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That fucking smile.

My chest tightens. Tell her.

Now.

I could.

The door is closed.

We're alone.

I could walk around this desk, sit her down, and explain everything before another second passes.

Layla, there's something you need to know about why I offered you the thirty days.

Simple.

Then I imagine that smile disappearing.

Not permanently.

But maybe.

And fuck.

I’m fucked.

“Rovers records?” she asks.

The moment passes.

Coward.

“What about them?”

“How much access?”

“As much as we agreed.”

Her brows lift.

“Financials?”

“Within the agreed period and scope.”

“Original acquisition documents?”

I hesitate. Her reporter eyes sharpen immediately.

Goddammit.

“Relevant portions.”

“That sounds suspiciously like billionaire bullshit.”

“It is carefully negotiated billionaire bullshit.”

She smiles again.