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Again. And again. And⁠—

Nope. We're so not counting.

Truth is, I’ve never done this kind of thing before.

Sex? Sure. I wasn’t a virgin when we met.

But multiple rounds a night of dirty, sweaty, heart-pounding, earth-shattering sex? Never before. Not until him.

What does it mean? Hard to tell. Because we haven’t talked about it. In fact, Mitchell and I haven't actually seen much of each other during the day.

He's working. I'm working.

The thirty-day agreement is still very much in effect, and despite the fact that I'm sleeping with the subject of my investigation—which sounds even worse when I put it like that—I haven't forgotten why I'm here.

I'm supposed to be learning who Mitchell Knight really is.

The problem is, the more I learn, the less certain I am that the man I'm discovering has anything to do with the story I thought I was chasing.

Mitchell has given me access to nearly everything I've asked for.

Meetings.

Schedules.

Rovers information.

Knight Global.

People.

Places.

Records within the limits our lawyers negotiated.

And when he needs to disappear into whatever billionaire black hole consumes him for twelve hours at a time, he's given me a place to work.

His library.

Because, yes, Mitchell Knight has an actual library in his mansion.

And I don’t mean a room with a couple of bookshelves and an uncomfortable chair that rich people call a library because it makes them sound sophisticated.

A library library.

Floor-to-ceiling shelves.

Dark wood.

Huge windows.

Leather chairs that practically beg you to curl up in them.

Thousands of books.

And—I cannot emphasize the importance of this enough—a rolling ladder.

The first time I saw it, I lasted approximately four minutes. Maybe three.