Читать книгу Cavanaugh's Surrender - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 11

When he heard the elevator opening, Logan automatically looked in that direction. He was surprised to see Destiny getting off.

“Forget something?” he asked, raising his voice in order to be heard.

Canvassing the floor, he was clear down the hall from the elevator. So far, he’d had next to no luck getting anyone to answer, despite the hour.

The only door that had opened so far had been by a very grumpy older man in a stained T-shirt and rumpled trousers of an indeterminable color. Both items of clothing looked as if the man had slept in them for at least the past year.

The man also, when questioned, didn’t seem to speak any English. Whatever language he did speak, Logan was entirely unfamiliar with it. He was fluent in Spanish and knew a handful of other languages well enough to at least identify what they were. The old man was muttering at him in what he could only guess was an offshoot of some Slavic language, definitely not Russian in origin.

Thanking the man, Logan went to the next door. And the next.

So far, no one else had answered, but he’d canvassed only a quarter of the floor before his father’s chief assistant had stepped off the elevator again.

“No, I didn’t forget anything,” Destiny retorted, irritated because she wanted to be on her way already, “but I think you did.”

Logan cocked his head and eyed her, the person who might or might not be behind the next door temporarily forgotten. He watched as she walked toward him, appreciating the subtle sway of her hips. She was one of those people who was totally unaware of just how stunning she was.

But it wasn’t lost on him.

She didn’t seem like the type to play games, especially not at a time like this, so whatever she was referring to had to be on the level. The problem was, he had absolutely no idea what that was.

“Come again?” he finally said.

“You double-park your car downstairs?” she asked pointedly.

“No. Yeah,” he amended in the next breath, remembering.