Page 100 of Fighting Mr. Knight

Keep focusing on your necklace. I white-knuckle the Amethyst crystal hanging from my neck. I knew today would be tough, so I wore a calming stone. I didn’t think it would be this shit show.

If it works for holy men and monks, surely it’ll work for me.

The crystal slides in my sweaty palms, hard and useless. The pain of the crystal’s sharp edges digging into my palm are a mild distraction but not enough.

I’ll die if I don’t get out of this room. There’s no oxygen.

Everyone else looks relaxed, listening intently. How? The more normal they look, the more my anxiety spikes.

Max. Olivia. Jack. I need to get out of this fucking room. That’s the only thing that matters.

People turn curiously as I shuffle past them, trying to look as controlled as possible.

Jack continues talking as he watches me make my way to the top of the room.

“Excuse me, Jack,” I mumble. “I’m not feeling well.”

Without looking at him, I slip past him out the door, clutching my stomach to slow my breathing. I might be sick at this rate.

I know it’s game over. Jack will take me off the project for disrupting another one of his meetings. Or if he doesn’t, Max will.

Max. The C-word was invented for him. And I don’t mean charmer.

The toilets are fully sealed. Practically soundproof, thank God. None of that bullshit where the bottom gap in the door is so big everyone knows your business.

I slump onto the toilet seat, my heart racing.

Was everything about our relationship a lie? Max might not have loved me in the end, but I thought he respected me. I trusted him so openly, it’s scary.

He shat all over my trust.

He must have been seeing Olivia at least six months before we split to give her that necklace. AndDanielle? What the fuck? Did he have a bit on the side of a bit on the side?

How many women did he really sleep with when we were together?

The door to the bathroom opens. I hear footsteps. The heavy footsteps of a man.

Please, God, don’t let it be Max.

I can’t deal with seeing him yet. I need to get my emotions under control, or there’ll be a body pushed out the fortieth-floor window.

The knock on my cubicle door makes me jump.

“I’ll be out in a second,” I cry. Just fuck off.

“Bonnie.” Jack’s low voice comes from the other side of the door.

No. Anyone but Jack.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I need a minute.”

I don’t care if he takes me off the project.

“Let me in.”

“I’m being sick,” I lie. “Vomiting.”

There’s a heavy sigh outside the door. “Please.”

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