Page 65 of Fighting Mr. Knight

Just when I thought that stone jaw couldn’t get any harder, he clenches his teeth and swallows hard. It seems I’ve pushed the man too far.

I change tactics. “Can we start afresh? Perhaps you could assess the situation after we present the first draft of the conceptual designs.” I’m asking him to give me three weeks. That’s fair.

I hold out my hand.

For an awkward beat, I think he’s going to leave me hanging but then he takes off a glove and takes my hand in his sweaty calloused one.

There’s no mistaking the current that passes between us.

Iknowhe feels it too.

Just as it is about to get weird, he drops my hand and nods. “To starting afresh.”

I exhale a weak breath. His testosterone leaves little space for oxygen in the room. “Thank you, I really appreciate this, Mr. Knight.”

Something flashes in his eyes at the title, but he doesn’t correct me.

“I won’t take up any more of your time.”

He turns his back on me and swaggers to his sparring partner, waiting patiently in the middle of the ring.

I move towards the door, breathing freely now. That was close. To be taken off the project after the Max and Olivia revelation would be a kick in the teeth when I’m already sprawled on the ground.

“Bonnie,” he says in his gravelly voice behind me.

I turn my head to see him gazing steadily at me. “The boots suit you. Better than your bridesmaid’s shoes. Although you’d still take my fucking toes off with those boots.”

Then he turns and goes straight into punching, leaving me staring at my black leather ankle boots, feeling more confused than ever.

One thing’s for sure, never once has Max looked at me in the office the wayMr. Knightjust did.

18

Jack

Being London’s biggest property developer isn’t as glamorous as it’s made out to be, despite what the media would have the nation believe.

This evening, I got photographed coming out of a swanky restaurant with the Mayor of London after I was accosted by two females.

By midnight, another threesome will be added to my playboy persona along with the photographic “evidence.” Fifty percent of the time, it’s true and the other fifty, it’s cock and bull.

In my case, my reputation definitely precedes me.

Life was simpler when I was a poor bricklayer.

The motion sensor lights illuminate the walkway of the fortieth floor as I walk to my office. The floor is in darkness except for one corner.

I pause in my tracks, frowning.

She’s bent over her laptop and too engrossed in whatever she’s doing to notice me. Her eyes fix on the screen as she absently brushes loose hair from her neck.

My chest tightens. Bonnie shouldn’t be here alone at this time of night.

The light of the laptop screen bounces off her sculpted cheekbones and razor-sharp features. She must have Scandinavian blood in her with that bone structure. She wraps her lips around a pen, and it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

Plump, pouty lips that women pay thousands to fake. Lips I’d like to taste.

I need a reality check here. I can’t stop staring at her. That’s all I’ve done since our little chat in the gym five days ago. Watch her from afar. Watch her laugh with others, charm my team and talk to everyone but me, the big bad wolf who kicked her out of a meeting. When she laughs, she lights up the room. When she scowls, she sets me on fire.

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