His Nanny Mate - Season 3 Episode 92

Ella

The restaurant loomed ahead, a tall edifice much like the first place Logan and I first officially ‘met-after our initial alleyway meeting, back when he thought I was a ‘peasant’.

The building’s height mirrored its reputation. It stood out distinctly against the city skyline, with its harsh gray reliefs and facades. It was a cold metal obelisk, much unlike the beautifully ornate buildings I had grown up surrounded by while growing up, but it had its own brutalist charm as well.

Behind the glass facade, I could see a sea of figures moving around. The street was lined with expensive sports cars, and men and women dressed in even more expensive dresses, tuxedos, watches, and jewelry were stepping out of them..

My heart raced as Logan and I stepped out of the car and joined them. The thumping of my heels against the pavement reminded me of the beats of a war drum, resonating with my rising anxiety.

Growing up, I had become used to events like. this. The red carpet was no stranger to me, nor was the flash of cameras. Years of practice and training had given me the uncanny ability to stop whatever I was doing, pose perfectly, smile for the camera, and then continue on my way with no second thought.

But this was different. Colder. There were no cameras, no red carpet. There was no doubt in my mind, either, that each and every one of these people was armed in some way, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if blood was shed tonight-either behind the scenes or out in the open, for everyone to spectate..

It was like walking into a den of lions, and for the first time in my life, I felt like a lone meerkat just waiting to be eaten.

I kept my face down, pulling my silky shawl tighter around my shoulders. The last thing I wanted was to be recognized. I could already imagine the outrage if my parents found out that I was walking into a mafia event on the arm of the son of one of the biggest mafia bosses.

“Don’t worry,” Logan whispered, sensing my trepidation as we approached the entrance. “No one here will spill the beans on your presence. We have rules.”

I glanced up at him, my eyebrows raised. “Rules?”

He smirked. “Remember how I told you about rule number one when we went shopping? Well, this is rule number two: “No snitching”.”

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“What do you mean?” I asked quietly, taking note of how closely I was walking beside Logan, as though he served as some sort of barrier against the other attendees.

“I mean,” he said, casually draping his arm around my shoulders, “everyone here is part of the mafia or some other criminal organization. They don’t give a shit if some billionaire’s daughter is here, and that’s if they even notice you-which they won’t. No offense.”

“None taken,” I said, feeling somewhat relieved. I couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the simplicity of it. But still, my gut twisted with unease. “Just to be safe, though, maybe you should call me by a different name.”

Logan laughed, that deep, rumbling laugh that I was starting to get used to. “Alright, what’ll it be?”

After a moment’s thought, I replied, “Dahlia.”

He tried, and failed, to suppress a grin. “Dahlia, huh? I like your style. It’s cute.”

My gaze turned sharp. “Don’t patronize me. This is important.”

His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Sure thing, Miss Dahlia.”

We headed inside, immediately being met with the soft hum of an elevator waiting for us. As it took us up, I felt the subtle shift beneath my feet. The world seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of us in that confined space.

“Now,” Logan said, turning to face me with his hands in his pockets, “a few more rules. Don’t ask any questions. Don’t get involved in other people’s business. And most importantly, for the love of all things holy, do not eavesdrop on other people’s conversations.”

“Most importantly?” I asked, cocking my head to the side. “It’s a party, Logan. I can’t help if I overhear other conversations-”

“That’s all well and good,” he said. He was leaning casually against the railing, but his eyes were stern. “But if you hear something, no you didn’t. If you see something, no you didn’t. If it doesn’t involve you, then it doesn’t exist. And as far as you’re concerned, absolutely nothing- aside from being by my side tonight-will involve you, if you stay out of trouble.”

I couldn’t help but scoff a little. The elevator floors ticked by rather quickly, but the building was so tall that we weren’t even halfway to our destination yet.

“Why the scoff?” Logan asked. I shrugged. “Staying out of trouble,” I replied. “It’s like you think I’m a rebellious teen.”

“Well?” Logan asked, smirking slightly. “Are you?”

“Not a teen, no,” I said, unable to deny the hint of mischief in my own voice. There was silence, but my mind was anything. but silent. Logan’s words struck me to my core. The thought of hearing or seeing unsavory things, and being completely unable to do anything about it, made my stomach churn a little.

But Logan was right: these were the rules. And if I wanted this evening to end well, if I wanted my real identity to stay hidden, then I had to follow them.

When the doors finally slid open, we were greeted by a lively scene. The large room. hummed with conversations, the soothing tones of a live band, and the occasional clink of glasses.

Waiters gracefully wove through the crowd, trays balanced with glasses of champagne and mouth-watering hors d’oeuvres. The atmosphere was heavy with cigar smoke, mingling with the light fragrances of various perfumes.

Despite my reservations, I couldn’t help but admit that there was something exciting about it. The energy, the opulence- it was all so different from my usual scene. There were business people here, just like my father’s events, but they were of a different ilk.

It was like flip sides of the same coin, one side was dark, and the other was light. This was the dark side.

Logan plucked two champagne flutes from a passing waiter’s tray, handing one to me. “You look tense. But I promise, once you get some alcohol in you, you’ll feel right at home,” he teased, clinking his glass against mine..

I took a hesitant sip, the bubbles tickling my throat and my nose. “And after that?” I challenged, arching an eyebrow. He smirked, drawing closer. “Then we dance.”

For a moment, Logan’s scent overwhelmed me. I felt an undeniable urge to kiss him, heard my wolf’s voice in my mind, begging me to close the distance between us. I loved it and hated it all at once, and something about the smoky and lively atmosphere made me want to give in to my urges.

“But first,” Logan said, stepping back and extending his elbow to me, “I need to mingle a little. So, hold onto me.”

I hesitated, my fingers barely grazing his arm. He seemed so solid, so real beneath the fabric of his suit, and that unnerved me a bit.

Seeing my reluctance, Logan’s eyes darkened. With a swift motion, he grabbed my hand and pressed it firmly against his bicep. My face heated up instantly, and I was acutely aware of every point of contact between us-the warmth of his skin, the texture of his suit, the steady rhythm of his heart.

“I said, hold on,” he murmured, his voice a low growl, reminding me of the wolf that lingered within.