Ordinary Human Mated to an Alpha CEO

Chit Chat

CELINA'S POV

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The garden is covered in snow, a glass canopy sitting in the middle of the bushes that are covered in delicate snowflakes piled in heaps with a few green leaves poking through. Underneath the glass canopy is black tiles built atop a platform, and the glass is covered in snow and veins crawling up the sides. It's beautiful-- everything is more beautiful in the winter, in the snow.

The white gives everything a stunning, innocent glow.

The golf cart pulls up to the very edge of the patio built in the middle of the garden, and thats when I notice the red poking through the white— berries hanging from the bushes, glistening with a icy cover under the morning sun.

Logan steps outside the glass as Aster hops off the cart, extending a hand to me to help me off. I begrudgingly let him help, and he takes my mug, “I’ll wash this.” He says with a look of contempt on his face. I reach for it when he hops back onto the cart, “Don’t worry, Miss Celina,” he beams, grinning, “I’ll bring it back without a scratch.” For some reason, I believed him.

Left standing in the garden with Logan just staring at me as if he’s in deep thought, snow starts to fall. The delicate flakes grazing my face, falling onto my hair and coat all the while I hold Logan’s stare.

He seems to realize that he’s been just staring, and clears his throat, “I’m surprised you came.” That makes two of us. “I had to sleep on it.” A lie, since I haven’t slept even for a minute since he left, that offer taunting me with whispers and memories that I once loved, and now loathed.

“And now you’re here.” He said it with a calm smile, one that made me a little uneasy. “Now I’m here.” I smile, my breath fogging in front of my mouth and I’m thankful for the cold otherwise my cheeks would be red right about now.

Logan isn’t intimidating, but there’s something that makes my chest feel like I’m fifteen and a cute guy looks at you.

“Well, let us get down to business then.” He nods his head towards the inside of the glass canopy, and there are fire lanterns hanging everywhere with fairy lights covering the glass roof above us. The lanterns create heat, and the fairy lights are carefully positioned to be aesthetic.

It’s pretty.

I casually stroll inside, and there’s a little black table with matching chairs, all covered with white cushions. There’s a tea set on the table, and Logan pulls out a chair, and gestures for me to sit.

For a moment, I’m stunned to the very core of my being.

The memory of Sean patting my seat next to him and the him pulling out Dalia’s chair flashes through my mind, the anger rising like pain from a stab wound.

I falter, only for a moment, my brain freezing for two beats of my heart before I stroll over, my steps tranquil as I step in between the table and chair he pulled out, and I sit.

“Tea? Coffee? Hot coco?” Logan asks, moving around to sit beside me, not across from me, but right next to me. Staring at the ceramic tea set, I notice the small ceramic pots, one brown, one black and one red— each one a color to show the difference of what’s inside.

Twisting my fingers on my lap, I smile, “Very cute, but I’m good.” It feels ridiculous to tell a grown man his ceramic tea sit is cute, yet I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

I wouldn’t say that I’m nervous about being here, but flustered is a good word to describe what Logan’s presence does to me.

He carries an aura of dominance— but in a good way. The kind that screams authority and respect, one that claims attention when he walks into the room— and it isn’t just because of his good looks— itms the way he walks and carries himself.

“Are you sure?” Logan tilts his head, and he reaches for the seat beside him, grinning like an i***t as he pulls out a pack of mini marshmallows, “Because I have these,” he jiggles the packet like it holds valuables, and my chest bounces as I laugh silently, shaking my head at him. “Well, I can’t say no to tiny marshmallows.” I smile, forcing my hands to rest on top of the table.

That seems to lighten Logan up, because he’s grinning while leaning forward and making two cups of hot coco.

More snow filters down, slowly growing inch by inch outside.

Logan hands me a cup, sliding it over to me, “So what now?” I ask, picking up the cup and enjoy the warmth that spreads across my palms. Logan’s grin widens, “I’ve been wondering how long the chit-chat would be going on for.” His tone is filled with amusement.

My head tilts, “Was it too long?” I ask, blowing a light, cool breath over the hot coco. “Long?” He chuckles, shaking his head, “I’d hoped for longer before the formalities started.” He stirs his coco a bit too long to be casual, to be normal. “Why?” The word slips from my tongue without a second thought. “Because…” Logan’s shoulders lift and fall, and there’s a pause of a breath before he continues, “If I must admit— I’m afraid you’ll still decline after.” My eyebrows raise at his blunt honesty. “It wouldn’t make a difference in your life— you could always find another woman to act as your girlfriend.”

Logan’s eyes shudder as if he were afraid of that fact alone. “No.” He shakes his head, a small, fragile smile appearing, though it doesn’t reach those stunning eyes of his.

I wanted to ask why not, but that would open another door into a chit chat place where too much time will be wasted.

“Then explain your plan.” I shrug, taking a sip of the coco— and damn, it’s delicious.

I make a mental note to ask what hot chocolate this is, and listen when he starts explaining.

“Well, how I see it—” he clears his throat, lifting his chin higher, peering down his nose at me, “You were wronged, and caught off guard. I want to help you rectify it. I have a ton of things that can piss him off, but unfortunately, I can’t just take his promotion away— but we can cause him to lose focus, to slack in his position that he now has, and me just taking away the promotion will be the cherry on top of all the other things we can do to mess with his head, and that new little girlfriend’s.” The way he said new little girlfriend has me seeing red— like the boots I’m wearing.

Biting down on my teeth, my nose flares as I try to control my breathing, but it’s hard when the wound is fresh and someone pokes a finger at it.

“Explain.” Is all I can manage through the flames of fury that’s roaring in my head. “You show up at the office, Sean or his little twit will think you are there for him. They’ll make a scene, I’m sure of it.” Logan rolls his eyes like he’s truly thought this through, “Then they’ll find out you are there for me. They’ll look crazy to the rest, they’ll be embarrassed and scared.” His smile finally reaches his eyes, “Sean probably thinks you’ll never find someone better than him, that you’ll never move on from his humiliation, and well, when I take you out on dates, publicly, he’ll know what its like to lose— and then he’ll start losing his mind because how dare you move on with someone better than him?” He laughs, shaking his head, and yet— I don’t under why he’s doing all of this for me.

“And you’re willing to do all of this effort for me?” I ask with raised brows. “It’s for me too. If the public sees me with a woman, it’ll be less boobs and ass everywhere I go,” his face scrunches up in disgust as if he’s seen too much already, but what else is expected when you’re that handsome and a billionaire?

“And what do I have to bring to this table of vengeance?” I ask.

All of it just seems too good to be true, and my mother always said when it seems too good to be true, then it is.

“You, wearing a smile. I’m tired of…” he waves a pointed finger toward my face, “…whatever this is.” He’s laughing, and it’s so infectious that I can’t help but let a light chuckle slip through.

“When do we start?” I ask, my fingertips drumming against the ceramic cup, “Tomorrow, if you will. There’s no time to waste if you want to hit him hard and hit him good.” Logan’s smile is that of pure evil— I swear it. There’s this promise in his sapphire eyes that glow with purpose, as if this is just as personal to him as it is to me.

“Give me your phone.” I demand, watching his eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t dare look away as he reaches into the pocket of his trousers, and unlocks it with his face ID and hands it to me.

I add my contact to his list, and hand the phone back over.

“Text me the time and what to say or wear and I’m yours. Temporarily.”