Page 5 of Fighting Mr. Knight

That’s the sucky thing about our break-up, so much of our lives still overlap. Our friends Kate and Sean are getting married on the weekend and Max and I are part of the wedding party because we spent years together as a foursome. They were supposed to repay the favour, but that requirement is now null and void.

I nod vigorously. “I’ll work every hour I can. You don’t need to worry about that. You know that. You knowme.”

His frown says he’s not fully appeased. I know what’s coming.

“That’s not all I’m worried about. Look, I understand you have some . . . issues with Jack Knight. And I’m not saying they aren’t justified, but it was a long time ago, okay? You need to treat the wedding as a networking opportunity. Be professional. Becivilto the guy at the very least.”

The icing on the wedding cake—Kate’s marrying into the Knight family.

“I’ll behave in front of the great and glorious Mr. Knight,” I say through gritted teeth.

“See?” Max glares back at me. “That’s what I’m talking about. The attitude.”

“Max, I’m not going to mess up the chance of promotion. I’ll follow the required bridesmaid etiquette. Last time I checked, it included being nice to the guests.”

Even if the guest list includes an obnoxious, arrogant Knight who dumps pawns off his board when he’s got no further use for them.

I swallow the lump in my throat.Simple.

2

Bonnie

“Just ask him who she is,” Nisha grumbles beside me. “I can’t handle this version of you.”

She’s right—I’m the worst version of myself today. Ever since Max’s little faux pas, I’m completely on edge. Like a caged lab rat forced into caffeine testing.

I spent most of today cyber-sleuthing Max, checking if there are any new blonde females in the background of his photos.

So far, across all his social media accounts and even his LinkedIn, he has no blonde friends called Danielle.

My eyes narrow on Max across the office, where he’s subtly applying aftershave at his desk. He looks good. He’s got that Clark Kent thing going on, well-kept hair, great jawline but never with stubble, overall attractive but a bit stiff looking.

Is the aftershave for Danielle?

It doesn’t escape me that Danielle and I could be sisters.Blonde. Blue eyes. Pale skin. Max has a type.

Last night my therapist asked, “Is your grief about losing Max or the loss of an old way of life?”

Who the fuck knows? All I want to feel is numb. Sometimes I wish I had the brain of a sociopath.

The internet says six months is a decent time frame to recover from the break-up of a long-term relationship, but my therapist won’t give me a timeline because she’s charging a hundred pounds a session. Time frames aren’t in her best interest.

Spotting me gawking at him, Max stands up and strolls right up to my desk.

“Bonnie.” He nods curtly. “I’m going out with the partners this evening. Some of the seniors at Lexington will be there.” He pauses. “It would be wise for you to be there rubbing shoulders with them.”

I wanted a night out with Bradshaw and Brown as much as I wanted to suck a bag of flaccid dicks, but I need to land this promotion. Bradshaw is a tits person and Brown is a bum person, meaning I’ll get sleazed on from all angles.

Both knew about our relationship and were invited to the doomed wedding. You would think it would be awkward now, but Max project-managed the split perfectly.

According to Max, ourbond had naturally transitioned into a caring friendship, and we were starting afresh on different paths. I keep meaning to find out what website he stole that blurb from.

Before his side of the bed got cold, he had wrapped the whole thing up, sold our flat, notified HR, cancelled the wedding and announced thedecouplingto all of our friends, family and colleagues.

I was a mere spectator in the meticulous execution.

I crack a strained smile. “Sure. That sounds great.”

---