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His rules.
Mitchell Knight thinks he's figured out exactly how to handle me.
Adorable.
“He thinks thirty days gives him control over the story,” I continue. “What it actually gives me is thirty days to watch him.”
“Layla—”
“Every move. Every meeting they'll let me into. Every reaction. Every person he trusts. Everything he avoids talking about. Everything he thinks isn't important enough to hide.”
I smile.
“I'll be watching that man like a hawk.”
“You sound alarmingly excited.”
“I am excited. Do you understand what kind of access this is?”
“Oh, I understand.”
“No journalist gets near Mitchell Knight. He barely gives quotes. And he's offering me thirty days inside his life.”
“Which should make you ask why.”
My smile fades. There it is. The question that's been scratching at the back of my brain since he slid that NDA across his desk.
“I know.”
“Men like Mitchell Knight don't wake up one morning and decide transparency sounds fun.”
“I know.”
“And he definitely didn't pick you randomly.”
That sends a strange little shiver through me. I don't like it. Mostly because some stupid part of me likes it far too much.
“He wants something.”
“Obviously.”
“The question is what?”
“And you're planning to find out.”
“Absolutely.”
Cat sighs.
“Send me the NDA.”
“Already scanned it.”
“Of course you did.”
“I want legal on it first thing.”
“I'll wake Jeremy up now.”
