Page 22 of Knotted

“Felix,” the wavy-haired guy says as he grabs a bright bluePost-it, scrawling something on it. “I’m the unlucky bastard stuck covering all things sports—which I hate, by the way.”

Confused, I ask, “So, why do you do it?”

He shrugs casually. “Because I get to interview all the hottest men in town,” he purrs, handing me the note with a smirk.

I look down:Fortuna audaces iuvat.I can’t help but smile. “Fortune favors the bold.”

“Exactly,” he says, his smirk deepening. “Words to live by.”

Anabelle giggles. “See? The two of us are flanked by looks and brains.”

“So, what happened to Roxie?” I ask.

Anabelle leans in, lowering her voice just enough to make it feel like we’re sharing a secret. “She was just linked to a high-profile divorce. Word is, she wasn’t just reporting on the affair—shewasthe affair.”

“Thank God she’s gone,” Felix chimes in, rolling his eyes. “If I had to hear that fake sultry voice one more time...‘Oh,Mr. Richards,’” he huffs, mimicking her in a raspy tone.

My stomach drops as I catch a glimpse of Mr. Richards striding away, his presence looming even from across the room. “Her affair was with the boss?”

“Can anyone say home wrecker?” Anabelle rolls her eyes, her voice laced with disdain. “Rumor has it, if Wyld Child doesn’t pull off a big story soon, this paper’s going to disappear faster than Houdini.”

My pulse quickens, the space around me shifting from opportunity to quicksand. “That could really happen? Seriously, I just got this job.”

Scoop waves a hand over the desk, dark amusement dancingin his eyes. “Hence why we call the desk cursed. You’re the fourth one to sit there in as many years.”

Felix pats my hand with a sympathetic smile. “Be brave, girl. I’ll grab some sage at lunch.” He nods toward my laptop. “And for the love of God, make sure that thing works. Roxie blamed it for every missed deadline and crappy piece of work she churned out.”

Taking a deep breath, I finally sit down, powering up the laptop that’s staring me down like it knows I’m already in over my head. The screen flickers to life, and I dive into my email using the code they gave me at orientation.

The first email is the usual welcome schpiel, but the next subject line stops me in my tracks:Assignment.There it is, clear as day, in black and white. My first official writing gig addressed [email protected].

My heart flutters, a rush of nerves colliding with pure excitement and just enough fear to keep me grounded. This is it—it’s happening—I’m about to take Manhattan by storm. One irresistibly charming human interest story at a time.

All right,Sydney Sun?—

Let’s see what you’ve got. Start with your man crush’s coffee recipe, and write me a human interest piece about him. Not thereal him. An imaginary version of him so I can see your writing chops.

Make him the perfect man with anoh-so-obtainable guy-next-doorvibe. Irresistible.

Give in to your dark side, kid. And have it on my desk by ten.

Wyld Child

Seriously? He really goes by that?

I glance at the clock and—shit. Forty-five minutes. My fingers drum on the desk, the image of Bishop’s piercing blue eyes and that infuriatingly sexy smile flash through my mind. And instead of fighting it like I usually do, I do the opposite.

This time, I give in.

I’ve devoured enough scorching romance novels to know exactly what makes a man irresistible. Rugged good looks, pecs that practically rip through his shirt, that perfect mix of sexy yet cuddles with kids and brings you breakfast in bed.

I’m not sure if I’m crafting every woman’s fantasy or just indulging in mine, but for this little exercise, Brian Bishop is about to become pure Alpha porn.

And not the total a-hole he is in real life.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, driven by my imagination on overdrive and a few vivid memories of him. There’s no time to waste, no hesitation—just pure, unfiltered creativity pouring into every word.

Reimagining Brian as the man he should be is both cathartic and, oddly enough, a turn-on.

---