Page 43 of Knotted

“Yup.”

CHAPTER 17

Jules

I sit at my desk, twirling a pen between my fingers, my gaze catching on the shiny new nameplate in front of me:

Sydney Sun, Reporter

It’s all too surreal, like a dream I’ve been chasing forever and somehow managed to catch. But the longer I stare at the blank screen in front of me, the tighter that suffocating feeling wraps around me.

Getting fired from Salvatore’s shouldn’t sting this much when I’ve got a cushy safety net like this job, but it does. It’s like ripping open an old scab, the wound still raw underneath.

And what if I fail at this job, too? That fear gnaws at me as I nibble my lip, staring at the same seven words that have been mocking me for the past hour:

Up Close and Personal with a Billionaire

“Holy shit,” Scoop mutters from across the room, snapping me out of my thoughts. Anabelle and Felix immediately pop their heads up, eyes locked on the front of the room.

“Don’t even think about it,” Anabelle declares, her tone playfully threatening. “He’s mine.”

“I don’t see your name on him,” Felix purrs, his voice dripping with catty dismissal.

Anabelle’s eyes narrow, a wicked grin spreading across her face. “Well, when you see my tongue on him, consider him claimed.”

“Huh?” I look up, and my heart slams to a stop.

Striding down the hallway, right next to Mr. Richards, is Brian Bishop.

The fitted blue suit he’s wearing does nothing to hide the fact that beneath it lies pure, lickable perfection—broad shoulders, tight abs, and everything in between sculpted to perfection.

Every inch of him radiates confidence and power, and if he wasn’t the biggest dick on the planet, I’d be right there with Anabelle and Felix, fighting to stake my claim.

But as those ocean-blue eyes sweep in my direction, my pulse skyrockets. Panic surges through me, fast and fierce, and with him closing in and my shiny new nameplate practically screaming “Sydney Sun,” I make a split-second decision.

I slide off my chair and duck under my desk. “Cover for me!” I beg, my voice barely an audible squeak.

Felix drops down next to me, eyes wide. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m . . . shy,” I mutter, curling into myself, trying to disappear completely.

“You’re insane,” Anabelle whispers, peeking under the desk. “Do you know who you’re dodging? Manhattan’s newest billionaire.”

Newest what?

Before I can even process that, Mr. Richards’s voice grows louder as they approach. “Mr. Bishop has graciously agreed to give an exclusive interview,” Richards says, practically beaming with pride. “To Sydney Sun.”

My heart plummets. Oh, my god, is he serious?

“Lucky girl,” Anabelle purrs, her tone dripping with syrupy sweetness. “Maybe you could wait around.”

“Or not,” Scoop cuts in, amusement threading through his words. “You know how reporters are—always chasing a story.”

I can practically feel Brian’s smirk through the desk as he replies, “Has a knack for disappearing, does she?”

“Her loss,” Felix says, teasingly trying to coax me out. “But she could be back any second now.”

Yeah, right. There is no way I’m popping out from under this desk like a freaking birthday cake.

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