Page 41 of Beautiful Lies

Either I’m sex-starved—which is likely, because let’s face it, it’s been years since I’ve been with anyone—or the little control I had left is slipping through my fingers like sand in an hourglass.

I press my palms to my face, trying to steady my breathing. This is only day one, and I already feel like I’m in over my head.

Because Iam.

Who wouldn’t feel this way around Knox? I can’t figure him out, and honestly, I’m not sure I want to.

I want as little to do with him as possible. But I’m just not sure I have that choice.

Finally, I force myself to move and head to the ensuite.

The moment I step inside, the lush design steals my breath. Luxury is everywhere—granite walls, gold fixtures, towels folded with precision—but my gaze zeroes in on the shower.

It’s enormous, framed in glass and big enough to fit three people.

“Wow,” I breathe.

I might’ve managed to keep my composure last night when I first arrived at this palace of a home, but I’m a sucker for a beautiful bathroom. Still, the opulence is another reminder that this is Knox’s world. And now, somehow, I’m part of it.

I take off my clothes and step into the shower, letting the warm water ease the tension in my body and quiet my mind.

It’s tempting to stay longer, to let the world disappear behind the sound of the water, but Knox’s warning to be quick echoes in my head. And I know what’s waiting—our next-steps talk.

I might have wanted to bury my head in the sand before, but now that I’m here, I can’t hide anymore. I need to know where this is going.

Reluctantly, I turn off the tap, gather my hair into a loose ponytail, and slip into one of the thick, white bathrobes. Then I step back into the bedroom.

By the time I make my way downstairs, the house no longer feels like the silent museum it was last night. Voices and movement drift through the halls, soft but steady, breathing life into the space.

I follow the sound of Knox’s voice through the hall, the low timbre unmistakable even from a distance. It draws me toward a set of double doors at the end of the corridor.

Inside, sunlight spills across a long mahogany dining table, catching on glassware and silver cutlery.

The scent of coffee, toast, and something buttery fills the air, and my stomach growls in betrayal.

Knox sits at the head of the table, his posture effortlessly commanding. He’s dressed in a suit now, ready for work. The rugged drifter look is gone, even though he still has a five-o’clock shadow.

He’s mid-conversation with an elderly woman who looks like she’s stepped straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. She has neat silver hair, a tweed jacket, and sharp, intelligent pale-gray eyes that look like they miss nothing.

When she notices me, she brightens instantly and rises to her feet. “Ah, there you are.” Her accent is warm and distinctly Scottish, the kind that makes me think of Professor McGonagall fromHarry Potter.

She crosses the room gracefully and offers her hand. “Hi, I’m Sheila, Knox’s assistant. Lovely to meet you in person, though I was hoping to introduce myself over the phone first.”

My cheeks warm. This is the assistant who was calling me? I instantly feel bad, because she seems nice. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to miss your calls.”

She gives a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling. “No harm done, dear. You had quite the night, from what I hear.”

I shoot a look at Knox, who responds with a clipped smile.

Sheila pats my arm lightly, her smile kind but brisk, like someone who’s been running Knox Vale’s empire long enough to know exactly what kind of chaos follows him. “Come, sit.” She motions toward the table. “You must be starving. Andreas, our chef, has just finished breakfast. I’ll bring you out a plate of food.”

Before I can answer, she’s already pulling out a chair near Knox’s right.

“Thank you,” I mumble, taking the seat. My fingers tighten around the strap of the robe, suddenly aware that I’m sitting in Knox Vale’s dining room, wearing his bathrobe, across from him.

“Would you like coffee or tea, dear?” Sheila asks with a warm smile.

“Coffee, please,” I answer, grateful for something normal.