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“Yes.”
Her hazel eyes narrow.
“Why?”
I glance up from my computer.
“Because you said you wanted access.”
“You also said you enjoy control.”
“I contain multitudes.”
She snorts.
“That's disturbingly self-aware.”
“I have my moments.”
She walks farther inside.
Today she's wearing dark trousers and some soft cream blouse that makes it difficult to remember I'm conducting business.
Her hair is down. I like it down.
I've also developed an unhealthy interest in the little crease that appears between her eyebrows when she's reading something she doesn't understand.
Or doesn't believe.
She's suspicious now.
The crease is present.
“What's the catch?”
“No catch.”
“Mitchell.”
“Layla.”
“You're giving an investigative journalist free rein inside Knight Global.”
“Hardly free rein.”
“Ah-ha.”
“You can't access confidential client information, personnel files, protected financial data, legal communications, proprietary technology, or anything else covered by the agreement your terrifying attorney spent four days arguing over.”
“She's not terrifying.”
“She threatened to personally dismantle my NDA.”
“She likes you.”
“I'd hate to see what she does to people she dislikes.”
Layla grins. There it is.
