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She blinks. I smile.

“That was a joke.”

“No, it wasn't.”

“No,” I agree.

So what if I take a personal interest in the people who work for me? Especially the ones in my vicinity.

She straightens.

Thank Christ.

“I mean it, Knight.”

“So do I.”

The humor leaves my voice.

“I didn't invite you into my life because I need favorable press, Miss Hawthorne. I own several media companies. If I wanted someone to write flattering bullshit about me, I could have it online before lunch.”

That shuts her up. Fast.

A new record.

“Then why me?”

There it is. The question beneath every other question.

I hold her gaze.

Because I think you're digging into my grandfather.

Because I want to know what you know.

Because keeping you close gives me a chance to control the damage before you can do it.

Because I saw you across a ballroom before I knew your name and haven't been able to get you out of my fucking head since.

None of those answers will do. So I give her the only one she needs.

“Because I researched you and you're good.”

She stills.

Interesting.

Compliments make her uncomfortable. That’s useful information.

“I've read your work,” I continue. “Watched several of your interviews.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“You went home and researched me?”

“I had people doing that before I left the gala.”