SCARLETT BLACKSTONE
“Stay here, it must be the housekeeper,” Logan said as he walked away.
“Alright,” I replied, still feeling disoriented.
He donned a bathrobe and went to answer the door. I remained seated on the bed, looking in the surrounding room. The decor was standard, though undoubtedly more luxurious than others, with a darker tone that gave it a certain gravity.
Logan soon returned, carrying a breakfast tray. “You need to eat,” he said, setting the tray down on the bed.
“You don’t even know if I’m hungry,” I said, trying to sound defiant.
He arched an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter. You need to eat.”
I rolled my eyes, muttering under my breath. “You’re in charge too much.”
He placed the tray on the bed and then glanced at me. “Aren’t you going to have coffee?”
Shaking his
