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I won't let anyone take that from me.

Not even Layla Hawthorne.

No matter how beautiful she is.

My gaze drops to the second folder sitting on my desk.

Her file.

I shouldn't know this much about her.

That thought is almost funny considering I ordered people to find out everything legally obtainable about her less than twelve hours ago.

Professional history.

Education.

Career trajectory.

Interviews.

Awards.

Public appearances.

Articles.

Social media.

I know which networks she's worked for.

Which stories put her name on the map.

Which powerful people refused her interviews only to eventually sit across from her anyway.

She's very good at getting people to talk.

Apparently, I'm not the first difficult man she's decided to crack open.

That bothers me.

More than it should.

I flip the folder closed.

Thirty days.

What the fuck was I thinking?

At the time, it seemed brilliant.

Give her access.

Control the environment.

Let her observe the parts of my life I choose to expose while I figure out exactly what she's investigating.

Keep the threat close.