Page 58
That's how I work.
Layla Hawthorne is simply another variable.
One I intend to understand completely.
Thirty days should be more than enough.
My intercom buzzes.
I glance toward it.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Knight?”
Myrna.
“Yes?”
“Layla Hawthorne is here.”
Everything inside me turns to steel.
Except that's a fucking lie.
Because beneath the control, anticipation erupts.
Hot.
Immediate.
Almost volcanic.
She's here.
She came.
Which means she didn't throw my NDA into the nearest fireplace.
It doesn't mean she's agreed.
She could be here to tell me personally to shove my proposal up my billionaire ass.
Knowing what I've learned about her, that's entirely possible.
My pulse kicks anyway.
Ridiculous.
I don't get excited about meetings.
People wait months to get on my calendar.
CEOs fly across oceans for fifteen minutes of my time.
Heads of companies rehearse before walking through that door.
And I'm standing here wondering whether Layla Hawthorne came to say yes.
