More Than A Favor (Elaine and Logan) novel Chapter 3

I couldn't stop thinking about the question all day. It lingered in the back of my mind, unanswered, gnawing at me. By the time Logan came to pick me up that afternoon, I still didn't know what I wanted to do.

And yet, I followed him anyway. Habit was a terrifying thing. Ten years was all it took to tether me to this routine—him, the Mercer Estate, and the unspoken understanding that I would always be there.

"Why are you so quiet?" he asked, glancing at me as he drove. He must have noticed my mood.

I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the strap of my bag. Finally, I worked up the courage to say, "Logan, maybe we should—"

Before I could finish, his phone rang.

The car display lit up with an unlisted number. I saw his grip tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening.

It wasn't like him to look nervous.

I turned to study his face, but his expression was unreadable. Without a word, he tapped the screen, switching the call to Bluetooth. "Hello. … Yeah, I'm on my way."

The call was brief, but his voice was clipped, his tone unnaturally tense.

When it ended, he glanced at me, his jaw tight. "Elaine, something urgent came up. I can't take you home."

I knew what he was going to say before he said it. It wasn't the first time. Still, foolishly, I'd hoped he'd at least take me back before running off.

My chest ached, but I forced myself to keep my voice steady. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his gaze shifted to the road ahead as he pulled into a temporary parking spot. "Get off here and grab a taxi," he said, his tone brisk.

I stared at him, searching for some kind of explanation, but he offered none. He didn't even bother to lie.

What could I say to that? Begging for answers would only humiliate me further.

"Text me when you get home," he added, already reaching for the gearshift.

I nodded stiffly, clutching my backpack as I climbed out of the car.

The cool air hit my face as I stood on the sidewalk, watching his car merge back into traffic. He didn't look back.

I already knew. From the call to his unwillingness to explain, I could feel it—something wasn't right. But I didn't ask. I didn't want to peel back the thin, fragile layer of denial that kept me sane.

"Be careful on your way home," he called out the window before speeding off.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty stretch of road where his car had disappeared. My chest felt hollow, my feet rooted to the spot.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, snapping me out of my thoughts. It was Nora, my best friend.

"Elaine, where are you? Want to grab dinner?"

Nora was a gynecologist, sharp-tongued and brilliant. She never minced words, which was exactly what I needed right now.

"Sure," I said without hesitation.