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“I've worked for Mitchell for years.”

“I'm aware.”

“I know how he operates.”

“Congratulations.”

“You think this is real?”

That lands.

I won't be there to see it.

But later, I'll imagine exactly how Layla's face must have changed. Because I know her.

I know how quickly she can go from warm to still.

How she goes quiet when something hurts.

How those hazel eyes sharpen when she's frightened and doesn't want anyone to know.

Myrna continues.

“The contract. The thirty days. All this access.”

She gestures around my office.

“You honestly think Mitchell Knight suddenly decided he wanted a reporter crawling through his life?”

Layla doesn't answer.

“You’re here investigating Garrison Knight, using rugby as a ruse.”

Silence.

“And Mitchell found out.”

“What?”

“He knows. He always knew.”

Myrna smiles.

“He knew before he made you the offer.”

Layla's stomach would drop.

Mine will too when I learn this conversation happened.

“He had you investigated,” Myrna continues. “Your work. Your history. Your reputation. He wanted to know what you had on his grandfather.”

Layla's voice is quieter when she speaks.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I'm his assistant.”

“And?”