Fighting Mr. Knight: A Billionaire Office Romance (The London Mister Series Book 3)

I’m in the Lexington office at 8 a.m., ready to redeem myself.

New day, new outlook. Yesterday, Max told me to continue work as usual, so that’s what I’ll do. Jack kicking people out of meetings is just a normal day in the office, and the barbarian boss has forgotten all about it.

I don’t feel good admitting I wasted a lot of time on Olivia’s social media last night in between long, rambling conversations with Kate and Nisha dissecting every last detail on why, why, just why?

Kate tells me what I want to hear, and Nisha tells me like it is. Between both, hopefully, I’ll meet in the middle and get through this.

Max has always been twenty steps ahead of me in this breakup. He’ll be married with three kids, a dog and a vasectomy before I’ve finished counselling.

I didn’t take that much notice of Olivia before. We exchanged niceties in the office kitchen and smiled at each other in the hallway. She has an English rose look about her with dimples that people would pay to have surgically added.

She’s been at Bradshaw for about six months and is in a pretty junior admin role. I’ve never even noticed her and Max flirting but clearly, I was blind. I didn’t realise that she was exchanging bodily fluids as well as niceties with Max. I’ve been traded in for a younger model and I’m only twenty-eight.

At least she’s across the road in our Bradshaw office, and I’ll rarely see her for the next few weeks.

I don’t want to get back with Max. I said it to Kate last night and I meant it. I’m finally at the point of no return. That’s not what this is about.

The whole situation just stinks of disrespect. For me and for our relationship. I cannot fathom how a man who told me he loved me every day for years could put me in this horrendous situation and not seem that bothered about it.

He’s missing a massive sensitivity chip if he thinks it’s okay to go on our honeymoon destination with another woman from the office.

Now I doubt he ever loved me.

Speak of the devil.

Max hurries up to me as I’m powering on my laptop. “Morning. I’m glad you’re here early.”

“Yesterday was an exception,” I say sharply. “I’m usually early.”

He eyes me warily. “Hopefully, you’ve calmed down now that you’ve slept on it.”

“I’m void of all emotions.” I smile brightly at him. “They’re at the door downstairs.”

His eyes narrow a fraction then he sighs. “Bonnie, I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Neither does someone who committed manslaughter. It doesn’t make it okay.”

His lips press into a fine line.

“Look, you could have waited, that’s all. Let’s leave it. How can I help you, Max?”

“Good.” He nods curtly. “Listen, Bradshaw and Brown wanted to take you off the project. Bradshaw sent over an apology to Jack last night and said he would deal with it.”

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 times have you re-read From 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’m not calling 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.”

“Morning, Jess. It’s Bonnie from Bradshaw Brown. We’ve spoken before over email. You helped me get some pictures together for the mosaic for Sean’s wedding.”

“Ah, yes, Bonnie!” Her voice floods with warmth. “Thanks for sending me a picture of the final thing. It looked amazing! Kate and Sean must have been delighted.”

“Umm, yeah, I think it went down well. Thanks so much for your help.” I clear my throat. “Listen, Jess, I’m hoping to speak to Mr. Knight for five minutes today if that’s possible? Could I schedule a meeting?”

There’s a pause. “I hope you’re okay after yesterday.”

So, everyone knows.

I let out a sad little laugh. “I’m calling to redeem myself.”

I can feel her sympathy down the phone. “He’s back-to-back with meetings all day. Let me see what I can do, Bonnie. I’ll call you back.” She pauses. “Oh, and I shouldn’t be saying this, but it sounds like you got unlucky yesterday. He’s not usually that hot-headed.”

I know she’s trying to console me, but it somehow makes me feel worse. “Thanks.”

At least I tried. A large part of me is relieved I wasn’t put through.

My phone buzzes.

Fuck.

Double fuck.

Jack Knight flashes up on the screen. It’s his personal number.

Gah.

“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” I say in my most professional tone.

“Bonnie.” His voice is low and hard, a growl rather than a greeting. In the background, there’s a lot of noise, like he’s walking fast.

See, that’s what I’m talking about. The guy kicks me out of a meeting, fires people in front of me in a hot tub, gives my number to random guys, not to mention fires my dad, making him an all-round brute.

Yet my pulse goes from resting to racing just from hearing him say my goddamn name.

I make a mental note to go on a date with Christopher, the guy I’m messaging ASAP.

“I’d like to personally apologise to you for yesterday.” I’m proud that my voice is strong.

“Come and apologise in person.”

“Of course,” I say quickly. “Would you like me to schedule a meeting?”

“No,” he says gruffly. “Come down to the basement. Last door on the left.”

Thank God I had the good sense to get into the office early.

I take the lift.

With each floor, my stomach becomes more unsettled. He’s not going to make this easy if he wants to see me in person at this hour.

Apologise, and move on. In a week, it’ll be forgotten. In a few months, you’ll have your promotion, get on the register and can jump ship.

My pep talk does nothing.

Why the hell am I meeting him in the basement? Besides the gym and access to the carpark, I can’t remember what else is down here.

A morgue?

The lift doors open to the basement. I pass the entrance to the bike shed on the right and a cleaner supply room on the left, then arrive at the only door he can be talking about.

It’s a door right beside the main gym.

I knock.

“Come in,” a man shouts.

Inside is a boxing ring they didn’t show us during the office tour.

And in the middle of the ring is a bare-chested bare-footed sweaty Jack throwing savage punches at another bloke.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

The muscles of his arms and chest flex with every punch he delivers to the other guy, who can clearly give as good as he can take.

The intensity on Jack’s face could swallow me whole.

Damn.

Speechless. My head involuntarily tips to the side as I examine him, like a beautiful sculpture.

Loud primitive grunts come out of him, acting as my sexual alarm clock. His muscles contract every time he jabs.

Same as my vagina. My version of morning wood.

Jesus, woman. He’s just a man.

Also a hulking, hot-as-fuck man, glistening in sweat.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

The other guy lands a decent punch on Jack’s chest. That must hurt. The muscles ripple but Jack ducks and comes back for more.

“Bonnie,” a gruff breathless voice jerks me out of my daze. Why does it sound like a command every time he says my name? “Are you here to say something to me or stand there gawking?”

“I can come back later if now’s not a good time.”

He stops moving for a second and his dark eyes burn into mine. “No. We do it now.”

“Uh, sure. I’d like to ask that you don’t get me taken off the project.”

Thwack. He resumes his punching.

“I know it didn’t appear so, yesterday,” I continue louder, “but I’m extremely dedicated to this project. Yesterday I wasn’t myself!”

I shout that last bit over the thumps and grunts.

“But I can guarantee that will never happen again. Being late is completely out of character for me. And I’m upset with myself for being late to something so important. It was extremely unprofessional.”

I stop for air as he continues dancing and shadowboxing. Is the motherfucker even listening to me?

The nipple ring glistens with sweat. I hope the other guy gets him right on the ring.

“Can I start afresh and prove myself? Will you give me another chance?”

The punching continues. Now he has his back to me, giving me a perfect view of those defined back muscles and hard mounds of ass, but it’s not helpful to my plight.

I fidget with my chain awkwardly. “Right, that’s all, Mr. Knight.”

Is he going to address me at all? The guy is just damn rude.

Or . . . Jesus, he is planning on getting me in the ring to fight this out?

Maybe I should leave.

Just as I step backwards, he stops boxing and grunts something unintelligible. Is that directed at the guy he’s sparring with or me?

He strides towards me with the intensity of a man who has been released from a maximum-security prison. His trunks hang distractingly low, so I have no choice but to flick my gaze down his ab muscles to the prominent crotch bulge.

I catch a whiff of fresh manly sweat.

As soon as our eyes lock, the burst of sexual energy is so palpable, a shiver runs up my spine.

This is insane.

He really isn’t playing fair here.

I don’t like the guy. I don’t like the guy one bit. But I sure as hell want the guy.

I dare a nun to look at him and not lose her shit.

He stares down at me as his forearms dangle over the rope. “I asked you if you could work with Max.” His breathing is still erratic from the workout. “You clearly can’t.”

Swallowing, I resume my grovelling, “Yesterday, I received some news that affected me but I’m over it now. I can work with Max, no problem.”

He leans farther over the rope until he’s almost eye level with me. “Do you know how many architects bid on the factory project?”

“All of the London conservation firms. We are very privileged to win.”

“Forty-two. I have firms all over the world trying to get ten minutes with me for a chance to work on a Lexington project.” He glares at me so ferociously I must be missing the top layer of my skin now. “Many people would kill to be in your position.”

“Of course—”

“And you?” he says, cutting me off. “I gave you thirty minutes of my time yesterday and you threw it back in my face.”

I’m going up against a vicious boxer and this isn’t a fight I’m going to win. “I’m sorry it came across like that. To work with you and your team on the Motor Works factory is a dream for me.”

I think he’s looking for an ego boost.

“A project like this, on an iconic East End landmark I’ve grown up beside, and working with someone as . . . visionary as yourself . . . will be the most exciting highlight of my career.”

The look in his eyes tells me he’s not having any of it. “It doesn’t seem that way to me. It seems you’re stuck in the past, incapable of moving forward. You’re too blindsided to see the opportunity right in front of you.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Is he still talking about the project? “I see the opportunity and I want it,” I say softly. “I can share work that I’ve done on previous projects to show you my experience. Max will vouch that I’m diligent.”

My response displeases him. “I hold you to a higher standard than Max.”

“Why?” I didn’t mean for it to come out a hiss. But really, why?

He doesn’t respond.

Unblinking, deep brown eyes bore into mine with startling intensity. Sweat trickles down his forehead but it doesn’t seem to bother him. I resist the urge to wipe it away.

There’s nothing worse than silence at a time like this, so I keep on talking for both of us. “I’ll get on my knees and grovel,” I joke, “if that’s what it takes.”

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.

I know he 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 way Mr. Knight just did.