Page 27 of Knotted

With a blatant disregard for manners, self-respect, or good hygiene, he picks something out of his teeth with a paperclip. “Nope.”

Frustration bubbles up, but I know when I’m outmatched. I’ve got two choices: quit on the spot or stomp back to my desk and at least see what this so-called assignment is.

He’s about to take another bite of his sandwich when he looks up, clearly annoyed. “You’re still here?”

Argh.

Frazzled and doing my best to ignore the curious glances from my coworkers, I make my way back to my desk. As promised, the email is sitting there, taunting me. I open it with a mix of dread and a solid dose of what the actual fuck.

Assignment: The Secret Lives of Billionaires

Dumbfounded, I gape at the screen.

Billionaires? What do I know about billionaires? Maybe I’ll catch one grabbing a mocha frap at Starbucks. Or wedged uncomfortably close to me on the subway. Because, aside from knowing they exist—thanks in part to my Harry Potter obsession—I’m totally out of my depth.

My phone buzzes, jolting me out of my daze. The name TayTay flashes on the screen, paired with a photo of her, mime-like and dramatically mimickingpick up the phone.

I answer, trying to sound normal with my heart lodged in my throat. “Hey, Tay.”

“Okay, I only have a second, so don’t hate me.”

“Hate you?”

“My flight got delayed, and I know I said I’d be back today...”

Translation: she hooked up with some guy and is now measuring his cock to see if he’s true husband material.

Brimming with excitement, Taylor’s going on and on, speed-talking a mile a minute, while I’m barely catching half of it. “So, I should be back soon...”

And I should be listening. I really should. But my eyes fly to a new email that just landed in my inbox.

“Taylor, I have to go.”

“Wait! Can you cover one more shift for me? Please?”

“Sure,” I mutter, still reeling. “When?”

“Tonight. Salvatore’s. Thanks, girl. You’re the best!” She hangs up before I can even respond because...well, shit.

Between my insane assignment and Taylor’s relentlesspursuit of dick, I guess I’ll be spending the evening scouting for billionaires while servingpappardelle al raguand asking if they want extra breadsticks.

Could this day get any worse?

Oh, right. It can. And it just did.

Because the email staring me down is from the last person I ever expected to hear from. Ever.

Brian fucking Bishop.

My finger hovers over the screen, my heart pounding like a war drum, before I finally gather the nerve to open it.

Four words, straightforward and to the point.

We need to talk.

CHAPTER 10

Brian

---