Alexander's POV
I sank into my office chair, finally clicking off the last call with my foreign investors.
"Finally," I muttered.
Of course, Logan's voice cut through the quiet a second later. "Took you long enough."
I didn't even need to look up. He was already sprawled out on my couch, flipping through my TV like it was his. Wearing my guest slippers, no less.
"You know those are for guests, right?" I said dryly.
He grinned. "I am a guest."
I gave him a flat look. "No. You're an intruder."
"You can't keep pretending I don't exist, brother," he shot back, dragging out that last word. He loved reminding me of the connection I'd rather ignore my father's second marriage, his mother. A family tie I didn't ask for.
"What do you want, Logan?"
"There's a party tonight," he said casually. "I sent you the invite."
I picked up the overpriced invitation card sitting on my desk and raised an eyebrow. "And why would I waste my time with this?"
"Because I already accepted it for you," he smirked.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "To what exactly?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson's anniversary. Big deal. Everyone who matters will be there."
Not even a business event. Just mingling. Pointless.
"You need to loosen up," he pressed. "Forget about…" He hesitated, then said it anyway. "Celine."
Her name hit harder than it should have. My mug stopped halfway to my lips. Even now, years later, I still felt it.
"Watch it," I warned.
Logan lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. But prove me wrong. She's gone. You're still here. Don't let a ghost control you."
I glared at him, jaw tight. He only smirked wider. "Just come with me tonight. One evening. Then I'll shut up."
"You shouldn't accept invitations on my behalf. You work for me. Don't forget that."
"Sure," he said lightly. "So that's a yes, then?"
I stayed quiet. He wasn't wrong. I hadn't stepped out of this penthouse in weeks. Since I came back to the country.
"When?" I asked finally.
"Eight sharp."
His grin said it all. He'd won.
"Fine. But don't ever show up uninvited again."
Logan laughed. "Might as well tell me never to come at all."
⸻
Hours later, he was admiring himself in the mirror in a sleek gray suit. "What do you think?"
"Not bad," I muttered, fixing my cufflinks.
Dragging me out shopping for this suit had been torture enough. I hated every second of it.
The saleswoman had practically tripped over herself the moment she saw me. Blonde. Slick ponytail. Clipboard in hand. Her smile widened as she walked up.
"Mr. Cartel. Always a pleasure."
I gave her the polite smile I reserved for strangers. Her eyes swept over me, lingering too long. Predictable.
"Claire," she introduced herself, cheeks flushing pink.
I nodded, uninterested, and turned back to the mirror. Flirting wasn't worth the effort anymore. Not since her.
By the time we left the boutique, the night had already settled in. I slid into the back seat of my BMW, Logan grinning beside me like this was the highlight of his year.
"Don't we look hot?" he teased.
"I'd rather be anywhere else," I muttered.
"The car or the event?"
"Both."
I leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. "Wake me when we get there."
Logan chuckled. "Trust me, brother… someone's going to catch your attention tonight, whether you like it or not."
I didn't bother asking who.