Neat (Becker Brothers, #2)(19)

“Yes, sir,” Logan agreed. “I thou—”

“I don’t need any more excuses,” Mac said, holding up a hand to silence him.

“Uncle Mac,” I said, stepping in to defend Logan. It was my mess, after all. “This wasn’t his fault. I insisted on leading the tour. I know more about this place than almost anyone, and I didn’t want to shadow. I was bored.”

“Oh no,” my uncle cried dramatically, hands framing his face. “You were bored? Well, we can’t have that.”

“You’ve made your point,” I deadpanned.

“Have I?” He took a step toward me then, and his eyes slipped to my navel, brows screwing together. “What in the hell are you wearing?” He turned on Logan again. “You let her lead a tour dressed like this?”

Logan opened his mouth, but just shut it again without responding.

I knew it was taking everything he had to not throw me under the bus.

I knew it was taking everything in him to take that verbal scolding from my uncle without standing up for himself.

“Look, I don’t have time to listen to whatever it is that’s going on here,” Uncle Mac continued, gesturing between me and Logan. “But you just lost us money, and I have zero tolerance for that. Get your shit together and don’t ever let me hear about someone in your group requesting a refund ever again. Understood?”

Logan and I both nodded, Logan’s eyes on the floor and mine on his, begging him to look at me.

“Good.” Mac glanced at Logan once more before heading toward the door, and he shook his head at me as he passed. “And for fuck’s sake, get her a proper uniform.”

I flinched when Mac left the office, slamming the door behind him and leaving me and Logan alone. I let out a long breath, shaking my head as I crossed the space between us.

“I’m so sorry, Logan. You were right, I wasn’t ready to—”

“I think we’re done for the day, Mallory,” he said, not giving me so much as a glance as he rounded his desk and took a seat, a frustrating sigh leaving his lips.

I should have left it alone, but I just stood there, waiting.

Logan picked a pen out of the cylinder on his desk, writing something on his clipboard and effectively ignoring the fact that I was still there.

“Logan, please. Talk to me.”

“About what?”

I scoffed. “Come on. I know what I did was immature, and I’m sorry. I just thou—”

“I know what you thought,” he said, slamming his pen down. He stood, finally meeting my gaze, and when he did, I wished he hadn’t.

His warm, hazel eyes were gone, replaced by a cool steel that I felt piercing me to my bones.

“You thought you knew everything. You thought my training plan was stupid, and that there was nothing I could teach you that you didn’t already know. You thought I took my job too seriously, and that you were too good to be here.”

My heart sank at my words being thrown back at me. “I didn’t mean—”

“You know, all this time I thought you were this intriguing girl,” he said, rolling his lips together before he continued. “I thought Mallory Scooter was an enigma. You were always this fascinating creature to me, because you were unlike anyone else in this town. I thought you were different, elevated, just… I don’t know. I couldn’t ever put my finger on it, but you were something I’d never experienced.”

Something happened then, a flip of my stomach, a flood of something warm and dizzying settling deep in my chest.

“Really?” I whispered.

“Really,” he said. His eyes searched mine, like he’d lost his train of thought, but in the next exhale, he flattened his lips and shook his head. “But after today, I know I was wrong. You’re just like everyone else. You have no regard for the people around you, you only think about Mallory and what serves her. So, thank you. Thank you for shattering the illusion I had of the mysterious Mallory Scooter. The veil has been lifted, along with the spell, and now I see you for exactly who you are.”

That sting I felt earlier tripled, and my eyes glossed over — not enough to leak actual tears, but enough for me to feel a cool rush of wind all the way down to my toes.

I swallowed, trying to hold my head high as Logan waited for me to respond.

But I didn’t.

What could I possibly say to that?

“Like I said, I think we’re done for the day,” he echoed, sitting back down and snatching his pen off the desk.

He started writing again, and I stood there — numb, ashamed — like a little kid put in her place. I wanted to apologize, but saying I was sorry felt just as foolish as my shirt did now. I’d gotten him in trouble, and he was pissed — he deserved to be. I wanted to make it right, but I didn’t even know where to start.

So, I left, tucking my tail between my legs like the dog I was, without another word.

There were too many emotions flooding through me as I made my way out of that distillery like a zombie. I barely remembered the drive home — only that I could barely breathe, could barely think, could barely remember why I’d been so set on leading that damn tour in the first place.

I needed to calm down, to go to the place where I could be alone, where I could work through what had happened and get a lasso around what the hell was happening to my emotions.