Page 55 of Fighting Mr. Knight

Her teeth latch onto her bottom lip as she crosses and uncrosses her toned legs. My adrenaline spikes.

“No, Jack,” she says, her voice cracking. “I have no questions at this moment.”

"Mr. Knight,” I correct her as the room stiffens.

“Mr. Knight,” she repeats, looking like she needs a hole to be burned in the floor so she can disappear through it.

“You have no questions at all about a project of this size?” I demand. “Of this importance to your company?”

I see the exact moment she stops breathing. She scans the room for help. “Not right now, Mr. Knight.” Her throat wobbles as she swallows. “I’m sure I’ll have questions when I digest all the information.”

“Sounds like my work here is done,” I say sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Jack.” Sean frowns at me. “You have ten minutes left.”

“Uh . . . Mr . . . uh . . . Jack,” Max pipes up, confused about what to call me. “Rest assured the entire team is giving this project our utmost attention. And thank you for extending the deadline.”

I extended their deadline because that doe-eyed vixen hit my soft spot at the wedding.

I’m not having this. Regardless of how much I want to drop to my knees in front of her and demand she open her legs to let me kiss her.

“Get out.”

The cow in headlights is back.

“Me?” The blood drains from her face.

“Jack,” Sean says, “is this necess—”

“Bonnie,” I cut him off, “get out. If you are incapable of listening, leave the room.”

“I am listening, Mr. Knight,” she protests softly.

“In that case, tell me what Sean said about the access statement stipulation from the planning authority. And what I said we need to do about it.”

She swallows and stutters through a vague response.

I stand from my chair and walk over to open the door wide.

She gapes at me, blinking.

Max looks between Bonnie and me, his mouth opening and closing like a dying useless fish. “Bonnie,” he prompts quietly, “it’s best you leave now.”

She nods and lifts her bag onto her shoulder, but the strap falls off. It’s like she’s lost motor skills. Some of the contents of her bag scatter and Nisha hurries to pick them up.

She walks past me, cheeks burning. Close enough for me to smell the perfume she wore at the wedding. And close enough for those bright blue eyes to make me feel a miniscule amount of guilt.

“Sorry, Mr. Knight,” she whispers, a fire burning in her eyes. She is as angry as she is scared.

I grunt under my breath as she disappears out the door.

Bonnie

Son of a bitch.

“I have to call him Mr. Knight? No one calls him Mr. Knight. I heard a cleaner call him Jack. He’s a bastard,” I whisper angrily to Nisha. We are still in his offices and, as much as I hate the guy, I’m not setting a foot wrong to further antagonise him.

I press the power button on my laptop too hard.

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