He Knows When You’re Awake: A Naughty or Nice Novel

by Alta Hensley

Painfully cute Christmas puppies

I might not survive this warning

Wearing of light-up Christmas sweaters

So dark

“You know normal people just ask women out for coffee, right?” Knox follows me through my office, past walls of awards and acquisitions that suddenly seem meaningless compared to the portfolio Sloane carries everywhere. “They don’t orchestrate elaborate meet-cutes involving property damage.”

Normal is no fun

As if he hasn’t just revealed himself to be exactly the kind of stalker I’d joked about with Chloe. Oh my god. I have a billionaire stalker.

Happens

“I should probably get some rest.” I don’t want to admit how much this evening has rattled me. “It’s been a long day of being stalked and manipulated.” That gets an actual laugh from him.

I find myself walking with him, his hand resting on the small of my back. The touch should feel presumptuous. Instead, it feels . . . claiming. Like he’s already decided I’m his, regardless of whether I’ve agreed to anything. The really disturbing part? Some traitorous part of me likes it.

“I don’t even know you, and you want me to live with you?” His eyebrows lift slightly. “Worried I snore?” “Worried you’re a serial killer with excellent taste in jewelry.” He laughs, a genuine sound that transforms his face. “If I were a serial killer, I’d have much better pickup lines than ‘Come live in my tower and make pretty things.’”

The rejection stings more than it should. I’m not used to being denied anything I want, and I want her more than I’ve wanted anything in a long time. I catch myself, gripping the edge of the sleigh. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. Not yet. Not here. I can’t risk scaring her away.

Typical billionaire

“You know, most people just follow their employees on Instagram.” “You keep your account private.” She stills at that, and I see the moment she realizes I know this because I’ve tried to access it.

“It’s Christmas.” She crosses her arms, her expression hardening. “This is my first Christmas away from my family, ever. I’ve never spent December without a tree, and I’m not starting now because you’re worried about your precious marble floors.”

Dude she is right. Need a tree

He’s been watching me, studying me . . . and I hate that I love it. That I crave his attention like it’s oxygen. That some part of me wants to belong to him, even when I know I shouldn’t. I should be creeped out. Should be irritated by his presumption. Any reasonable person would have questions about a man who can guess their exact size down to the half-inch of a boot heel. And the old Sloane—the one who always plays it safe, who never rocks the boat—would put on the dress as expected.

“I know everything.” He pauses. “That sounded less ominous in my head.” The elevator arrives with a soft ding, and I step in, laughing. “At least you’re self-aware about the creepy factor.”

“I want this,” I say simply, my thumb caressing her cheek. “Us. No more dancing around it.” She bites her lip, considering. “It’s risky. Isn’t the saying ‘You shouldn’t mix business and pleasure’?” “Some risks are worth taking.” A slow smile spreads across her face. “Well, you have always had good instincts when it comes to investments.”

My mother always said I had terrible taste in men. Might as well prove her right in spectacular fashion.

“I meant what I said, Sloane. You’re mine now. And I take care of what’s mine.”

This man—this strong, brave, cinnamon roll–loving man—is offering me more than just access to his apartment. He’s offering me a future. A partnership in every sense of the word.

Aweeeee

“What can I say? I like seeing you when you’re sleeping . . .” His arms slide around my waist. “Next to me. And I want to know when you’re awake . . . when you aren’t next to me.” “That’s either the most romantic or the most stalkerish thing you’ve ever said.” Cole’s embrace tightens as he chuckles. “I prefer to think of it as romantic, but I suppose there’s a fine line.”