Page 2 of Knotted

“Six weeks,” he corrects. “And it’s not the work you’ll hate,” Mark interjects. “It’s the women.”

“And women are a bad thing?” I ask, confused.

“They are when you’ve just landed on Manhattan's Top 10 Most Eligible Bachelor list.”

“I can handle myself around women,” I say, confident and assured.

“You think that now,” Zac says. “As a hero in jeans and a T-shirt, you’re catnip. In a suit, you’re crack cocaine.”

I scoff. “Having copious amounts of women clamoring for my attention? I think I’ll manage.”

Mark steeples his fingers, his gaze piercing. “No pressure, but you realize there’s $300 million on the line this month. We have four separate contracts with high-profile clients who don’t like too much attention.”

I rub a hand through my hair, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “I am the king of covert.”

“Is that why you’re preening?” Zac asks, eyebrow raised. “Practicing to be more covert?”

Mark crosses his arms, his gaze drilling into me. “Everyone will know who you are. If you sneeze, you’re on your deathbed. If you forgot your wallet, you’re declaring bankruptcy. If you even fart, they’ll record it.”

“Lucky for us, I’m a champion clencher.”

His jaw tightens, frustration rolling off him in waves. “I’m canceling the trip. Jess will have to understand.”

I spin around, locking eyes with him, my voice razor-sharp. “One”—I hold up a finger—“my sister will never understand. It’s like you don’t know Jess at all. And two”—I raise another finger—“I nearly died saving a dozen men and women, and you nearly died saving me. For fuck’s sake, carpe diem already. Let me help.”

I can tell by the look on his face he’s still not convinced, so I throw one more argument his way. “Besides, you and Jess have been through enough. We’re not letting the media win this one. Not on my watch.”

Mark’s eyes narrow, a storm brewing in his gaze. I can see the conflict warring within him, his jaw clenching as he weighs his options. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping in reluctant acceptance. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Zac sucks in a breath. “Worst-case scenario, I guess I could shave my beard and come back to the office.” He strokes his scruff thoughtfully, frowning.

I glare. “For your information, I do not need a safety blanket.”

“You’re a living, breathing PR nightmare in the making,” he counters.

“I’ll just lie low. Avoid headlines.”

Mark reclines back in his chair, hands casually laced behind his head. His smirk is all arrogance as he drops the bombshell. “Really? Because one of your first orders of business is an interview with Roxana Voss.”

Oh, fuck.

The one woman who’s been a thorn in my side since day one. She’s a bombshell, all legs for days and curves that could make a man forget his own name. But her obsession with me? She’s got more red flags than a parade.

The last thing I need is for her to proposition me—again—about moving in and “helping me around the house.” In the nude, no less. And she’s dead sure I’mthe oneand can’t wait to share a toothbrush with me.

Big, blaring warnings on every level. I mean, who the hell shares a toothbrush?

Yeah, hard pass. I prefer my crazies at arm’s length. Or whatever’s detailed in a court-mandated restraining order.

“Right,” I say, forcing a casual tone. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll need tofigure it outsooner than you think,” Mark says, barely glancing up from his phone. “The Herald’s been chomping at the bit for an interview, and PR can’t blow them off any longer. I suggest you get a professional to help you with what to say.”

I stare at him, incredulous. “To talk with Roxie Voss? First of all”—I hold up a finger—“she’s a gossip columnist, not60 Minutes. And second”—I raise a second finger—“she’s been trying to get me into bed for years.” I lean in, my voice dropping lower. “I think I can have a simple conversation without a handler.”

Mark’s eyes flick to mine, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You also thought indecent exposure would get you a slap on the wrist, not a mug shot. Face it, a guy like you needs a script. Everything you say won’t just be used against you—it’ll be a meme before you can even blink.”

Zac leans against the wall, his grin widening. “Oh, I can see it now.When he calls you baby but can’t remember your name, with a confused Travolta meme plastered right next to it.”

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