Trapped in Hate, Drawn to Love

Chapter 6

-LOGAN-

A warm hand brushed my face, fingers sliding through my hair.

"Hey. I'm here. I'll take care of you," a woman’s voice murmured, muffled.

"Aria?"

The hand stilled. "No." The gentleness vanished.

My head was thick with cobwebs as I forced my brain to work. My eyes snapped open. Sweat clung to me, soaking my shirt.

The fever was gone. Chloe sat beside me on the sofa.

She shifted as I tried to sit. My shirt stuck to my skin, damp and heavy. The fever had broken, but my throat burned raw.

"What’s going on? Why are you here?"

Chloe and I dated once in high school for a while. She went to Stanford, I to Harvard. She wanted long-distance. I didn’t. I didn’t love her, so we ended it.

We stayed in touch, mostly because she made the effort. I’ve been too busy building my empire. I don't have time for friends.

"Your secretary called me. Asked me to check on you," she answered softly.

Chloe is a doctor now. Runs an upscale clinic in Beverly Hills, treating the rich and famous. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard she’s thriving.

"Aria isn’t my secretary," I shot back, annoyed.

"Again with this person?" Her tone sharpened. "No, Marie called. She said you were sick and asked me to come."

Marie, my ass. She’s probably too busy raiding her kid’s leftover birthday candy to notice anything. Aria put her up to it.

"I’m fine," I muttered.

"You’re not. You’re drenched in sweat from the fever breaking. Let me examine you." Her voice softened again as she set a hand on my shoulder.

"Sure." I huffed. Chloe pulled her bag from the coffee table, slipped out a stethoscope, and opened my shirt. The cold metal pressed against my chest as she listened. Then she moved behind me, repeating the motion.

She checked my eyes, throat, lymph nodes—the usual routine.

"You’ve got a throat infection," she said finally, packing her things away. "Looks viral, but I’ll know for sure after the labs. Keep taking ibuprofen every eight hours. It’ll help with the sore throat."

"Great. I’ll live," I said, dry.

I pushed up from the sofa, went to the cabinet. My shirt hung open, damp. I stripped it off, reached for a clean one, and pulled it on.

When I looked back, Chloe was watching me with lust.

Fuck me.

She used to drop hints about how we were perfect for each other. I ignored them. We dated back in high school, for f**k’s sake.

Then, about a year ago, we crossed paths at a gala. I got drunk—too drunk. Woke up in her bed with no memory of how I got there. Colossal mistake. I wasn’t about to dip my pen in that ink again.

Since then, she’s been bolder. Flirting outright. Doesn’t matter how many times I say I’m not interested, she acts like she never heard it.

She circled the coffee table, stopping just short of me. The sharp sweetness of her strawberry perfume clawed at my head.

"You need to rest, drink fluids, and take a warm bath." Her hand brushed my shoulder, lingering. "Why don’t you go home?"

I shrugged her off and stepped back. I didn’t want Chloe touching me. "Can’t. I’ve got work."

"You overworked yourself into being sick. If you don’t slow down, you’ll end up worse. And when that happens, your company will pay the price of far more than a couple of days without you."

She used that soothing tone a mother reserves for scolding a toddler. Sharp to moron. She wasn’t wrong, though. Deadlines stacked until year’s end, but maybe one day off wouldn’t kill me.

"It must be hard to take care of yourself alone," she said, her voice dipping into something more intimate. "I could come over. Cook chicken soup. Make sure you take your medicine. Take care of you."

Yeah. Play slutty nurse, for sure.

"I have a housekeeper. She cooks for me." I moved away, stopping at the floor‑to‑ceiling windows that lined the room.

I loved my office. Dark wooden walls, black furniture, cold chrome. Clean. Elegant. Functional.

And it smelled like money. Power.

My place wasn’t far. Easy to get home after a long day when your penthouse is around the corner.

I bought it a few years back, hired the same decorator who shaped the office. But I’m barely there. Between work and events, it’s just a shell. I never bring women over. I have a healthy s*x life, but I don’t f**k in my home. Keeps things simple. No wrong ideas. No morning scenes with someone in my shirt, trying to be cute while making coffee.

I keep things casual. Detached. I like my freedom.

I rubbed my temples. What the f**k was Marie thinking, calling Chloe? I don’t want to be an asshole, but the woman can’t take no for an answer.

I looked out at the city, trying to summon patience. High noon. The sun was blazing against a blue sky. It was November, but LA never gets cold.

"Thanks for stopping by, Chloe. I’m good now. I don’t want to take more of your time." I went for the door, ignoring her insistent eyes, and called for Aria.

A moment later, my assistant walked in, iPad in hand.

"What can I do for you, boss?"

That minx. I fought a smile. She used the nickname to push my buttons.

"I’m taking the day off. I need you to handle a few things for me."

Her smile vanished, concern taking over her features. "Are you okay, Logan?"

"I’m fine. Chloe recommended I go home. She’s an old friend." No idea why I felt the need to explain that to Aria. We weren’t close. We’d just met.

"I’m sure," Aria said, tapping her fingers over her iPad as her baby‑blue eyes landed on Chloe.

"Anyway, I need Jacob to prepare a follow‑up from this morning’s meeting. Cost estimation, timeline. Check with Samuel about the port paperwork. And take care of the budget for next quarter." I rolled my sleeves, still running hot from the cold medicine.

Aria watched my movement. But unlike Chloe, there was no lust. Actually, I couldn’t read Aria at all.

She took notes for a while before stopping. "What about the blueprints for the new hangar? We need to send the comments to the architects today."

I ran a hand through my hair. I probably looked like hell. "You check them. I trust your input. You’re my right hand, aren’t you?"

She shrugged. "Your words, not mine." But her face curved into that perfect smile.

Aria tucked the iPad under her arm and left my office. I started to unplug my computer, gathering my stuff before heading out.

What the hell was Chloe still doing here?

"How long has she worked for you, Logan?" Chloe asked, her tone prickly.

"Two weeks," I answered, casually. I didn’t like the idea of Chloe interfering in my business.

She stepped closer, heels clacking against the carpet. "How old is she? She looks like a teenager."

"That’s a stretch, Chloe. Aria’s twenty‑five."

Chloe is eight years older than Aria and probably feels threatened. Aria is beautiful.

No—scratch that. She’s stunning.

Whatever. She’s my assistant, not my date.

"And you’re giving her that much responsibility? She looks like someone who should be fetching coffee, not handling contracts." Her tone pitched. "Do you trust her that much?"

I closed my briefcase, reached for my wallet in the drawer. "Thank you for your concern, Chloe," I said, walking around my desk and stopping a few feet from her before heading out. "My assistant is a very capable woman."

And the trust part? I’m still figuring her out.

But I already know how I’ll test her.