Page 24 of He Knows When You're Awake

“Ms. Whitmore.” Knox appears in the doorway, iPad in hand. She turns, and I see recognition flash across her face.

“You were in Switzerland.”

“Knox Bishop, head of security.” He extends his hand, his handshake firm but not aggressive. “Among other duties, I oversee allsafety protocols for the building. We need to discuss the standard security measures for all residents of the penthouse level.”

I watch Sloane’s face as Knox outlines the restrictions—no unauthorized guests, limited elevator access, twenty-four-seven security detail. Her expression stays neutral, but I see the tension in her shoulders.

“The cameras,” Knox continues, “are primarily focused on the work areas and entry points. Your private quarters remain surveillance-free, as agreed.”

“And the feeds go where exactly?”

“To our security team. And Mr. Asher’s private office.”

She looks at me sharply. I meet her gaze without apology.

“My bedroom...” she starts, then stops as the doors to her private quarters swing open.

The space is larger than her entire apartment was—a proper suite rather than just a bedroom. Floor-to-ceiling windows continue the view, with automated blinds for privacy. Her belongings are arranged exactly as they were in her old place but now given room to breathe. Her favorite reading chair sits in a window nook I had custom-built to match the dimensions of her old apartment’s bay window. Her books line built-in shelves, organized by color just as she had them.

The bedroom itself is done in the same colors she chose for her apartment—soft grays and deep blues—but with higher-quality everything. Her grandmother’s quilt drapes across a bed three times the size of her old one. Her photographs have been arranged in the same pattern she’d had them.

A door leads to a walk-in closet where her clothes hang in perfect order, with space for the wardrobe I plan to add. The bathroom features a soaking tub positioned to watch the sunrise, and her exact brand of shampoo already waits on the marble counter.

“The kitchenette is stocked with your tea collection,” I tell her asshe takes it all in. “Though you’re welcome to use the main kitchen as well.”

She walks into the space slowly, running her fingers along the spines of her books. “How did you...” She opens a drawer to find her socks neatly arranged. “My apartment. You already moved everything.”

“Efficiency is important.” I watch her process this, wondering if this will be the final straw.

She’s quiet for a long moment, studying the precise arrangement of her possessions. Then she turns to me with an expression I wasn’t expecting—determination rather than anger.

“I’d like to get started right away.”

Knox blinks. “You don’t want to get settled in? I could arrange—”

“I’m here to work.” She cuts him off. “This timeline isn’t going to meet itself.”

My phone buzzes—the Bergdorf’s call I’ve been expecting.

I pride myself on not being an easy man to read but Knox catches my reaction. His expression shifts to concern.

“Bergdorf’s?” he asks, voice low.

I nod once, hoping he drops it.

“Need me to handle it?” Knox asks, already reaching for his own phone.

“No.” My tone ends that line of conversation, but Sloane doesn’t miss the exchange.

She glances between us, that designer’s eye catching every detail. “Something wrong with the launch?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” I keep my voice neutral, giving nothing away. “Just some last-minute date changes.”

Sloane’s glance darts to Knox, who’s doing a terrible job hiding his concern. I can see her mind working, filing away his reaction for later examination. She’s too sharp to miss the undercurrenthere, which is exactly why Knox needs to learn to keep his damn face neutral.

“Take it,” Sloane says, already moving toward her work studio in the main part of the penthouse. “I’m going to be busy anyway.”

“Already trying to get rid of me?” I ask, watching her unpack her tools with practiced efficiency.