Page 15 of Knot Your Karma
I take a deeper breath, then another, like I’ve been holding my breath for months. A sound tries to escape my throat—something embarrassingly close to a purr—and I cough to cover it.
Professional, Karma. You’re a professional antique dealer helping a customer. You definitely didn’t steal his family’s priceless heirloom.
“Morning,” I say, switching to my customer service voicewhile my fingers automatically start straightening the already-straight maritime display. “Back again so soon?”
“I was hoping we could talk.” He steps closer, and I’m rearranging display pieces again, but somehow each adjustment moves me two inches closer to where he’s standing. There’s something different about his energy today. More focused. More determined. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday.”
I wipe my palms on my jeans, then do it again thirty seconds later. “Oh? What about it?”
Oh he is so here for me.
“About you. About your expertise.” He moves closer to the counter, and I track his movement without thinking. “Look, you know this stuff better than anyone I’ve met. I need someone who can tell a real lead from a wild goose chase. And honestly? After yesterday, I’d rather work with someone I actually trust.”
Trust. The word hits me so hard I actually step backward like it’s physically dangerous, which apparently it is because my hip immediately finds the counter edge in that special way that’s definitely going to leave a bruise. He’s looking at me with this open, hopeful expression, and my chest feels like someone’s sitting on it wearing concrete shoes.
The compass rose has moved four times in the last two minutes. I can’t seem to stop touching things—adjusting, straightening, polishing surfaces that don’t need polishing.
“Trust is good,” I say weakly. “Very... trustworthy of you to trust me.”
Smooth, Karma.Really selling that competence.
“I was wondering if you’d be willing to partner with me on this.”
My hand reaches for the brass anchor, overshoots, and nearly brushes his arm before I jerk it back. The words hit me like a physical blow—partner, with him, while actively lying about stealing the thing he’s looking for.
I’m dead. I’m absolutely dead.
“Partner... with you?” The words come out slightly strangled, and I clear my throat to cover it.
“Research. Tracking down leads. You’d know where a piece like this might end up, who deals in high-end estate pieces.” He’s looking at me with this hopeful, trusting expression that makes me want to confess everything immediately. “I’m good at the legwork, but you’ve got the expertise.”
Focus. This could actually work. If I’m helping him look for it, I can control where we search. Lead him away from the real trail.My fingers trace the edge of the compass rose in my maybe pile—the one that’s definitely not the stolen Mitchell family heirloom but looks suspiciously similar. Which was the precise plan Destiny and I came up with.
I just have to be brave. Which I totally am. Brave. I think.
“That’s flattering and terrifying. What if I’m terrible at this? What if you realize I just talk a big game but don’t actually know enough?” The words tumble out in a rush, and I immediately start adjusting the spacing between display pieces.
“Hey.” Something in his tone makes my spine snap straight like I’m in my grandmother’s church. My hands still on the counter. Even my breathing goes quiet. “You impressed the hell out of me yesterday. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think you could handle it.”
Oh no. When he gets all reassuring and protective, my hands stop shaking for the first time all morning. I find myself stepping closer to the counter, closer to him, like there’s an invisible string pulling me forward.
“Okay,” I say, breathing deeply and catching more of that cedar scent. “Okay, yes. I can do research. I love research. Research is great. Love research. I could research the maritime antique trade all day. Probably will. Extensively. With charts.”
Dear God, please let the floor open up and swallow me.
“Great.” His smile is devastating. “But I should probably warn you—this might get complicated.”
“Complicated how?” I ask, and immediately want to kick myself.Stop asking questions that might lead to uncomfortable answers.
“Well, for starters, there’s definitely something...” He gestures vaguely between us, and I catch myself leaning even closer, breathing deeper like I’m trying to memorize that cedar-and-rain scent. “You feel it too, right?”
Oh no. We’re really doing this. In my shop. While I’m actively lying to him about stealing his family heirloom.
“You mean the fact that you smell like every omega fantasy about protective alphas, and I’ve been fighting the urge to climb you like a tree since you walked in yesterday?” The words slip out before I can stop them. Well I guess I’m all in now. “Yeah, I noticed that too.”
His eyes darken with something warmer, hungrier. “That’s... more direct than I was expecting.”
“Sorry, when I’m nervous I apparently lose all ability to be subtle.” I clutch a maritime book to my chest like armor. “Along with my filter, my dignity, and apparently my sense of self-preservation.”
