Page 112 of Fighting Mr. Knight

He treats you like a queen, then disappears before you can assume it meant anything.

The cold hard reality of the morning sinks in with the drizzling grey London sky outside the window. I slept with our most important client. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, even if it was the best sex of my life.

It was worth it, a little voice inside my head screams.

“Get a grip, Bonnie,” I say out loud, sinking into the sofa. “Get some coffee and get ready for work.”

The wine bottle from last night is still open on the coffee table, uncorked. Beside it there’s a note I hadn’t noticed before.

I had to go to the office early. You looked too peaceful to disturb. By the way, I deleted all your dating apps. You should put a pin on your phone.

PS. I know you’ll look after it for me because I trust you.

Followed by a wink.

I grab my phone and my jaw hits the floor. My home screen is a lot less cluttered. He deleted my dating apps!

He better not have looked at my photos or messages.

I grin to myself. What a cheeky bastard. It’s funny how if anyone else did this I would be raging but with Jack, his arrogance turns me on.

This morning just got a whole lot better.

I know you’ll look after it for me because I trust you.I read it out loud.

What is he talking about? Look after what?

Who knows.

Yawning, I trudge to the bathroom. There’s no steam, meaning he didn’t have a shower here this morning. I wouldn’t use this shower either if I was a billionaire.

Something gold around my neck sparkles in the mirror.

What the hell?

It can’t be.

With butter fingers, I fumble with the chain around my neck until the clasp releases and it falls into my hands.

I stare down at the solid gold chain with the distinguished Knight crest pendant, blinking rapidly.

Archie T Knight.

It’s engraved in small writing on the underside. His father’s name. It’s the chain that Jack always wears.

He must have put it around my neck when I was sleeping.

In the quiet of my small flat, all I can hear is my out-of-control heartbeat.

Max wouldn’t even let me touch his gaming laptop.

I slap cold water on my face, drop some tissue into the toilet, flush and . . .

Holy crap, the toilet flushes properly, as if by magic.

I don’t need to dump tons of water in the cistern like I’ve been doing since I moved in, because my landlord is the worst in London.

I laugh to myself because that’s what you do when you live alone. I don’t know if I’m more ecstatic about the chain or the working toilet.

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