Chapter 12 Leo who?
The day after I got back to Chicago, I was standing in my kitchen in soft pajamas, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, when Amy’s message popped up.
“OMG.”
A second later a TikTok link followed.
I opened it.
The video was already at 2.7 million views.
Leo Hartman stood behind a press table with the championship belt slung over his shoulder, his face bruised, lip split, eyes still bright with adrenaline and victory.
“Yeah, the fight was brutal,” he was saying. “But I had good motivation.”
The reporter smiled. “Oh? A special someone?”
Leo smirked.
“There’s this girl. Ashley. Met her in Vegas.”
“Ashley who?” someone asked.
He laughed. “That’s the problem. I don’t even know her last name.”
The reporters laughed.
“But I do know she works for Knox Sinclair.”
His smile softened. “She turned me down, so I figured I’d try again publicly. Ashley, if you see this, I’d really like that drink.”
The clip ended and immediately restarted.
I stared at my phone, eyes wide, nearly dropping the damn thing. Then I scrolled.
The comments were already feral.
“WHO IS ASHLEY”
“internet do your thing”
“omg he’s in love already”
“Knox Sinclair analyst??? insider tea”
“she said NO to HIM???”
I kept scrolling.
People were tagging Sinclair Enterprises. Tagging Knox. Tagging every business page connected to the company.
I exited the app.
My coffee had gone cold in my hand when my phone buzzed again.
Amy.
“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!”
I ignored it, already assessing the online damage.
With no personal accounts to absorb the impact, the attention had only one direction to go.
Sinclair’s pages were already drowning in comments.
“who is ashley”
“drop her @”
“is she your employee??”
“leo just exposed her workplace omg”
“give us ashley”
Someone tagged a business photo where I stood blurred in the background.
Now the comments multiplied.
“FOUND HER”
“this her???”
“she’s pretty omg”
Amy didn’t bother texting again. She called.
I answered on the third ring.
“You are officially public property for the next forty-eight hours,” she announced.
I groaned and leaned back against the kitchen cabinet. “Why me. I don’t want this.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, clearly entertained. “A UFC champion just asked you out in front of the entire internet. Some women would sell organs for that level of attention.”
“I do not want attention,” I said flatly.
“Too late. You’re already ‘mysterious Ashley.’”
“Make it stop.”
She hummed. “You could just give him a chance.”
“No.”
“No hesitation,” she noted.
“I have other plans,” I said. “He’s not on my radar.”
“Oh,” Amy teased. “Does your radar start with K and end with X?”
“Shut up.”
She laughed. “Objectively, he’s hot, rich, famous, and publicly obsessed with you.”
“And I still said no.”
“Which is exactly why he’s now emotionally invested.”
I dragged a hand down my face.
Then Amy’s tone shifted, more thoughtful.
“You know he’s not the type to go away quietly.”
“I know.”
“I give it forty-eight hours before he escalates.”
“Please don’t manifest that.”
“I’m not manifesting,” she said. “I’m predicting.”
The next morning at work, Linda told me Knox wanted to see me.
Knox didn’t look up when I entered. His jacket was off, sleeves rolled to his forearms, his phone lying face down on the desk like it had personally offended him.
Titan was asleep in his dog bed by the window when I stepped into the office, his massive body curled into the cushion, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths. One ear twitched lazily at the sound of the door before settling again.
“Sit,” Knox said.
I did.
“The company’s social media pages are being flooded,” he said without preamble. “Comments. Tags. Speculation. People asking who you are and why a UFC champion is talking about you in a press conference.”
I sat straight, hands folded in my lap, composed and quiet, the way you sit when you already know you’re about to be scolded.
“This is not acceptable,” he continued.
“I understand,” I said.
His jaw tightened.
“Explain what happened.”
“I had lunch with him. That’s it,” I said. “I didn’t know who he was. I didn’t give him my number. I turned him down. I’m sorry. I had no idea he would do something like that.”
Knox studied my face, searching for something. A crack. A lie. An excuse.
He didn’t find one.
“I’ll contact him,” I added. “I’ll tell him to stop. I’ll make it clear this was inappropriate.”
His expression hardened.
“You will not.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You don’t need to contact him,” he said. “I will handle this.”
I hesitated. “Knox, I don’t want to cause problems for you or the company.”
“You didn’t,” he replied. “He did.”
Silence settled between us.
“I keep my personal life private,” I added more softly. “I never wanted this kind of attention.”
Something in his gaze shifted. Just a fraction.
“I know,” he said. “Which is why this ends now.”
He picked up his phone.
“I will contact him,” he repeated. “You stay out of it.”
I nodded slowly. “Alright.”
He looked at me for a moment longer, then added, quieter, “Be careful who you let sit at your table, Ashley.”
“I usually am.”
For a second, something unreadable flickered across his expression.
Then he nodded once.
“Go.”
I stood and left his office.
By the time I made it back to my desk, the news had already reached the floor. Claire didn’t even pretend to be subtle.
“So,” she said, leaning against the edge of my desk with a grin. “Do we need to start charging you for autographs?”
Nora rolled her chair closer. “I wake up, check my phone, and suddenly our analyst is the internet’s main character.”
Priya appeared at her shoulder, coffee in hand, clearly invested. “Are we allowed to say we knew you before you were famous?”
“I hate all of you,” I said flatly.
Claire laughed. “Oh no, you love us. Also, is he hot in real life or just camera-hot?”
“He stole my chair,” I replied. “That should tell you everything.”
Nora gasped. “Red flag.”
“Massive,” Claire agreed solemnly.
“Relax,” Nora said, nudging my arm. “This will blow over. The internet finds a new obsession every twelve hours.”
“I sincerely hope so,” I said.
“Can we put this on the company website?” Claire added thoughtfully. “Sinclair Enterprises. We break markets and hearts.”
Nora tilted her head. “You do realize this is the most excitement this floor has had since the copier caught fire, right?”
“I was there,” Priya muttered. “And that copier deserved it.”
They eventually drifted back to their desks, still grinning, still whispering. I opened my computer and forced my focus back to numbers, projections, anything that wasn’t my name trending next to a shirtless fighter.
Early afternoon, Knox left the office.
I didn’t think much of it until my phone buzzed.
Amy.
She sent another video link. No explanation. How she always knew everything before anyone else was a mystery I’d stopped questioning years ago.
My mind immediately jumped to worst-case scenarios involving Leo, but I opened it anyway.
It was a video of Knox stepping out of a black car outside a downtown building. A charity board meeting, judging by the signage behind him. The moment his foot hit the pavement, cameras surged forward. Reporters. Paparazzi. Microphones thrust into his space.
“Mr. Sinclair,” someone called, “what do you think about UFC champion Leo Hartman publicly asking out your employee?”
Knox didn’t slow down.
Didn’t turn.
“Leo who?” he said coolly, never breaking stride.
Another voice pushed forward. “Is there a conflict of interest?”
Knox paused just long enough to glance sideways, irritation flickering through his eyes like a warning.
“My employees are professionals,” he said. “What strangers say into microphones isn’t my concern.”
Then he went inside the building.
The clip ended.
I closed the app and leaned back in my chair.
Across the floor, Claire was staring at her phone. She looked up, caught my eye, and silently mouthed, Leo who?
I pulled a face at her.
What a mess.