Page 71 of Knotted

First, there’s Brian. My walking, talking contradiction. He’s everything I’ve ever despised and craved all rolled into one infuriatingly gorgeous package.

How is that even possible?

It’s as if every time we get closer, we’re on the verge of colliding—bright, white, and explosive. There’s no middle ground—either we crash and burn, or we ignite.

And then there’s the hand thing—what the hell was that about? He held it way too long for a guy who’s supposed to be married. Fake or not, labels still matter.

And yet, here I am, using every trick in my Sydney Sun arsenal to convince myself that my sins of deception aren’t nearly on par with his.

Then there’s theHerald—my so-called dream job turns out to be nothing more than a sandcastle.

And the sand? Kitty litter.

“What do you want?” Taylor asks softly.

Brian.

Whoa, where did that come from?

I press my face into the pillow, trying to push the thought away. “I want to write,” I mumble, my voice muffled. Then I lift my head, locking eyes with her. “But I want to write what I want to write.”

Taylor nods like she gets it—like she always has. She’s been my ride-or-die for so long that sometimes it feels like she knows me better than I know myself. “If it’s any consolation, they can take your laptop, your email, and yes, maybe even your street cred, but they can’t take your name.”

“What do you mean?”

“I set up every @SydneySun account for you. Not them. You own it. Completely.”

I blink, processing. “I do?” I chew on my lip, the thought of it sinking in. “But what if I don’t want to be @SydneySun anymore? What if they start dragging her name through the mud?”

“If you ever want to change it, we can,” she says, her voice all beautiful passion and rage. “We’ll tell every last follower to jump ship to your new account. Say it was hacked or whatever. You pick the name. I’ll handle the rest.”

Her words are a lifeline, and even though today’s drained me dry, I muster the strength to finally put an end to the Sydney Sun charade for good.

The fewer lies I have to unravel for Brian, the better.

I pull out my phone, eyes locked on the Instagram app, ready to say goodbye to @SydneySun, when a message from @MountainBoyNYC pops up.

It’s like no matter which way I turn, Karma’s always there, ready to have the last freaking word.

I click on the message, my heart doing a little flip in my chest like it always does with him.

@mountainboyNYC:“I need your help, Ms. Sun.”

“Anything,” I type back before I can think it through.

He replies almost instantly.

@mountainboyNYC:“I’m missing a watch. It doesn’t have a lot of street value, but it’s been with me for years. A gift from my sister. I’d like to offer a reward for its safe return. Maybe a full-page ad in theHerald?

I straighten in my seat, resolve tightening in my chest. “Taylor, I want to help him. I do. That watch means everything to him. But?—”

Before I can even finish, Taylor’s fingers are already flying across the keyboard.

@SydneySun:I’m in.

“What the hell, Taylor?” Panic flares up, my voice edging into disbelief. “I can’t pull this off! Did you miss the part where I quit theHerald? And I can’t crawl back. I don’t trust them. No way.”

She glances up, her expression deadpan. “Oh, right.” Then she pauses, thinking it over. “You don’t need theHerald. Printpapers are old-school. Great for a lazy Sunday with pancakes, but terrible for going viral. We need viral.”

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