That jealousy, that flash of rage—it’s not me. I’ve spent years keeping my emotions locked down, and one look at Miles with Kyle fucking Knox has me unraveling.
Mixing business with pleasure is a rookie mistake, and I’m no rookie.
I check the tracker—Miles is still at his desk, oblivious to my visit.
Good. I need space to think, to reset.
But the boy is back under suspicion, no question.
That conversation with Kyle looked too close for comfort, and until I know what he’s playing at, I can’t trust him. Cole’s warning from last night echoes:We don’t know his role in this yet.He’s right. Miles could be a pawn, a player, or just naive, but I can’t let my feelings cloud my judgment again. I won’t. He’s a mission, a potential threat, and I need to treat him like one, not some Little I’m falling for.
I cross the street, settling back on the bench with a view of the Knox & Rain building.
My phone buzzes—a text from Cole:
COLE: Rodrygo’s meeting with Knox again tonight. Got a lead on their next move. More intel expected shortly.
I grit my teeth and curse myself for losing it in the office and allowing my feelings to dictate my movements. I should have watched for longer, seen what else I could have picked up.
Screw it, what’s done is done.
My only hope is that Miles isn’t who my worst nightmares are telling me he might be…
Chapter 15
Miles
“Phew, another totally normal workday,” I say, shaking my head. “Yeah, right.”
The city’s evening pulse thrums around me as I step out of the Knox & Rain office, my backpack slung over one shoulder.
The air’s cool, the sky a bruised purple, and I’m bone-tired but buzzing with a strange mix of relief and unease.
Today was a minefield—those irregular files on Obsidian Ventures, the cryptic payments, the nagging doubt Travis planted about my firm.
Plus there wasthatconversation with Kyle Knox.
I clutch my phone, the screenshots burning a hole in my pocket, and head for Travis’s apartment. Despite everything—the tracker in my waistband, the death threat, the cartel mess—I’m happy at the thought of seeing him.
His stern Daddy vibe, that gentle way he readThe Velveteen Rabbitlast night, it’s got me thinking about things I don’t want to admit to be thinking about—not even to myself.
I push open the door to his sleek, sparse apartment, the city’s glow filtering through the massive windows. Travis’s on the couch, his laptop open, a glass of whisky in his hand.
Hmmm.
Where’s my welcome?
Something’s not quite right…
His jaw’s tight, his eyes cold, and my heart skips as I drop my bag and move toward him, arms open for a hug.
“Hey, I’m back,” I say, my voice light, expecting that warm Daddy spark, but already suspecting that something’s up.
But Travis doesn’t move.
His gaze flicks to me, hard and unyielding, and he leans back, crossing his arms. No hug, no smile, just a wall of ice. My arms drop, and a knot forms in my stomach.
“What’s wrong?” I demand, my voice sharp with a slightly indignant tone. “You’re acting like I kicked your puppy.”
