#Chapter 41: Sweet Goodnight

Emily “This place does luxury picnics. Private chefs. Press exclusives if we want them,” Logan said, sliding the portfolio across the counter. It featured a glossy estate overlooking a lake, all manicured gardens and glass pavilions. It looked exactly like something his circle would devour—visibly expensive and painfully impersonal. I didn’t even pretend to look at it. “You want to stage another performance,” I said flatly. He arched a brow. “You think everything I do is staged?” I glanced at the proposal again. “When there’s a photographer assigned before the location is picked, yes.” Logan exhaled slowly through his nose. “Fine. Then pick something else.” My fingers paused over the edge of the folder. I expected him to argue. To insist. But his tone wasn’t irritated. It was… curious. “You want me to choose?” “I want it to feel real,” he said, then added, after a beat, “Or at least not feel hollow.” So I picked a place. And three hours later, we were pulling t