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Because Layla is still in my arms.

Still looking at me like I'm a man instead of a headline.

And I'm still fucking starving for her.

Only now I'm beginning to understand that my hunger has very little to do with sex.

Chapter 18

Layla

Okay, so I'm not entirely sure how I ended up in Mitchell Knight’s mansion back in Consequence—in his bedroom, actually.

Fine. That's a lie.

I know exactly how it happened.

There was a gala. An emerald-green dress. A billionaire looking at me like I was the only woman in Manhattan. A wall. And one extremely ill-advised yes.

After that, my supposedly professional working relationship with Mitchell Knight turned into something else entirely.

I'm just not sure what the hell that something is.

A week has passed since that night.

Seven days and nights.

And I've spent every single one of those nights in Mitchell's bed.

First in Manhattan.

Now back in Consequence.

So much for a one night stand. Though we never actually discussed that part.

There was no morning-after conversation where we sat across from each other over coffee and established new parameters. Which seems particularly ridiculous considering Mitchell Knight loves parameters.

Rules.

Plans.

Control.

The man probably has spreadsheets for his spreadsheets. Yet when it comes to whatever is happening between us?

Nothing.

He just kissed me the next night and carried me to his bedroom. And I just held on and kissed him back.

Somehow my suitcase migrated from the guest room to his bedroom without either of us officially acknowledging it.

That's probably fine. Totally normal. Very professional.

My editor would be so proud.

Do not sleep with your source.

Sorry, Cat.