Page 78 of Fighting Mr. Knight

“Morning, Jack.” My voice echoes around the bathroom. “Slight issue. I’m prepared for the presentation, you absolutely do not need to worry—”

“But?”

Grumpy Jack.

I draw in a breath. “Could we move our 9 a.m. to 9:30 please? Or do it remotely? I’m so sorry, but I have a . . .”

Awhat? A crisis? Personal emergency? Catastrophe? “Something’s come up that I need to sort out before the presentation.”

My answer is a deep grunt down the phone.

Is that a yes? Apparently, when you become a billionaire, you stop responding in full sentences. “We can do it now over the phone if you’re free?”

“Where are you?”

“Over the road at the Bradshaw Brown office,” I lie.

“What’s the problem?”

“Ummm—”

“No, we can’t do it remotely,” he growls, ending the call.

Fuck.I stare at the phone in dismay.

It looks like I’m rocking the bra-less look on the most important presentation of my career.

***

I leave the gym feeling naked. It’s a skill to walk at pace with your arms crossed over your chest.

Is it considered unprofessional to not wear a bra? It sways more towards the casual side of business casual. Maybe I can cover my nipples with tape or Post-it notes.

I’m being ridiculous. It’s probably like that spot on your chin that you think is taking over your entire face, but nobody else can see it.

The queue to the lifts is massive. Six rows deep and it’s ten minutes to nine.

By the time I arrive at thefortiethfloor, I’m sweating under my arms and my cheeks are crimson. I may as well not have taken a shower after my run.

Jess’s smile fades when she sees me, and I know I’m in shit. “He’s in his office expecting you. Be quick.”

It’s 9:01.

“Go quickly. Hurry. Knock first. Good luck,” she calls after me, looking sympathetic.

My pulse races as I knock. It’s the first time I’ll have been in his private office.

“Come in,” says the big bad wolf from behind the door.

When I enter, he is stalking back and forth like he’s planning an attack.

Flustered, I close the door and take a few steps into the room, crossing my arms over my chest. “Sorry, I’m slightly late.”

I’m trapped. The only contact with the outside world is through the floor-to-ceiling window.

His office smells of him.

Pictures of him on the wall catch my eye. Jack ice-climbing on a glacier, Jack riding a motorbike in the desert. Basically, the wall is covered with Jack engaging in extreme sports in extreme environments.

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