Page 37 of What Comes Around

“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.