***
~~SLOANE~~
***
I’m trying so hard not to steal glances at Knox from across the room. At first, everything was a blur—Myopia doing what she does best. I eventually caved and put my glasses back on. Squinting wasn’t doing me any favors, and I need a clear view of my target.
Knox is the only person not dressed like he’s about to attend a Gatsby-themed funeral. No tux. No tie. Just his signature black shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, paired with black pants that somehow make him the sexiest man in the room. He’s lounging in his chair, and his fingers are idly stroking his neatly trimmed beard. The movement makes me remember how the strands felt on a very sensitive place, one that’s currently tingling in anticipation of him turning on the device between
