Page 24 of The Darkest Knight

Butterflies skate along my insides, and then stop. I was expecting him to be …different. Warmer, maybe. After all, this is the same man who stayed by my side while I was at my worst. The same man who brought me water and sat vigil like he cared. But his tone is clipped, his gaze sharp, like none of that ever happened.

“Of course.” I struggle to keep my tone neutral. “What do you need?”

“Lingerie.” He says it without a hint of hesitation.

For a moment, I’m not sure I heard right. “I’m sorry?”

“Lingerie,” he repeats, casually. Maddeningly. “For Dina. Something from La Perla. Get something special—something she’ll like.”

The words hit me like a bucket of cold water. I struggle to keep my expression neutral. He’s never asked me to pick something out before. He always selects the item himself then has me collect it. “Okay,” I manage to say, and start typing something. I need to distract myself because he doesn’t seem to notice—or care—that I’m caught off guard. But then, for the briefest moment, I look up again, because he hasn’t moved. His eyes meet mine, and hold. I feel the world tilt on its side. And for a heartbeat, I think he’s about to say something more. Something that would explain this sudden coldness.

Just as quickly, the moment passes, and his walls slam down again. “Don’t take too long.” He straightens his tie. “If you’re busy, you can take a late lunch, but I need it done today.”

I blink at him, my hands tightening around the edge of my desk. “I’m in the middle of typing up the agenda for your meeting with your father this afternoon,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend.

“Fine.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Do it after that, then.”

He turns and walks away.

“And you haven’t told me her size, or her favorite color,” I call out, now that my brain manages to process the weight of his request.

He turns around, and his gaze is hard as stone. Almost like … like he’s annoyed at me. For Friday night. For making him be with me and take care of me.

I didn’t ask for that.

My chest feels tight, the warmth I’d been carrying since then is replaced by something colder, heavier.

“Y-you never ask me to pick anything,” I say. “She’s your girlfriend. You should pick the item for her. I’ll go and collect it.”

He retreats into his office, shutting the door behind him, and I wonder if any of that night was real. The concern, the kindness, the way he stayed with me when I needed someone the most? Or was it just a fleeting moment of decency he regrets now?

I try to focus on the screen in front of me. Whatever Friday night was, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he wants to forget it happened altogether.

A few seconds later, I get an email from him, with a link to an item he’s picked. It’s a burgundy bra and panties set, similar to the one Rory gave me.

Chapter 12

CARI

Christmas comes and goes.

Eliana and Bianca head home to spend the holidays with their families. I stay at Mom’s place for the week, soaking up every moment. Me, Mom, and Aunt Scarlett do what we can to have a good time—laughing, eating too much, watching sappy holiday movies in pajamas. I get a massive Christmas bonus—way bigger than in previous years—and make a mental note to ask Jett if he’s made a mistake. The thought of walking into his office makes my stomach churn, so I let it slide for now.

That last week at work before we shut down for the holidays, things were weird between me and Jett. I kept my distance from him. I kept my head down and focused on work, and there was plenty of it. I will be relieved when this Vanhelm deal is done and dusted.

This deal is taking its toll on him. I’ve overheard arguments between him and his father. Paul Knight doesn’t trust Jett to close it—that much is clear.

But I forget all about work for now.

Mom’s responding well to her new treatment, so I let myself have hope. I need hope.

The new year comes, and I move back to my apartment. On New Year’s Eve, Eliana, Bianca, and I hit the city. Bianca’s boyfriend, who has music industry connections, snagged us tickets to a rooftop bar party with private viewing areas of the Times Square ball drop. We dance for hours at a club, then freeze our way through the evening, crammed shoulder to shoulder with the world. We drink cocktails in the glow of the city lights, watching the clock tick down to midnight.

I feel good. Hopeful. Like maybe this year will be different.

A few days later I return to work.

I should be refreshed, but walking into the office feels like a step into a boxing ring. I’m bracing for something, though I don’t know what. Jett mercifully stays out of my way. His office door is closed all morning, and I assume he’s grinding through the final stages of the deal, going over everything with a fine-tooth comb. It’s due to be signed soon, and missing anything now could be catastrophic.

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