Page 61 of Fighting Mr. Knight

Damn.

I slump into my chair.

Short little cretins. Five years here and one minor mishap later, I’m ripped out of a project that would advance my career. I may as well put my CV together because that’s my promotion out the window.

“Wait.” Max puts his palm up. “Jack responded at five this morning. He wants you to talk to him directly.”

My pulse quickens. “Talk to him directly . . . is that good or bad?”

He flings his arms up. “I don’t know. I tried. I emailed Jack before Bradshaw did, but he didn’t respond to me.”

“What does he want?” I feel a sliver of hope. “What should I do—email him? Call him? Isn’t it too early? Should I wait until nine?”

I wish the instructions were clearer. The damn guy probably plans to re-enact the scene of firing Dad. Even though he can’t technically fire me, he can cause a lot of damage to my reputation and career stagnation.

Max shakes his head. “He’s obviously an early riser.”

You already knew that; it’s in his biography.

“Do you know if he’ll be in the office today? He has to walk past here to get to his office.”

“I don’t know. He’s a busy man.” He thinks for a minute. “His PA sent around his work number in the email yesterday. She starts work at eight so she can let you know if he’s free to accept your call. At least you’ll have tried.”

But I have his personal number.

“Be prepared to get on your knees and grovel. He’s not known for second chances.”

An image of being on my knees in front of Jack Knight flashes in my head.

Fuck.

“I will.”

“Oh, and Bonnie?” He raps his knuckles on my desk. “Bradshaw doesn’t know about your little outburst when you threw water over me. If he finds out about that, you’ll definitely be taken off the project.”

You’re welcome,his face says as he walks away.

“Max?” I call after him.

He turns.

“Jack doesn’t know about your little bedtime reading. How many timeshaveyou re-readFrom Bricks to Billions? If he finds out about that, he might feel uncomfortable knowing you’ve got a book about his life that’s so overread, it’s practically disintegrating.”

I smile sweetly and turn my attention to my laptop.

***

Ten minutes later, I’m still stewing over strategy. I can’t call Jack’s personal number. It doesn’t feel appropriate.

“Definitely nothing of interest going on there.” His words from the morning after the wedding burn into my brain and hurt much more than they should.

Nope. I’mnotcalling his personal phone.

There is already a surprising crowd in the office, considering it’s 8 a.m., but Canary Wharf never sleeps. All work, no play here. Jack’s not in his office, though.

I open my emails, thinking about what I’m going to say, and then locate his office number. Maybe I could say I had women’s problems, that always shuts men up.

A female voice answers straight away. “Jack Knight’s office. Jess speaking.”

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