Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Isla
I follow Knox down the corridor, nerves tight as we head to his office.
He walks before me, shoulders squared, with the cool confidence of a man who owns the world and everything inside it.
We just got back to the house. I was surprised he brought me back here, but I can’t complain because I had enough of the party.
That said, being here isn’t that much better since I have no idea what I’m getting myself into with this game of his. Whatever it is.
Being anywhere near him after what he did to me—what I allowed him to do to me—is rattling my brain.
I can’t believe he touched me like that again. And I came. In public.
My cheeks heat at the memory. And shamefully, so does my body.
It’s surreal. Everything feels surreal, and I wish I could shake this displaced feeling of walking around in the Twilight Zone.
We reach his office, and he opens the door.
Like the rest of the house, the automatic lights pop on the moment we walk in.
This is the first time I’ve been in here. It wasn’t exactly off limits to me, but I had no desire to check it out. Apparently, the universe decided that should change tonight.
Inside, the office looks exactly like what I expected from Knox—sophisticated wealth wrapped in dark masculinity with rich mahogany paneling covers the walls, gleaming under the soft lighting like liquid gold.
Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line two walls, filled with leather-bound volumes that look both expensive and actually read, their spines bearing titles in multiple languages.
A massive desk dominates the center of the room, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow from a banker's lamp with a brass shade.
The desk itself looks like it could have belonged to a railroad baron with its carved details and commanding presence. Two black leather armchairs sit angled toward the desk. Behind them, a leather sofa faces a stone fireplace, its mantel decorated with a few carefully chosen art pieces.
The entire space smells like leather, aged wood, and just a hint of Knox's cologne. That dark, intoxicating scent that seems to follow him everywhere.
He shrugs out of his jacket and tie and tosses them onto the sofa in the corner.
Then he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing thick tattooed forearms as he moves toward the glass cabinet behind his desk with the same fluid grace that made the crowd part for him earlier.
Every movement he makes seems deliberate and controlled.
What are you up to, Knox?
Why don’t you just put me out of my misery already?
I couldn’t ask him about the game while we were at the Astoria because there were too many people around on our way out. I couldn’t on the way here either because of Don. Now we’re here, and he’s acting like we’re hanging out.
I watch him carefully as he retrieves two long-stemmed glasses and a bottle of wine from the lower shelf. The label catches the light, showing off a fancy French title I can’t even try to pronounce. No doubt it costs within the thousand-dollar range. Or more.
"Wine?" he asks, already pouring the deep red liquid into both glasses. His voice is casual, but there's an undercurrent of something darker threading through it.
The question feels loaded. Like accepting might mean more than just sharing a drink.
But honestly, after what happened at the party, I need something to calm my nerves. My body is still humming from the aftershocks of his touch, and I hate myself for it.
"Sure," I manage, proud of how steady my voice sounds.
Knox slides the glass over to me, and our fingers brush as I take it. The contact sends an unwelcome jolt through my system, and from the slight curve of his mouth, I know he felt it, too.
"Where did you actually get that dress?" He looks me up and down.
I take a sip of wine, buying myself time. It's smooth and rich and definitely hits the spot. “Charity shop," I answer honestly. "Took me three stores to find something this hideous."
“You did well.” Knox's eyes glitter with amusement, and I realize he's enjoying the fact that I schemed and plotted and ultimately played right into his hands. "I can see why you thought I’d be so embarrassed I’d forfeit."
“Did I at least embarrass you?”
“You did. But here’s the thing, love. I’m one of the finest investors on Wall Street. You need a thick hide just to exist. Also…” He looks me over again. “When you look the way you do, you could wear anything and call it fashion.”
God. Did he seriously just give me a compliment?
I take another sip of wine for courage. "Are you going to tell me what this game of yours is called? Or are you going to flirt with me all night?"
He laughs, completely unrepentant. "For the record, I don’t flirt, and if you think that was flirting, your previous boyfriends clearly set the bar embarrassingly low."
My stomach squeezes.
"The game is called Riddles," he says, getting back on topic.
"Riddles? Like ‘Riddle me this’ kind of riddles?"
“Yes, that kind of thing.”
I’m not sure if I should be relieved or terrified. The game sounds innocent enough, but nothing with Knox is exactly innocent.
He straightens and moves closer, wine glass in hand.
"We get five turns each and one chance to answer. To win, you must get at least three right. Three wrong answers in a row is an instant loss. Three right ones an instant win. The first person to get three right wins. If that’s you, I’ll forfeit the contract.
You keep your restaurant, your freedom, everything. "
God, it sounds too easy. And definitely way too good to be true. "And if I lose?"
That predatory smile returns, the one that reminds me of Shere Khan stalking through the jungle. "Like I said, you give me anything I want. No questions asked. No resistance. However, if you don’t give me what I want, you forfeit."
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Then it looks like we have an agreement.” A mirthless grin dances across his lips. “Do we need another contract, or is our word good enough?”
“Our word is good enough.”
“Perfect, love.”
“What do you want me to do? Anything could mean anything.” I need to know. It’s never a good idea to agree to something you know nothing about. This is the kind of crazy shit that binds people into offering up their first-born child.
“How about I tell you what I want if I win?”
I sigh, tightening my grip around the stem of the glass. “But you know what I want. It’s fair I should know what you want, too.”
His brows arch with defiance, and he shakes his head. “Either we do this my way or not at all.”
The air between us crackles with tension. But the chance to keep the restaurant, to escape this contract, is right there within my reach. I have to seize that chance regardless of whatever ace Knox is keeping up his sleeves. “Fine. We do it your way.”
“Perfect.” A sly smile curves his full lips.
I stare at him for a beat and for the millionth time try to figure him out.
There’s another question on my mind that I need him to answer.
It won’t change my decision to go ahead with the game, but it would make me feel less antsy.
“Why are you offering me this chance? You went through a lot of trouble to get us to this point. This is the sort of game that I definitely could win. That means you don’t get the payment for the debt or any compensation for what my father did. ”
He drags in a slow breath, drinks the last of his wine, and sets the glass on the table. “Let’s just say I’m a betting man and I find you interesting, Isla Monroe.”
That right there… It wasn’t a compliment. This is the lion playing with his food before he devours it. The food. Aka me.
"Okay," I whisper, nodding slowly. “I guess I’m ready to play when you are.”
"Alright, love." His voice drops to that dangerous register that makes my pulse skip. “Do you want to go first, or should I?”
I drain the rest of my wine in one gulp, letting the alcohol burn away the last of my hesitation, then place my glass next to his.
"You first." If he goes first, I can see what kind of riddles he has in mind.
“Here’s your first riddle.” His eyes lock onto mine, glittering with dark amusement as he leans against the wall. “I have a tongue but never speak. I can move but have no legs. You can open me without a key. What am I?”
I stare at him, my mind racing through possibilities. A tongue but never speaks... something that moves without legs... can be opened without a key.
My first thought is it must be some kind of animal, but that doesn't fit. Animals with tongues do make sounds, even if they don't technically speak. And the part about opening without a key throws me off completely. What opens? A door? A box? But those don't have tongues or move on their own.
I think hard while Knox watches me with that infuriating patience, like he has all the time in the world to watch me struggle. The bastard is definitely enjoying this.
Think, Isla. Something with a tongue that doesn't speak. Something that moves but has no legs. Something you can open...
Think, think, think, think, think.
And then it hits me. Oh My God, it’s so obvious I almost laugh out loud.
A zipper.
It has to be that.
The tongue is the pull tab; it moves when you use it, and you can open it without needing a key. Simple. Almost too simple for someone like Knox, but maybe that's the point—he's starting easy to lull me into confidence.
"A zipper," I say, trying to keep the smugness out of my voice.
Knox's mouth inches into a slow, amused smile that makes my stomach flutter in the most annoying way possible. "Clever girl." There's something in his tone—part admiration, part condescension—that makes me want to slap him, but of course, I can’t do that.
“I suppose it was kind of easy.”
He rests his head against the wall and gazes at me. "I was wondering if you'd overthink it."
“Thank God I didn’t.”
“Your turn, love.”