A chance encounter

Logan -

Clubs were never my scene. The loud music, the flashing lights, the shallow conversations—it all grated on me. But Derek and a few others had insisted we meet here tonight, promising it would be a “refreshing change.” So there I was, nursing a whiskey neat and trying to appear interested as a blonde with overly dramatic gestures talked at me.

I’d already forgotten her name.

I nodded at her words, pretending to listen, but my attention drifted. My eyes scanned the room, half-hoping for something, anything, to break the monotony. And that’s when I saw her.

Isabella.

She stood near a corner booth, her smile radiant as she leaned in toward a man I didn’t recognize. A flicker of something stirred within me. Annoyance? Curiosity? Whatever it was, it tightened my jaw as I watched her laugh at something he said.

The man—tall, polished, the kind who looked like he was used to getting what he wanted—was close to her. Too close. Not that it was any of my business.

I shifted my gaze back to the blonde, whose laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard. She was saying something about her summer in Capri, but the words were a blur. My focus stubbornly returned to Isabella.

Derek, sitting to my right, caught my wandering gaze. He leaned in, his tone low enough to avoid drawing attention.

“Is that Isabella? The new hire? Looks like she’s with someone. Her boyfriend?”

“I have no clue,” I replied curtly, perhaps too curtly, given the way Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Interesting,” he mused, swirling the ice in his glass. “You don’t know much about her, do you? Your step—”

“Don’t.” My tone was sharp enough to cut through the noise around us.

Derek gave me a knowing look but didn’t push further. Instead, he returned to his drink, though I could tell he was biting back a smirk.

My gaze flicked back to her. She was still laughing, her head tilting slightly as the man leaned in to whisper something. The sight gnawed at me, though I refused to examine why.

“Not your business, Logan,” I muttered under my breath, setting my glass down a little harder than I intended.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake the irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

****************************

Isabella -

I walked into the office feeling unusually optimistic. The night before with Grace and Carlson had been a blast—good food, great company, and just the right amount of wine to keep things lively.

Today was supposed to be smooth sailing, or so I thought.

I headed to the breakroom to grab coffee for Logan. The moment I stepped out with the coffee in hand, I heard it.

Logan’s voice.

Correction: Logan’s yelling.

It echoed down the corridor like thunder, sending a shiver down my spine and making a passing intern nearly drop her stack of files. I approached his office cautiously, peering in just in time to see him glaring at the operations manager, who looked one blink away from a full breakdown.

“It’s not rocket science!” Logan bellowed. “If I ask for it on Tuesday, I don’t want excuses on Wednesday!”

The poor manager mumbled something incoherent, eyes shiny with unshed tears. I backed away slowly, deciding this was not the time to interrupt with coffee.

By the time Logan turned his attention to me, I was seated at my desk, pretending to look busy. He strode over, all sharp lines and intense energy.

“Isabella,” he said brusquely. “The weekly report. Now.”

“On it,” I replied, grabbing my laptop like it was a shield. As he walked away, one of my colleagues leaned over, whispering conspiratorially.

“He’s in a mood today.Be careful.”

“Noted,” I muttered, wondering if I could get hazard pay for enduring Logan’s moods.

What followed was a whirlwind of chaos. I must have gone to his office at least five times in the next two hours, each visit more confusing than the last.

First, he needed me to proofread a document. Fine.

Then, he needed me to call the finance department to clarify a minor detail.

However, he then called me back to clarify another issue before giving me a speech on being proactive.

By the fourth trip, I was tempted to ask if he wanted me to just set up camp in his office.

“Anything else, Mr. Sinclair?” I asked, trying not to sound exasperated after his latest round of instructions.

He hesitated, which was rare for Logan. His eyes flicked to mine, then away. For a moment, I thought I might actually get to sit down at my desk for longer than five minutes.

But no. Logan had other plans.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked suddenly.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” he said, as if this was a perfectly normal question in a professional setting. “A boyfriend.”

Was this a trap? A new form of office interrogation?

I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “Should I have submitted that detail in my onboarding paperwork?”

Logan frowned slightly, the faintest hint of color rising to his cheeks. “Never mind.”

He waved a hand dismissively, as if trying to shoo away the awkwardness.

"Yes, I do have a boyfriend." I finally said. "Why are you asking that?"

He exhaled a breath, as if he had been holding it.

"It's nothing; I just wanted to check your commitment towards your work. Relationships can be distracting."

"Well, you don't need to worry about that; I keep my personal and professional life separate."

Logan nodded.

"Good to hear."

I turned and left; that was weird. What was he really trying to imply with that question? It left me feeling uneasy, but I pushed the thought aside and focused on my work for the rest of the day.