Page 92 of Fighting Mr. Knight

She looks at me like I’ve just kicked a puppy. “I thought you’d be up for the job.”

I chug my Scotch and grimace. “The job of being your rebound sex? That’s not what I want from you.”

Her face falls and she steps back, muttering under her breath.

“Boss man.Bonnie.” I turn to see Adrian and Max. Max frowns slightly, looking between Bonnie and me.

I’m not in the mood for this. “Adrian. Max.”

My jaw flexes as Adrian appreciatively scans Bonnie up and down and goes to hand her another Old Fashioned.

“I’ll take that,” I say, intercepting him. “Bonnie’s getting a lift home with my driver. She’s had enough.”

Max frowns at her. “Everything okay?”

Her cheeks flush with annoyance, but she hides it quickly with a bright smile. “Everything’s fine! I don’t want anymore.Jack’s right—those things are strong! Besides, I have to run ten miles tomorrow morning.”

“Ten miles, Bonnie?” Adrian stretches out her name. “Impressive.”

“I’m doing the London Marathon this year,” she says. “So really, I shouldn’t be drinking much, or it messes up my training.”

Adrian, the prick, rakes his eyes down her bare legs with zero subtly. “That explains alot.”

I glare at him then turn to Bonnie. “I’ll show you to my driver.”

“It’s fine.” She smiles stiffly at me. “I can make my own way home. The tubes are still running.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

She shakes her head like a stubborn child. “I’ll get the tube.”

My jaw tightens. “I have a duty of care to anyone from the team who is out late drinking with Lexington.”

She mutters under her breath, “his bloody duty of care again.”

“Bonnie, take the driver,” Max cuts in.

“Fine.” She huffs. “I’m going to check if Nisha wants to go home too and pop to the ladies.”

She walks off and I wonder why every conversation I have with this woman fires me up so much.

Bonnie

Who wants mirrored walls and doors in a toilet? The last thing I need to see is me sitting on the loo with my knickers around my ankles.

I wish I was on my own cheap plastic toilet at home instead of London’s most glamorous loo (according to Toilets of Instagram).

I wish I’d never set foot in this obnoxious fancy bar.

That kiss.

I wish I’d never kissed Jack Knight like tomorrow was Armageddon and we were all going to die.

And I really wish I hadn’t proposedwham bam thank you ma’amto Jack.

I wish I could rewind the whole damn day.

The low of the missing underwear, the high of humping a hot stomach, the second high of a successful presentation and now the plummeting low of offering myself up on a plate only to be rejected.

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