Aleah glared at Logan, taking in his untucked, wrinkled, white dress shirt paired with dark blue jeans and dusty black boots. He looked an absolute mess, with the sleeves of his shirt unevenly rolled up to his elbows and his hair pointing in every direction without the aid of the expensive hair products he used to tame it.
Sweat covered his forehead and there was a distinct bruise on his cheek, as though he had been slapped, which she guessed was probably how he got a busted lip as well. It was a pity Aleah was tied up because, at that moment, she wanted to do more damage to the man’s face. So much damage he would never want to look at his reflection in the mirror ever again. That was how angry she was.
To think that the man had the audacity to glare at her and tell her she had brought
