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

by Alta Hensley

“I think I’m being courted by a potential serial killer,” I say when Chloe answers. “Ooh, fun! Wait, what?”

“It’s not a trap if she wants to be caught.”

Oh my god. I have a billionaire stalker.

“If I were a serial killer, I’d have much better pickup lines than ‘Come live in my tower and make pretty things.’” “That,” I said, pointing at him, “is exactly what a serial killer would say.” I narrow my eyes. “For all I know, you have a collection of artist pelts somewhere.”

“We should probably maintain some boundaries,” she says quietly, though her eyes linger on my lips a second too long. “I’m going to be working for you, after all.”

The orderly way is not always the best way.”

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers, though her eyes say something different. “I need this to be . . . professional.”

But tonight I’ve glimpsed something in Sloane Whitmore I didn’t expect—a woman who values her work above all else, who sets boundaries even when it costs her. Someone who won’t be easily figured out or controlled. The realization doesn’t disappoint me. Instead, I find myself more intrigued than ever.

“You’re really leaning into this whole stalker thing, aren’t you?”

“This necklace makes me want to do dirty things. Raw, unhinged things,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It makes me want to see what you’d look like surrendering. I think this necklace could unleash the inner beast in anyone.”

A necklace?

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.

“Besides, didn’t he say something about not asking twice? On second thought, maybe don’t wear it. I wanna know what he’ll do . . .”

“Artistic genius that never makes it to market is just wasted potential.”

I want it dark. I want it dangerous. I want his hand to squeeze around my neck until I can barely inhale . . . wait . . . what the fuck? Why am I even . . . but I want. I do.

“I promised myself back then that if I ever got out, I’d only have the finest things. Things worth savoring. Things he couldn’t afford to touch.”

“This is going to break Instagram,” she says, zooming in on a particularly intricate piece.

its supposed to be private

Plans are made for Hailey to return tomorrow. Knox arrives to escort them out, and I don’t miss how Hailey lingers a bit, or how he stands just a fraction closer to her than strictly necessary in the elevator.

book 3?

She believed she wasn’t very good either, but she loved it. Said music didn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful.”

“And are you? Chaotic?” “Totally. But that’s where all the good stuff happens. In the mess, you know? My brain just doesn’t work in straight lines.”

“Cryptocurrency?” He arches an eyebrow. “You want to yell ‘cryptocurrency’ in the middle of sex?”

As we exit the rescue van, Knox falls into step behind us, but not before I catch his eye and give him a subtle nod toward the rescue van—a silent instruction he acknowledges with the barest tilt of his head.

oh thank god

“Jasmine.” Sloane’s voice is warm honey over steel. “I was just telling Diana Winters about my time at Moth to the Flame. How it taught me exactly what I didn’t want my brand to be.”

wanting something doesn’t make it happen. And this isn’t going away.

“Though given his clear disregard for proper order and expensive accessories, might I suggest Havoc?”

good name

“The interesting ones are the people you don’t recognize,” I say, nodding toward a quiet man in the far alcove whose hedge fund could buy Richmond Tech ten times over. “The ones who prefer to stay out of the spotlight.”