Page 6 of Billionaire Wolf Needs a Writer

I couldn’t help but laugh.“Sorry to disappoint.I’m not exactly the ‘sit quietly and nod’ type.”

He grunted, but the corner of his mouth twitched again, like he was fighting a smile.“I’m starting to see that.”

I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of triumph.I was getting to him.“Good,” I said, meeting his gaze.“Because if you wanted a yes-man, you hired the wrong writer.”

He studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.Then he leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.“Alright, Hayes.Let’s see if you can keep up.Next question.”

I smiled, feeling a flicker of triumph.“What’s the one thing you’ve never told anyone about your soccer career?”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought he might shut me down.But then he sighed, running a hand through his hair before he leaned back in his chair.“Fine.But if this ends up in some tabloid, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

“Deal,” I said, leaning forward, my pen ready.“Spill.”

He hesitated, his gaze distant, like he was weighing his words.“There was a game, where I played with a broken rib.The team didn’t know.The press didn’t know.I didn’t even tell my coach.”

I blinked, surprised.“Why not?”

“Because we needed to win,” he said simply.“And I wasn’t going to let something as small as a broken rib stop me.”

I scribbled furiously, my heart pounding.This was the kind of raw honesty I’d been hoping for.“That’s incredible,” I said, looking up at him.“And a little insane.”

He shrugged, his expression unreadable.“It’s what had to be done.”

I nodded, feeling a newfound respect for him.“Alright, next question—”

“Enough,” he interrupted, standing abruptly.“We’re done for today.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift.“Done?But we’ve barely scratched the surface.”

He shot me a look that brooked no argument.“I said we’re done.I’ve got a meeting, and you’ve got enough to start with.”

I hesitated, my pen hovering over my notebook.“But—”

“Hayes,” he said, his voice sharp but not unkind.“I don’t have time for your ‘buts.’You’ve got your first chapter.Use it.”

I closed my notebook slowly, trying to hide my frustration.“Fine.But don’t think this means I’m going to let you off the hook.Next time, we’re diving deeper.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unimpressed.“Next time, bring better questions.”

I stood, tucking my notebook under my arm.“Oh, I will.And maybe I’ll even bring coffee.You look like you could use some.”

His lips twitched, but he quickly masked it with a scowl.“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Tea, then?”I asked, tilting my head.“Or do you just run on pure grumpiness?”

This time, he did smile.It was enough to make my heart skip a beat.“Get out of here, Hayes.”

I grinned, feeling a flicker of triumph.“See you tomorrow, Sterling.”

As I turned to leave, I couldn’t help but glance back at him.He was already focused on his computer, his expression stern and unreadable once more.

This wasn’t just about the money.This was my shot to prove I wasn’t the washed-up almost-writer my inbox insisted I was.And if Sterling Nightfang’s story was the hill I died on?At least the view wasspectacular.After years of rejection letters and half-finished manuscripts, I wasn’t going to waste this once-in-a-lifetime chance.

But there was more to Sterling Nightfang than he was letting on.And whether he liked it or not, I was going to find out what it was.

Chapter 3

STERLING

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