4| Ugly

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Ugly

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Chapter 4: Ugly (Logan's POV)

"Logan?" 

I put my glass of whiskey down on the lit-up crystal counter and let out a breath, turning around to face whoever was looking to get on my nerves tonight. 

"I thought it was you," he chuckled, moving to stand beside me. 

"And you are...?" 

"I'm a bit offended you've forgotten," he retorted jokingly. "Damon Whitemore," he introduced, holding out a hand for me to shake. 

"Logan Markov," I replied, shaking it firmly. 

"We met last year when I worked with your father." 

I paused in thought, trying to recall. "Whitemore & Co." 

He nodded with a small smile. 

I don't remember. At all. But if his last name is Whitemore, chances are the company is something along those lines. 

"Last time, I was hoping I could get you to meet my daughter but you left for Romania awfully soon." 

"Duty calls, Mr. Whitemore," I answered dryly, watching the room and taking a sip from my drink. 

"You prioritize that often, I see." 

"I do, indeed." I glanced at him before going back to observing the room. "Can I help you, Mr. Whitemore... again?" 

"It's a rather small task, you could do it in seconds," he mused, "I just need to get some information on someone, that's all." 

"Information from me is expensive, Mr. Whitemore." 

"I'm well aware. Where does your negotiation begin?" 

I let out a dry chuckle and looked at him. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" 

"Ten." 

"Million?" I mused. 

"Twenty," he shrugged. 

I watched him, lifting a hand to scratch my brow using my thumb as I bit back a laugh. "Desperate, aren't we? Mr. Torrance is in dire need of my help and he's only giving me fifteen." 

"Devon Torrance?" He frowned in confusion. "What does he need?" 

I slid my glass back to the bartender, gesturing for a refill. "Confidentiality keeps me alive, Mr. Whitemore. Ten and we have a deal." 

He held out a hand once again. 

I ignored it. "I don't make deals unless they're on paper. I'll send you the contract." 

He hummed in understanding and left. 

"Sir." I looked over at the bartender as he gestured to the glass. I nodded once and caught the glass as it slid over the counter to me. 

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