Page 50 of A Smile Full of Lies
That was when he finally moved.
He stepped closer, his movements slow, controlled, and utterly dangerous. The muscles in his arms flexed as he lifted his mug again and took a sip of coffee, his eyes locked on mine. My gaze tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.
“I’ll do whatever the fuck I want for you, Ros.”
His voice was soft but it hit like a blow, and he held my gaze like it was a dare.
Suddenly, my knees felt like jello. I sank onto one of his bar stools, gripping the mug he’d given me, but my heart wouldn’t stop racing.
“This is crazy, Knox. Everyone who just lost a job today because of what Sam Myers did is going to fucking hate me. They all know you did what you did to protect me.”
“You’re safe,” he said, lowering his voice until it wrapped around me like a command. “You don’t have to panic. Just… sit with me. Let’s have breakfast.”
I stared at him for a long moment, but then my stomach growled and I nodded, knowing he wouldn’t let it go.
The hiss of butter on the skillet was all wrong. Too soft, too domestic, too normal for the fact that he had just leveled a magazine with the same calm he now used to crack eggs. The sound of the shell splitting, the sight of his broad shoulders shifting as he worked — my brain couldn’t reconcile them.
I perched on the stool at the island like an intruder in my own life, arms wrapped tight around myself, watching him move around the kitchen like this was Sunday brunch. The muscles in his back flexed when he reached for the salt, fluid and casual, like he hadn’t just detonated a bomb over an entire staff’s careers.
The smell of sizzling butter mingled with coffee, grounding and suffocating all at once.
He slid a plate in front of me a few minutes later, eggs fluffy, toast perfectly golden. His voice was maddeningly calm.
“Eat.”
Like it was that simple. Like it wasn’t laced with possession. He was feeding me. Grounding me. Claiming this space in the most ordinary, intimate way imaginable.
I stared at the plate, guilt pressing hard against my ribs. Sam deserved it — God, he deserved worse — but the interns? The copy editors? The designers who’d just lost their jobs? My stomach churned.
But underneath the guilt was something worse. A sharp, shameful relief that Knox had chosen my side so ruthlessly. And with it came a dangerous, secret thrill that he’d done it for me.
I hated how much I liked it.
The scrape of my fork against porcelain sounded too loud in the quiet. He ate like it was nothing, like he hadn’t just set fire to an entire legacy.
Finally, I couldn’t take it.
“Why?” My voice cracked, soft but sharp enough to cut. “Why would you do that — for me?”
He didn’t look up right away, just took another bite, chewed, swallowed. Then those dark eyes lifted to mine, steady, unflinching.
“I don’t weigh costs the way other people do,” he said, voice even, almost bored. “A company? A legacy? Reputations? They don’t mean anything compared to the people who matter.”
I stared at him.
“The math is not mathing for me, Knox.”
He didn’t blink, didn’t soften.
“You matter. That’s the math.”
The words landed like a blow. My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. Terror prickled under my skin, cold and hot all at once. He was unhinged. Absolutely unhinged. Who destroys a company like it’s nothing? Who makes that kind of call without flinching?
And yet — something inside me cracked open at the same time. Something raw and starving. God help me, I wanted to be worth that kind of fire.
I dropped my gaze to my plate, hands shaking just enough to rattle the fork. My heart thrashed against the cage of my ribs. I should’ve run. Instead, I swallowed hard and whispered, “That’s fucking insane, Knox.”
But the worst part? My voice didn’t sound nearly as sure as it should have.
