyes narrowed. Was she snooping out of curiosity or something else? "Why dig into a three‑year‑old folder when the data you need is already in front of you?"

"You said you expect more than a simple assistant. So, after I finished the spreadsheet for the first quarter, I wanted to make a graph comparing the last three years. That way, you could see the differences."

"Hmm." A grunt. It was a good idea.

"So, should I do it? The graph, I mean."

"Later." I nodded once. "Right now, grab your bag and meet me at the elevators on the first floor. We’ve got a business lunch."

"O‑kay," she said, rising from my chair.

Aria left, and I pulled out my phone, scrolling for a contact. "Samuel? I changed my mind. I’ll go to the meeting with the union leaders without you."

"But Logan, I was the one who scheduled it. My cousin was a truck driver, remember?" Samuel whined, sounding more like a toddler than a forty‑year‑old man.

"A third cousin you never even met. Spare me the bullshit, Samuel. Goodbye."

I ended the call and crossed the office, stopping at Marie’s desk. She handled the grind—coffee orders, tickets, mail, all the small stuff. But I needed someone fully dedicated to me. That’s why I hired Aria.

"Marie, I’ll take Aria to the meeting. We’ll be back late. Make sure all the HR crap gets handled."

When I reached the elevators, Aria was already there, staring at a poster for old‑clothes donation pinned to the wall.

"Ready?" I asked, checking my watch.

She nodded, and we stepped outside to find my car and driver waiting. The ride was quiet, her subtle perfume filling the air. Something fresh and floral. Magnolias? I scrolled through emails, watching her from the corner of my eye. Dark blue pantsuit—elegant, simple. No designer tag, I’d bet. Her hand rested on her knee, fingers tapping absently, gaze fixed on the window.

Most people fold under my presence. Samuel nearly pissed himself when he confessed his screw‑up with the contract. But this young woman, with an angel face and steady eyes, meets me head‑on and doesn’t flinch.

That makes me want to know more

After a while, she turned. "Can you tell me a little about this meeting?"

"We’re having lunch with two leaders of the truck drivers’ union. They’ve been pressing for a strike for months. No matter what we offered, they kept pushing for more. The situation’s at a breaking point." I leaned back, voice flat. "I need you to watch the interaction. Don’t interfere. Understood?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on me before turning her face back to the window.

We arrived at the restaurant, a sushi place by the sea. Good food, no frills.

I walked in with her at my side, weaving between round tables where people balanced chopsticks. By the large window, facing the ocean, sat the two bulky men we’d come to meet.

"Gentlemen, thanks for meeting me," I said as they rose to greet us. "This is my new assistant, Aria Davis. Aria, meet Owen Brown and Carl Miller, leaders of the truck drivers’ union."

"Nice to meet you," Aria said with a smile, shaking their hands.

Carl’s eyes lingered—heavy, not hungry. A relief, considering he was over fifty.

"You look just like my daughter," he said once we sat.

"She must be really pretty," Aria replied lightly.

"She was… She died a few years ago," he said.

"I’m sorry," she answered softly. Not condescending. Compassionate.

"It’s okay. She left us a six‑year‑old mini version of her. I swear, that little devil is both the high and the low point of my day."

"I bet she is," Aria smiled.

"Once, I had a cold. The little pest stuck my beer in the microwave because she said I needed hot liquids. That thing sparked like a firework! It almost blew up. Thank God she wasn’t anywhere near it."

"Oh my God!" Aria covered her mouth, fighting back a smile.

"Anyway, we’re not here to swap old man stories." Carl’s warmth vanished as he turned to me. "Mr. Mars, I’m sorry to inform you, but the conditions for our drivers are worse than expected. We have no choice but to strike."

"The strike begins at the end of the month," Owen added flatly.

Fuck. I thought we were here to talk options. But they’ve already made up their minds.

I need drivers. Fast.

"I’ll replace your people, Brown. No paychecks. My cargo keeps moving." My tone dropped.

"You son of—" Carl started, but Aria cut him off.

"Gentlemen," Aria said evenly, "a strike hurts both sides. Mars Logistics may stumble, but your drivers lose stability. Competitors swoop in, and you lose leverage."

Both men turned to her, frowning, waiting for more.

I’d warned her not to interfere. Still, that sly princess was defying me.

And I liked seeing it.

"So let’s flip the script." She leaned in, ponytail swinging, eyes locked on theirs. "Instead of a strike, announce a joint pilot program. Mars Logistics guarantees overtime pay and safer routes for the next quarter. In return, your drivers commit to record‑breaking delivery times. Together, we make headlines. The market sees Mars Logistics and its drivers as unstoppable."

Brilliant. The gears turned in their heads. She dangled the carrot, and they bit.

"Walk out now, and you’re just another union in conflict," I added, voice low. "Partner with us, and you’re the union that proved drivers are the backbone of this industry. Every other company will scramble to copy your model."

"What do you say?" she asked lightly. But her blue eyes burned with fire underneath. "Do we have a deal?"

Owen and Carl exchanged a look, muttered under their breath, then faced us again.

"It’s an interesting proposal. We like it," Carl said slowly. "But we need to bring it to our people to make it pass. Can we talk again tomorrow?"

"Of course." I smiled. The deal was done. "Can we order now? I’m starving. What about some sake?" I added, reaching for the menu.

"Mars?" Carl quipped over his own. "Man, I’m glad you finally hired someone with brains."

Me too, Carl. Let’s just hope she uses them in my favor.