Ella
The laughter from Logan was unexpected—a short burst, barely audible over the ambient hum of the bar's patrons.
“You’re very funny, Ella,” he said, shaking his head.
I sat up straighter, leveling Logan with an icy stare. “I’m dead serious, Logan.”
His blue eyes bore into mine, trying to gauge if I was joking. “You? A gun?”
“Yes,” I replied, unwavering. “Growing up, my father made sure I took shooting lessons. For self-defense. Your bodyguard has an extra pistol, doesn't he?”
Logan’s expression shifted from amusement to contemplation. “You truly think you can handle it?”
“I wouldn’t be asking if I couldn’t.”
He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Alright. But you’ll have to prove yourself first.”
“Prove myself how?” I laughed, looking aroun
