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“Then you won't mind telling me.”

I close my eyes.

“I said I don’t sleep with sources. And he said that if he ever had me in his bed, we wouldn't be sleeping.”

Another beat of absolute silence. Then Cat starts laughing so hard I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

“It's not funny!”

“Oh my God. Layla.”

“He was screwing with me.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure he'd like to be screwing with you.”

“Catherine!”

“Tell me again how this man doesn't want to fuck you.”

I get up and start pacing.

“First off, I am not the kind of woman who appeals to men like Mitchell Knight!”

“Bullshit.”

“And second,” I continue, “this isn't about sex.”

“Maybe not for you.”

“Not for him either.”

“Did we just hear the same story?”

“He wants control.”

That quiets her.

Finally.

I stop beside the window.

“He wants me at his beck and call for thirty days so he can feed me whatever carefully curated shit he thinks I'll swallow. He wants to control what I see, who I speak to, what questions get answered, and then have his people involved in the final story.”

Cat is silent for a moment.

“And you're considering it.”

“Of course I'm considering it.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn't know me.”

I look down at the folder I carried in from the car.

The NDA.

His offer.