Chapter 39
Knox
Dinner was incredible.
A taste of us, here, where it matters most.
Two heirs. Two legacies. Madly in love.
Most people would call us a perfect match.
Except for the man who could make this complicated.
After dinner, we took the scenic route down along the Hudson, up through the West Village, past late-night diners and glowing marquees.
Cami lit up at the neon signs, asking which places were worth it, which were overrated, which served the best midnight fries. Her eyes sparkled, the whole city showing off like it had been saving itself for her to come home.
And the second we stepped inside my apartment, we were on each other. Hands everywhere, mouths tangled, clothes peeling off in a trail we’ll probably trip over tomorrow. Even the kittens scattered, bolting for cover under their playpen like they could feel the heat rolling off us.
Cami had me against the window first, her new favorite spot, palms flat on the glass as she took my cock hard and fast, before pulling me into the shower.
And now we’re here, spent and breathless, lying nose to nose in bed, the glow of the city slipping through the blinds and washing her skin in silver.
“So…” I hook her knee over my hip and ease closer, my hand slipping along her thigh beneath the sheets. “Where did we leave off at dinner?”
Cami breathes me in, kissing the side of my neck. “Our hopes and dreams…”
“Right.” My hand glides up her spine, thumb brushing her shoulder. “And mine’s simple.” I meet her gaze. “You.”
“Knox…” She looks away for half a beat, a flustered smile tugging at her mouth before she meets my eyes again. “You can’t just say things like that. I’ll never recover.”
“I’m serious.” A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, the one she always brings out of me without even trying.
“Three months ago, I never would’ve imagined wanting anything other than to bury myself in work.
” I brush my fingers along her jaw. “But now…I see my future so clearly.” I hold her gaze, letting the truth settle between us. “And it’s you.”
For a second, I wonder if I’ve said too much. If laying all of that out there is going to scare her. But the truth is, after almost losing her, holding it back scares me more.
“Three months ago…” She lets out a shaky little laugh, eyes darting away for a second before she brings them back to mine.
“My only goal was to take a breather. Heal a little more. Then come here for this job and just…launch a new me.” Her words spill out in a hush as if the room might be listening.
“But now…after Crystal Cove…falling for you…and Vermont, and your family, and the kittens—God, the kittens—” Long lashes flutter as her eyes gloss.
“It all made me crave a whole different me. A me where I’m eventually a wife, a mom.
Things that have nothing to do with my PhD or what my dad expects from me. ”
I brush my thumb beneath her eye, catching a tear she’s trying to blink back. “And what does he expect of you?”
She exhales, a shaky breath against my chest, like saying it out loud makes it too real. “He wants me to take over for him,” she says, strained and unsteady. “Beaumont Group. All of it.”
“Cami…baby.” My thumb sweeps her cheek. “What do you want?”
She meets my gaze for a long beat, searching for something. Courage, maybe.
“Both,” she finally admits, her laugh breathless. “I want both versions of me.”
“Then you don’t choose between either version,” I whisper. “You choose both.”
She scoffs. “Both? Knox, my dad would combust if he knew about this version of me here with you.” She exhales, a moment of frustration and fear tangled together.
“He’s never let anyone get close. The only reason I even dated my ex was because Dad wasn’t around, and that turned into its own disaster.
He’ll make it very clear to you that I’m off-limits. ”
“Already has.” I chuckle. “At the gala. When you excused yourself to the restroom.”
Cami groans under her breath, head shaking. “See? Oliver Beaumont is controlling and beyond overprotective.”
“Hey.” I catch her chin gently, just enough to bring her eyes back to mine. “Remember when we took Stripe and Shadow in for their first checkup?”
A small smile tugs at her mouth as she nods.
“You watched them like a hawk,” I remind her. “Parental instincts on full blast. Didn’t even want to leave them with Dr. Ochoa and Dex. Point is, parents are overprotective. It’s their job. And when your kid stands to gain as much as you do? There’s a hell of a lot at stake.”
Her gaze dips, lips pressed together in that familiar way. My girl’s processing.
“I met your father a year ago,” I say quietly, brushing a knuckle along her jaw.
“At that same gala. Jenna wanted to network. Mont, Oliver, walked right up to me and asked about Luxe. Wanted to know how I landed such profitable acquisitions.” I huff a laugh.
“I explained my experience in risk analysis, and after a few meetings post-gala, he offered to bring me on as a Strategic Acquisitions Partner.”
Cami’s eyes flick back to mine, curious, her fingers tracing idle circles against my forearm.
“Your father calls me when he’s not sure if a company’s a gold mine or a sinkhole,” I continue.
“My job is to dissect a potential acquisition and lay out the facts. No ego, no gloss. I analyze the risks, model the future, and figure out if we’re about to buy something smart… or light a billion dollars on fire.”
Gaze warming, Cami lets out a slow breath. “Guess that explains why he wants you to mentor me…”
I nod, my thumb sweeping over her hipbone. “I’ve sat boardroom-level with your father for a year now, evaluating deals, structuring acquisitions, traveling for joint projects. I think he wants you to become immersed in this side of the business first. With someone he trusts.”
“Tell me more about the syrup company,” she whispers, fingertips tracing a slow path across my chest. “Who runs it now?”
“My mom,” I say. “She still owns fifty-five percent. I’ve got the rest. Everette Hill Reserve started with my dad, handed down through generations. Mom stepped in when he died, but she’s ready to slow down.”
“And then what happens?”
I skim my thumb along her arm, watching goose bumps chase my touch. “That’s the part we’re figuring out. Mont and I have talked about bringing Everette Hill under Beaumont Group to expand distribution beyond the East Coast. He’d buy my mom’s shares, help me keep it in the family.”
Her head lifts, eyes catching mine in the dim light. “If Beaumont Group acquires it, that would mean…”
“You’d technically own part of my family’s syrup company,” I say, a smile tugging at my mouth. “Guess that’d make you my boss.”
She laughs softly. “And here I thought you liked being in charge.”
“Oh, I do.” I slide a hand to her hip and draw her closer until our noses brush. “But in this case, I don’t mind sharing control.”
City lights slip through the window, washing across soft sheets, catching the worry in those heart-stopping stormy blues, her brows knitting together.
“Knox,” she murmurs, “you have a lot to lose here if my dad finds out about us, and believe me, it’s only a matter of time before he does.” A hitch catches her next breath. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows by now. Someone in his wide circle could’ve easily spotted us out tonight.”
Her words echo in my head louder than Big Ben striking the hour.
A lot to lose? Yeah. Maybe.
But the truth slides through me like a knife: losing Cami would cost me more emotional hardship than disappointing her father ever could.
“Baby…” I cup her face, guiding her eyes back to mine.
“I’m not going to let anyone find out from gossip or some chance sighting.
” My thumb sweeps her cheek. “Oliver Beaumont fed me the ‘off-limits’ warning. Which means the next move is mine. I’m the one who tells him about us.
” I pause, emotion bubbling free. “Because you’re not something I’m trying to hide.
You’re the woman I love. The woman I choose.
Fully. Intentionally. Even if that means I step away from the Beaumont Group.
” I press my forehead to hers. “Losing you isn’t on the table. ”
Her fingers feather up to my chest, lips curving like she knows what she does to me. “You make me sound irresistible.”
“You are,” I tell her, brushing my lips against hers. “Extremely.”
She huffs a breath—something between a laugh and surrender—tugging me closer by the waist. “As are you, Knox Ryder. Extremely.”
The room tilts, heat rising sharp and familiar, and as her mouth meets mine, the outside world fades away. I ease on top, our tongues mingling, bodies grinding, my hands guiding her legs around my waist.
A breathless gasp catches in her throat as I push in, slow and deep, my cock claiming every inch like it’s never known anyone but her.
“Jesus, Cami,” I groan against her mouth. “You feel unreal.”
“You too, every single time,” she breathes, hips tilting to take me deeper, her whisper thick with heat. “I’m addicted.”
God, she’s so tight, her body gripping mine like she’s trying to pull me even deeper.
I draw back, just enough to see her eyes flutter, lips parted, begging without words.
“Tell me you’re mine.” The words scrape out as I feather my lips along her throat, breath breaking against her skin.
Her nails rake down my back, thighs tightening around me. “I’ve always been yours.”
Fuck.
Pinning her wrists above her head, I pull out, then push back in, grinding like I need her to feel it. In her body. In her heart.
Her moan rips through the room, loud and broken, and I swear it lodges in my chest like a battle cry. She arches beneath me, mouth finding mine again, biting, tasting, needing.
And in this moment—her legs locked around me, fingers pressing into my skin like she’d choose me in every life bubble, in every version of herself—
I know losing this woman isn’t a risk I’ll ever take.
Hours later, the city hums outside, quiet, respectful, like even the night knows better than to interrupt her sleep.
Cami’s curled in front of me, back warm against my chest. My arm rests around her waist; the other cradles her head against my bicep.
Stripe is stationed at the foot of the bed like a smug little sentry, while Shadow sleeps on the windowsill, tail flicking every few seconds as she dreams.
It has to be close to midnight. I should sleep.
But my mind won’t shut off.
Because sometime soon, I’ll have to sit across from Oliver Beaumont and tell him the hard truth. That I’ve been sleeping with his daughter. That I’m in love with her.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand.
Jenna The Ex glows on the screen like radioactive poison. Fuck. I meant to block her number. The call goes to voicemail…and seconds later, my phone buzzes again.
“Shit,” I mutter a quiet curse, carefully sliding out from behind Cami without waking her, or the kittens. Stripe gives a half-hearted protest but doesn’t move.
I snatch the phone, step into the hallway, and answer. “Unless someone’s dead, this better be important.”
Silence clings to the line for a moment before she exhales a brittle laugh, sharp and grating as nails on glass. “Well, hello to you too. Small world, huh?”
My jaw ticks. “What the hell are you talking about, Jenna?”
“Tess Armstrong,” she chirps. “Client of mine. Married Ryan Armstrong—remember him? Actor. Bahamas wedding. You drank too much rum and made that awful speech. Ring any bells?”
I don’t answer. Just lean against the wall, pinch the bridge of my nose, and force my pulse to steady.
Ever since our implosion, Jenna’s whining has had a way of poking old bruises, but tonight, she hits bone.
“Tess works for the Gazette now,” she continues, tone all faux-casual ice. “Fashion editor with a side gig in celebrity gossip. Great eye for couture. Even better one for secrets.”
A cold knot forms in my gut. “Jenna—”
“Anyway, she dined at Lark one of us cozy, my hand on her thigh.
“Tess did a little digging,” Jenna says lightly.
“Wanted to know who your mysterious date was. Took some effort. Your girl’s not on social media.
Not even Insta. Practically invisible. And honestly?
Boring. But Tess dug up some tiny, throwaway UK article about Americans at Oxford.
Turns out she’s brains and beauty. Maybe even an… heiress? Look at you, trading up.”
She pauses long enough for the implication to sink its teeth in.
“Twenty-something-ish. Guess I’m not the only one who likes them younger.
Last name Beaumont, which sounds vaguely familiar,” she adds, her mockery louder than the thunderclaps in my chest. “Wait.” She gives a tiny, performative gasp.
“Her father couldn’t possibly be your…business partner? Tell me, Knox—does he even know?”
I say nothing. Can’t. Jenna lets the silence following her little dramatization stretch, likely savoring every second.
“Imagine if these photos get leaked,” she muses. “Headlines practically write themselves. Luxe Properties founder leaves wedding-planner wife for twenty-something heiress.”
Fuck. Me. I should’ve forced the divorce announcement public months ago. I handed Jenna the weapon she’s using to hurt us, gift-wrapped it, even.
My jaw clamps down, anger settling low and cold, the kind that makes me dangerous. “Get to the point.”
“Oh, please.” She drops the playful edge. “You already know the point. You nearly cost me everything, Knox. Forcing me out of my home? Risking damage to my image? My brand? Threatening me with a Style Weekly interview that would’ve made me look like the villain?”
“You are the villain, Jenna. You cheated on me. In our kitchen.”
She scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Cut the bullshit,” I bite out. “What do you want?”
“I want you to take Westbury Place off the market and sign it over to me, of course.” Her tone sharpens as she adds, “And I want Luxe.”
The audacity hits first.
Then the anger.
Jenna wants to ruin me.
I go still. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I’m giving you forty-eight hours, Knoxie poo,” she says coolly. “Then the photos go to the Gazette. And straight to Oliver Beaumont.”