Chapter Ten
Knight Industries
Nathan
I stride into the office and immediately lower the blinds, needing a moment of darkness after my encounter with Quinn. My body still feels overheated, my collar too tight against my throat.
I open the top button of my shirt and drop my tie on the desk, then pull up the background check Scott sent earlier this morning. But the words blur before my eyes.
Fourteen days of celibacy and seeing Quinn but not being allowed to touch her. What the hell was I thinking?
A knock interrupts my mental spiral. I turn to find Jake leaning against my doorframe. “How was your first meeting with Quinn?” he says casually. “Need any bail money?”
“Very funny.” I minimize Scott’s report before Jake can see it. “Everything is sorted out for now.”
Jake steps inside, closing the door behind him. “Then why are you hiding in here with the blinds down, looking at that screen like it personally offended you?”
I glance at the darkened windows—more telling than I’d realized.
“Client issue,” I lie, adjusting figures on a spreadsheet that don't need my attention.
Jake circles around to my side, seeing me and my computer screen. “Try again. The Ericsson prototype presentation isn't until next month, and everything else is on track. This is about Quinn.”
I refuse to give him the satisfaction of confirming his suspicion, continuing to focus instead on my computer screen.
“Interesting,” Jake muses. “When Jonathan mentioned forcing you two to work together, I bet him fifty bucks you’d either come back looking for criminal lawyers or wearing that expression you get after conquering a particularly difficult challenge.”
I glance up despite myself. “You bet on my reaction?”
“Call it an educated guess.” His casual tone masks the concern in his eyes. "So which is it—homicide plans or unresolved attraction?”
I scoff. “You made a bet for nothing.”
“What happened, then?”
The room suddenly feels stifling. I reach for the window controls, letting in some natural light.
“Nothing happened.”
“Nathan.” Just my name, but the way he says it tells me he isn’t leaving until he gets an answer. And bullshitting him has never been an option.
The silence stretches until it becomes its own form of confession.
“Quinn implied I lacked…self-control,” I finally admit. “She thinks I’m incapable of restraint.”
“Well, she wouldn’t be wrong,” he murmurs.
Damn, he didn’t need to be that harsh. I breathe out a deep sigh.
“So she called you out,” Jake tries to simplify.
“No. She made a bet. Two weeks. No penetrative sex, hookups, or paparazzi photos of me out at clubs or with other women.”
He laughs. “Damn. So what are the stakes?”
“If I break, I publicly admit I never had concrete proof she leaked our merger details.”
“Wow! Didn’t see that one coming.”
“So I challenged her right back.”
“What do you mean by ‘challenged her back’?” He searches for my logic. To be fair, I wasn’t using any at the time.
I reach for a stress ball on my desk, working it between my fingers. “That she can't resist me in that time. And if she breaks, she walks away from Jonathan’s contract.”
Jake whistles low. “Those are some high stakes.”
“It’s not like she’ll win. And I’d be an idiot if I let her.”
Jake watches me intently. “Sure, but betting on someone’s attraction usually means you’ve noticed something that suggests otherwise.”
The memory of Quinn’s pupils dilating when I stood close to her, the catch in her breath when I called her out on her lingering attraction—These details I hadn't meant to notice cross my mind.
“It’s just physical,” I dismiss. “Doesn’t mean anything.”
Jake tosses the ball back to me. “So you’re risking a public admission of being wrong on your ability to resist sex for two weeks? That’s your brilliant plan?”
Put in those terms, the bet sounds even more reckless than it did when I made it.
I stay silent, putting all my focus on the stress ball in my hands.
“What happens when you lose?” Jake asks, his tone measured.
“ If I lose,” I counter, “which I won’t.”
“Right, because abstaining is also a strong suit of yours.” His sarcasm isn’t helping. “Remind me, how many women have you been with this month alone? You know what would be easier than this ridiculous bet?” Jake asks, leaning forward. “Actually processing what happened between you and Quinn instead of drowning it in an endless parade of meaningless encounters.”
“That’s not what I’m doing.” I protest the ugly truth.
“No?” Jake gives me a look that’s equal parts concern and challenge. “Then what are you doing with these women? Playing mini golf? You’re not moving on, Nathan. You’re just keeping busy.”
I toss the stress ball toward the wall, frustrated, as it bounces back into my hand. “That’s not the same thing.”
“How?”
“Because none of them matter.” The truth slips out before I can catch it, hanging awkwardly between us.
Jake’s expression shifts from skepticism to something uncomfortably close to understanding. “And Quinn does?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” He shifts his weight, voice dropping. “Look, I’ve watched you move through women like revolving doors for a year now, and not once have you seemed genuinely interested in a long-term relationship with any of them. It’s like you’re trying to prove something.”
“I’m not proving anything,” I snap. “I’m just living my life.”
Jake doesn't look convinced. “At some point, you have to admit you’re avoiding anything that reminds you of Quinn.”
He’s always had a gift for distilling situations to their uncomfortable essence.
I toss the stress ball toward the basketball hoop mounted on my wall, missing by inches.
“Don’t see how this might complicate your working relationship with her?” Jake asks.
The missed shot seems to mock my poor aim, much like Jake's logic mocks me. I retrieve the ball, turning it over in my hands. “I’ll handle it.”
“Like your little social media campaign after the NorthStar leak?" Jake’s reminder of my very public confrontation with Quinn hits its mark.
“That was different.”
“Was it? Because I’m seeing a pattern.” Jake’s voice loses its teasing edge. “She provokes you, you react impulsively, and somehow you end up in a worse position than when you started.”
I want to argue, but the evidence against me is too compelling. From that first accusation I hurled at her from across the globe to the posts I’d launched to show how quickly I’d moved on—Each reaction had been more about soothing my wounded pride than solving anything.
And now I've done it again.
“She’s not going to win,” I say, assuring more myself than him. “I just need to keep it professional for two weeks.”
“And that’s your plan? Professionalism?” Jake doesn’t bother hiding his skepticism. “From the guy who once drove forty minutes in the middle of the night because Quinn texted that she couldn’t sleep?”
The memory rushes to the forefront of my mind—Quinn in her oversized Dallas Stars T-shirt, hair mussed from tossing and turning, her sleepy smile when she opened the door to find me standing there with chamomile tea and her favorite dulce de leche ice cream. We’d stayed up until 3 a.m., her body arching impossibly closer to me as I worshipped her, and we talked about nothing and everything. She’d fallen asleep mid-sentence, and I’d watched her breathe for nearly an hour before drifting off myself. Back when I thought I knew her. Before everything changed.
“That was before.”
“Before you decided she was guilty without a trial.” Jake sighs, backing off at whatever he sees in my expression. “Look, I’m not saying she didn’t do it. I’m just saying you never actually confirmed she did.”
“The timeline?—”
“The timeline is circumstantial at best.” Jake cuts me off. “Maybe instead of painting her as the bad guy, you should actually investigate if she is one.”
“I don’t need to investigate. I already know what happened.”
Jake studies me for a long moment. “Do you? Or are you afraid of what you might find if you look deeper?”
My phone saves me from answering, buzzing with a text from Victoria, a gorgeous model I’ve seen off and on for the past three months. Nothing exclusive, nothing complicated—exactly what I’ve limited myself to since Quinn. Dating implies investment; hookups require nothing but physical presence. The distinction has kept me safely distanced from anything resembling vulnerability for a year now.
Free tonight? My place, 8 p.m.?
Normally, I’d already be typing a confirmation. Now I stare at the screen, the bet with Quinn looming large in my mind. I type back.
Can’t tonight. Deadlines.
Victoria responds immediately.
Your loss. Last chance for a while—heading to Milan tomorrow for three weeks.
The timing is frustratingly perfect.
“Good news?” Jake asks, watching me set the phone aside.
“A friend of mine wants to meet up tonight.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Ah. And day one of your celibacy challenge begins.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I say, though we both know otherwise. “I have work to focus on anyway.”
“Sure,” Jake agrees skeptically.
“Tomorrow?”
“The venue tour with Jonathan, Kiera, Lyla, and Quinn. I’m guessing that’s why you were checking your calendar when I walked in.”
I check my calendar, confirming the appointment I’d completely forgotten after making the bet.
“Right,” I mutter.
“Good luck with your little…challenge,” Jake quips, rising to leave. At the door, he pauses. “A word of advice? Remember she’s got as much to lose as you do. Maybe more.”
After he’s gone, I stare at the closed door, contemplating his parting words. Quinn risking her contract seems reckless, desperate even. What does clearing her name really gain her after all this time? Unless…
Unless she truly is innocent.
I shut down that line of thinking as quickly as it forms. There’s no question about what happened. She betrayed my trust, plain and simple.
The real problem isn’t her guilt or innocence. It’s the frustrating way my body still reacts in her presence despite everything she’d done. It’s the momentary tension that fills the air when our eyes meet. It’s the fact I notice details about her I should have forgotten the moment I discovered her deception against me.
Fourteen days of seeing her, being near her, without letting these unwanted physical responses dictate my actions. And knowing Quinn, she’ll use every trick at her disposal to make me break first. I know, because it’s what I’d do. But after years of building walls where she’s concerned, I don’t intend on making it easy for her.
Quinn’s Office
Quinn
“What the hell did I just do?”
I pace the length of my small office; my heart feels like a jackhammer.
The words had tumbled out before I could stop them—a challenge born from frustration rather than strategy. And now my entire future hinges on what had essentially been a moment of emotional recklessness. But backing down would’ve only confirmed what Nathan already believes about me.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, pulling me from my spiral. Lyla’s text flashes on the screen.
How’d it go? Still alive?
I sink into my desk chair, trying to steady my breathing, and hit Call instead of texting back. The things I want to say are easier to speak than to type.
She answers on the first ring. “That bad, huh?” Her voice is equal parts sympathy and curiosity.
“I may have done something incredibly stupid.” The words come out in a rush. “I made a bet with Nathan.”
“A bet.” Her tone flattens with disbelief. “What kind of bet?”
I close my eyes, already hearing her reaction before I say it. “The kind where I bet he can’t go two weeks without vaginal sex, much less make a show of it to the press”—I swallow—“and then he bet I couldn’t resist him in that time.”
The silence on the other end stretches until I wonder if the call dropped.
“Lyla?”
“I’m processing.” Her voice returns, carefully measured. “Let me get this straight. You bet the man who changes women faster than he changes clothes that he can’t keep it in his pants for two weeks.”
“Right,” I reply.
She continues. “He then countered by basically daring you to try and resist him, a man who oozes charm and sex.”
When put that way, it sounds even worse. “Essentially.”
“Quinn Marie Sanders.” The use of my full name makes me wince. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
I stand and resume pacing, the movement helping me channel my nervous energy. “It was dumb, I know. The idea fell out of my mouth before I even thought it through. But you should’ve seen him, Lyla. So smug, so certain that I still want him.”
“And do you?”
The question stops me mid-stride. “Of course not!”
“Quinn.” The word weighted with knowing.
“My body might…remember things. Forgetting my first love hasn’t been easy. But that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it.” I resume pacing. “Besides, the stakes are too high for me to lose.”
“What exactly are the stakes?” Her voice turns cautious.
I explain quickly—Nathan’s promise to publicly clear my name versus my agreement to walk away from the contract.
“Holy shit,” she breathes. “You’re betting your entire business on your ability to resist a man you were once ready to marry? The same man who, according to you, still makes your heart race when he walks into a room?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“Insane? Reckless? Career suicide? This is jumping without a parachute. This is asinine.” Lyla sighs heavily. “You realize Nathan won’t play fair, right? He’ll do everything possible to make you break.”
The thought sends an unwelcome thrill through me that I quickly suppress. “I know. Because I’ll be doing the same. I assure you; I will not break. This is my chance to prove him wrong—about me, about what happened, about everything.”
“At what cost, though?” Her voice softens. “What if you lose?”
One problem at a time.
I shake my head. My new office, my fresh start, all hanging in the balance because I let my emotions get the better of me and couldn’t resist challenging Nathan Knight.
“I won’t,” I say with more conviction than I feel. “Besides, have you seen his track record? The man hasn’t gone twelve hours without a new woman on his arm since…since us. I know he’ll break first. I know it. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I hope you’re right.” Lyla doesn’t sound convinced. “Just be careful you don’t go down with him. Nathan with something to prove is dangerous enough. But Nathan with something to prove and a personal vendetta? That’s like playing with knives in traffic.”
After we hang up, I take a deep breath and start mentally cataloging strategies. This isn’t just about defense—It’s about winning.
Professional distance to protect myself, definitely. Limited eye contact, yes. No situations where we’re alone or where he could have an advantage over me.
I tap my fingers on my desk, considering my options. Nathan’s always been physically attracted to me. That much was clear when we first started dating and even now from the way his eyes darkened when he stood too close today.
Maybe I can use that to my advantage.
Nothing too obvious to others, of course. Just some “strategic” outfit choices, occasional “accidental” touches…the kind of subtle provocations that would get under any man’s skin without crossing too many lines.
And if he starts playing dirty?
I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.
It’s a dangerous game, but I know Nathan’s weaknesses. His competitive streak. His pride. His impatience. If I can strategically target those while maintaining my own composure, I might just be able to accelerate his inevitable breaking point.
The full weight of what I've done settles over me—two weeks of walking a near-to-impossible tightrope between tempting Nathan into losing without losing myself.
My phone chimes with a calendar notification from Lyla. Wedding Venue Tour with J. Knight & K. Young - Friday, 6 p.m .
That’s tomorrow. And Nathan will be there. Of course he’ll be there. A perfect opportunity to implement phase one of my strategy. I have no doubt he’s thought the same thing.
I just have to be ready for anything he throws at me.