Munching on my cereals, I concentrated on my essay, which was due the following Sunday. Today's class was just like any other day; to put it simply, it was dull. I was desperate to return to the mansion as soon as possible. Fortunately, the last class I had was free because our professor was away for an emergency, so I was able to return much earlier than expected.
I sigh before putting down my pen and stretching my back muscles, which relieved me. I've been working on this for two hours and think I deserve a break. I rose from my position on the bed, where I had curled up like a cocoon wrapped in a blanket. I had forgotten that I needed to do laundry today, so I went to gather all of the clothes that needed to be washed. At the very least, I can make my break productive by doing some cleaning.
Before leaving my room and going down the stairs, I gathered a bunch of my dirty clothes and threw them in a basket. I looked around the living room, expecting to see Logan, but he wasn't there. I'm not sure why it bothered me, but it did. I wanted to express my gratitude for what he did last night. Even though I thanked him verbally the day before, I wanted to express my gratitude in other ways. I am the type of person who does not like to accept help from others, but if I do, my immediate goal is to repay them. Perhaps I should cook for him? But isn't that what I'm already doing?
My thoughts were interrupted when I entered the utility room and saw Logan standing there, hands scratching the back of his head in an irritated manner. Logan was standing in front of one of the large washing machines that had been installed into the wall, with a basket of clothes near his feet and his fingers fumbling with the machine's settings.
I placed my basket on the table in the center of the room, which caused him to turn around and face me.
"Do you require assistance?" I asked him, a little hesitantly. This is the end of the issue. Maybe if I help him with his laundry, it'll be like I'm thanking him. He glanced at my laundry basket before turning to face me.
He asked, "Are you doing laundry?" Something told me he doesn't like being helped around. Finally, I can relate to him in at least one way.
"I am, indeed. If you want, I can do yours as well." I tried to be as polite as possible while waiting for his response. I could see him thinking about my words in his head, and he finally gave me a slight nod, which made me smile. I double-checked the system's settings and set the timer for an hour, as well as the drier option. Before turning to ask him about the washing materials and cleaners, I double-checked that the water supply was properly connected. He directed my attention to the third cabinet, where I discovered all of the washing powders and fabric softeners. Along with my dirty clothes, I always bring my favorite cleaning products. I carefully take out all of the necessities needed and add them to the machine in the required compartments.
"If Mom had been willing to keep another housemaid after Charles, this would not have happened. You didn't have to do all of this work as well." From behind me, I heard him speak. I turn around to see him staring at me intently. I was so focused on what I was doing that I forgot he was right beside me.
"It's not a big deal, you know. I can do it myself; in fact, I enjoy doing household chores." I told him. I was feeling a little awkward with how he was studying me. He was about to open his mouth to speak when his phone rang in his pocket. He answered the phone and walked to the doorway, but he stopped to look at me. He gave a slight nod and mouthed something before exiting the room. Did he just say Thank you? To say I was surprised was an understatement. Maybe I should do this more often if it means I'll gain some respect here. I went back to work without much thought. I loaded all of his clothes into one machine and mine into another, started the machine, double-checked the timer, and exited the room with my basket.
****
I waited impatiently in my room for Logan to return home from work. I'd left my door open so I could hear him when he came upstairs to his room. He left four hours ago for an important meeting and asked me to put all of his clothes on his bed when he returned. I had no idea that attempting to assist him would backfire. By bad, I mean I screwed up horribly, and I have no idea how Logan would react now.
As on time, I hear his voice in the hallway approaching the stairs. I can now clearly hear what he was talking about since the house was so silent, and the only voice was from his throat. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he is furious with whoever was on the other end of the line. Great, he's already irritated, and what will he say if I show him what I've done?
I prepare myself and calm my nerves before leaving my room when I notice Logan walking towards his room. I watch him as he enters his room, aggressively loosening his tie and kicking the door shut. I stood outside his door for a solid 5 minutes, trying to keep my nerves in check. I wait for two minutes after I hear him stop shouting before gathering my courage and knocking on his door. I heard some shuffling before the door opened to reveal Logan, who is once again shirtless. Why is this happening all the time? I mentally smack myself and turn to face him, silently gulping.
"What is it?" I could tell he was trying to sound polite despite the fact that he looked like he had been through a sandstorm or something.
"I-I put all of your clothes on your bed," I said nervously.
"I noticed that. If you're looking for a thank you, I believe I've already said it." He sounded annoyed, and I mentally prepared myself for whatever was going to happen next.
"No, it isn't that. "I-I'm sorry." I looked at him with regret. He looked at me, perplexed.
"For what?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.
"I sincerely apologize for tinting your white shirt and b-burning your p-pants," I say it all in one breath, close my eyes, and wait for the repercussion. When I heard silence, I opened one eye to see him hurrying towards the neatly ironed pile of clothes. He spread them out to distinguish his shirt and pants. As soon as he saw the damage I had caused, he began clenching his fist in rage.
"Logan, I didn't do it on purpose. I swear. I had no idea your black T-shirt would color bleed." He turned to give me an ice-cold stare that made me flinch visibly.
"Shut up and get out," he gritted out. But I didn't listen to him and continued to make excuses.
"I-I considered making amends to you by ironing all the other clothes, but while I was ironing your pants, I received a call from Scarlet and went to take it. But when I c-came back, it was a little burned." I expected him to lash out at me, but he remained silent, his fists clenched tightly. I'm sure he won't have any trouble purchasing another shirt and pair of pants. He's a millionaire, after all. But I must confess what I did. In any case, he is enraged by my actions. Perhaps it was his favorite shirt, and a rare one at that, and that's why he's so upset.
"I'm so sorry. I had no idea it would turn out this way," I give him my best puppy dog eyes, but he doesn't seem to budge.
"If you don't know-how, you should have kept your mouth shut and done nothing. Always causing problems for others." His final line broke my heart. Perhaps I should have done just that. I should not have attempted to pay him back. So much for attempting to be civil to one another. My eyes welled up with tears, but I didn't cry. I bowed my head and tried to think of something that might provide a solution to this problem.
"'I'm sorry. I know it's all my fault, Logan, but I'll do anything to make it up to you." He seemed surprised by what I said.
"Wait, what did you just say?" I saw his rage fade away, only to be replaced by something else on his face.
"That I would do anything for you as punishment for what I've done, but only if you wanted meto." I had no idea how serious I was getting into it. He looked at me for a moment before a smug expression appeared on his face. That does not appear to be a good situation. What exactly is he up to?
"All right, love, I'd like to punish you for what you've done." Because of how creepy he sounds, my mouth opens. What is he thinking?
*****
After three hours of waiting, I received the anticipated knock on my bedroom door. Logan hasn't contacted me since he said he would assign my punishment three hours ago. Since then, I've been pacing in my bedroom all evening, trying to come up with all the different ways he could punish me.
When I opened the door, Logan was standing in the doorway, a towel around his neck. As soon as his gaze locked with mine, a smirk crept across his lips, and I knew he wasn't going soft on me.
"I need you to shave my beard," he explained. My mouth dropped open, hoping I had misheard.
"Sorry?" I inquired, perplexed.
"I.need.you.to.shave.for.me," he said slowly, as if to a four-year-old, "as your first punishment." In a surprise, I blinked at him. I expected him to ask me to make a toast for him, do his office work, and clean his room, but shaving? In a million years, no way.
"Follow me," he says, not bothering to wait for my brain to accept his punishment. "What are you looking forward to? "Come on," Logan said from a distance, seeing that I hadn't moved from my position.
I reluctantly followed him to his room. He was standing near his restroom, arms crossed, waiting for me.
"Finally," he mumbled, motioning for me to go first into his bathroom. I took a look around his bathroom, taking in the atmosphere. I didn't have the pleasure of inspecting his room last week because he was sick. It is a luxurious bathroom with white marble tiles that give it a spacious appearance. The vessel-shaped bathroom basin was attached to the vanity, which had three cabinets. There is also a glass shower cubicle in the room, as well as a rectangular-shaped bathtub. If it were up to me, I would never leave this room.
Logan walked over to the bathroom cabinet and took a clean razor, Truman's shaving cream, two small hand towels, and a shave brush. When I noticed an electric razor near where he took the above items, I frowned.
"You have an electric shaver. So, what's the point of this hand method?" I asked and he turned his head to look at me, his eyes twinkling with mischievousness.
"My punishments, my rules" I rolled my eyes at his response, Whatever! I mean, how bad could it get?
Logan tossed his T-shirt to the hamper, his nicely sculpted chest and abs making my heart and hormones race.
"Is it really necessary?" I inquired, a little nervously.
"What is required?"
"For you to remove your shirt"
He grinned. "No, this is much better. Is there anything bothering you?" He inquired, teasingly.
"No, absolutely not," I gritted out. Everything about him being shirtless bothers me, but I'm not going to tell him and give him the satisfaction he seeks.
"Then I don't see any problem here," he says, his eyes daring me to disagree. I nodded, biting the insides of my cheeks, and motioned for him to take a seat near the basin. Logan sat on a chair in front of the basin, his head cocked. I was standing next to him, concentrating on his face. I used the brush to lather the shaving cream on his neck and beard area in a circular motion.
I scraped the hair on his skin gently with the blade, taking care not to apply too much pressure. I knew how to do it because I had done it before for my father. I remembered shaving for him during the holidays and a smile formed on my lips.
Logan appears relaxed and unconcerned about his skin. I mean, I could sever his skin if I wanted to. My hair had fallen out of my bun, almost covering my left eye. Because my hands were tied, I tried shaking my head to move it, but the stupid hair was obstinate. Then I felt his hand move up to my face.
I fixed my gaze on him as he gently brushed my hair away from my eyes and tucked it behind my ear, his fingers lightly grazing the skin on my neck. I couldn't take my gaze away from his hypnotic gaze, so a shiver ran down my spine. My hands stopped working about halfway through, the blade resting on his chin.
Everything else seemed to fade away, the water running from the tap into the basin, the quiet sound of the bathroom exhaust fan, everything faded away, and all I could see was him, his eyes roaming my face as if studying my features, and his fingers still resting on my collarbone.
His wandering eyes came to a halt on my lips, and he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. I quickly averted my gaze, clearing my throat. I know that if I stare too long into his eyes, we'll both do something we'll later regret.
Logan quickly drew his hand away, looking everywhere but at me. My heart was still pounding wildly in my chest as I continued to work on his face. The tension in the room grew, and all I wanted was for it to be over so I could go back to my room. I was done after another agonizing twenty minutes. As I rinsed the razor and brush, I watched him apply the shave lotion by himself.
"Is there anything else?" I asked, wiping my dripping wet hands with the towel.
"Nothing for today," he said before looking me in the eyes. "I hope you get a good night's sleep," he added, but his smirk made me suspicious. He's getting ready to do something that will make me regret washing his clothes.
*****
"You've got to be kidding me," I grumbled as I stared at the man in front of me carrying a bucket of water and a mug.
"What are you doing to me?" I whined, stomping my feet on the ground like a child. His only response was, "You asked for this, love," which almost made me grab the bucket from him and pour the entire contents over his head.
"I have a class in two hours, and washing this will take me at least three hours," I grumbled.
"Then you'd better hurry up."
Logan Watson, who agreed to play the devil and come to torture me, decided to wake me up at 5 a.m. by banging on the door and asked, no, compelled me to go jogging with him as my second punishment. I, being me, refused at first and tried to turn him off, but he, being the astute businessman, knew all my ploys and was one step ahead of me. He threatened me that if I did not comply with my next two punishments, he would turn off the entire power in my room. He must have sensed that my attempting to do his laundry was a way of repaying him for the assistance he provided that night. I'm not sure how he got that because I never told him my intention. Was it really that obvious? He now knows I'm afraid of the dark. I had no idea he'd turn that against me. What a complete jerk.
As my third and final punishment, he took one of the dirtiest cars in his garage, a big black jeep, and asked me to wash it as soon as we got home from the park. But he didn't stop there; he decided to up the ante by handing me a bucket of water and soap instead of a massive pipe that peacefully hangs on a wall. Oh my God, why did I even decide to wash my clothes yesterday, and why the hell did I think doing a good deed for Logan would not backfire?
'You burned his work pants,' my amazing inner thought said, and I immediately blocked it.
"Hurry up," he motioned for me to begin working, and I huffed before snatching the bucket from his grasp. Someday! I'll make him suffer like I'm suffering now.
While scrubbing the dirt with the sponge, I was panting. Logan sat on the hood of his Lamborghini, watching and laughing at my misfortune. He also took advantage of the opportunity to point out the areas where I had neglected to clean properly. Jerk
"Stop whining, you asked for this yesterday," he chuckled, and I glared at him.
"Do you realize you're a jerk?"
I gritted my teeth as he shrugged mischievously, "Heard worse than that babe."
I splashed the water at the car with all my might, some of my rage dissipating. We heard a beep from the buzzer attached near the garage while I was wiping the window clean, which means someone is waiting outside the gate, asking for entry. Before I heard a voice, I saw Logan unlock his phone.
"L, please open the gate. It's me, Natasha "
"Nat?" Logan was certainly surprised, and he pressed a button on his phone before the massive gate opened. A black Maserati appeared in front of us, driving down the circular driveway before coming to a halt.
A driver emerged from the driver's seat and dashed to the rear door, which he opened. The first thing I noticed was a gleaming heel, followed by a tall woman, her perfectly manicured nails resting on the top of the door. Her long jet black hair cascaded down her shoulder to her waist, she had high cheekbones, a slim body, and full lips. Her smile widened as she noticed Logan approaching, and she dashed to him as fast as her heels would allow on the gravel path. When they hugged, I felt a pang of pain in my heart.
Who is she?
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