Page 164 of Fighting Mr. Knight

But every decision I’ve made the past few years was influenced by a bloke—my dad, Max, the bloody partners—and I need to do this.

My body rises as he lets out a long breath from under me.

“Okay. But you know my promise extends across time zones. Wherever you are in the world, I’ve got you.” He smirks. “I only have one condition.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Whenever you fly home from Astana, you come directly here to my house in Greenwich. Give up the flat lease in Brixton. You know that place has put me off chicken altogether?”

I barely restrain an eye roll.

My legs spread wide as I star fish on top of him in the luxury super king-size bed.

“Sold.”

Epilogue

Two weeks later

Jack

“Ready?” I squeeze Bonnie’s hand tightly.

She smiles, failing to hide the worry etched in her beautiful face.

The London Marathon is tomorrow; she needs to do this first, so she can concentrate on the race.

He opens the door before I can ring the bell. He must have been listening on the other side.

“Dad,” Bonnie says breathlessly beside me.

“Mr. Casey.” I stare at the man I’ve been obsessing about for weeks. He looks older than his seventy years. Maybe a guilty conscience does that.

He’s a free man until his court case. With no other criminal record, he’ll get a suspended sentence. Likely community service.

Months ago, I would have fought the verdict tooth and nail.

Now, I’m relieved.

“Frank,” he says nervously, refusing to look me in the eye. “Call me Frank. Please come in.”

I can tell by his tone he doesn’t mean it. My company built this flat, but I’m not welcome here.

Bonnie warned me he likely wouldn’t apologise. Her mum said he doesn’t want to see me.

Well, that’s bloody tough. I want Bonnie to repair her relationship with this man. He’ll just have to tolerate me.

We walk in behind him to the kitchen, gripping Bonnie’s hand.

I take a moment to inspect the interior as I always do in one of my flats. It’s one of the social housing flats. It’s not as shiny as the luxury high tech ones but it’s a damn sight nicer than the old grey council blocks.

“Tea,” he mumbles. “Whiskey?”

“Tea.” I clear my throat. “We’re on my bike tonight.”

“Tea!” Bonnie cries in a high pitch.

“I have biscuits.” Frank Casey shuffles around the kitchen, ignoring the elephant in the room.

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