Page 8 of Fighting Mr. Knight

“A night?” Spit flies from her mouth and lands on the dashboard. “Shut the front door! That’s . . . forty-fucking-five grand. That’s an actual house down payment. God, I can’t wait to see the shampoo in the room.”

“Yup. Some of the royals have even stayed here.”

“Holy hell. He’s generous to his employees, I’ll give him that. I suppose it helps that Sean’s his cousin.”

“Generous to the underlings he likes,” I hiss through my teeth.

“Bonnie, you need to be a better actor than that.” She side-eyes me. “Why do you hate him so much anyway?”

I grip the steering wheel tighter.

Nisha doesn’t know my beef with Knight.

How could I not hate him after I helped Dad pack up all his possessions and say goodbye to the house that had been my nan’s and survived two world wars? After that, Dad was never the same. I’m all for men expressing their emotions, but seeing your father weep is pretty soul-destroying, even for a nineteen-year-old.

A month after Jack laid off fifty workers, he entered the UK rich list.

But the thing that pissed me off the most was that the night he fired my dad, Jack sauntered into The White Horse pub, dick swinging and cash flashing, with women hanging off him and hewinkedat me.

A slow, arrogant wink aimed at me.

I don’thatethe guy. I don’t hate anyone. He’s a businessman and I’m sure it wasn’t personal.It’s more of a festering dislike.

And the most annoying thing? How much I know about the man. It’s hard not to. East End boy made good and nobody in the area is allowed to forget that. The Knights were a rags-to-riches story, all because of Jack.

The White Horse pub even has a damn photo of him on its wall.

I sigh. “It’s complicated.”

She groans. “Well, this is bloody weird. How the hell are we supposed to relax with our biggest client here? I’m surprised he agreed to stay in the castle with us. Doesn’t he have security? What if someone plans to kidnap him?”

“Kate said he has security, but you never see them. They’ll be staying close enough if there is an emergency.” I grin. “Maybe you can ask him.”

“No chance,” she scoffs. “I’m going to mindeverythingI say in front of this dude. What the hell do you say to a billionaire? How’s work going? I have zero common ground with this guy.”

I laugh. “Maybe you can ask him hypothetical questions like what yacht you should buy if you get a seven billion pound pay raise. Or ‘hey Jack, I’m thinking of getting my biography done because my life is too damn interesting. Who did you use’? Or ‘hey, jackass, how many men did you fire this week?’”

“Quit already.” Her eyes gleam. “His bodyguards will be buff.”

I think about the bodyguard smut I read last week.

Yes, please.

“He might have snipers on the roof.”

“He’s not the prime minister.” I roll my eyes as we crawl into the parking bay of the castle grounds.

Mild panic rises in me as I see throngs of people decorating the lawn drinking in the late afternoon sun and am reminded that as a bridesmaid, mingling is mandated.

What started as an intimate affair turned into a guest list of nearly three hundred for the big day and a two-day pre-wedding celebration for fifty of Kate and Sean’s closest family and friends.

Kate runs to the car, peering in wildly before I get a chance to turn off the ignition.

“Bonnie!” She flings her arms around me as I step out. “I’m so glad you guys are here. Sorry, I’m being extra needy today.” She’s slightly breathless. “The whole wedding is going to shit.”

My eyes widen as I take in her fake mahogany complexion, but I recover quickly. Kate is too nice for her own good.Her cousin and aspiring beauty consultant begged for the job of fake tan artist and appears not to have understood the bridal brief for a natural glow.

No wonder Kate’s distraught.

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