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

Six-foot-two recruitment manager Christopher is not the distraction I was hoping for.

I’m on my first non-Max date in five years. We’re in a gorgeous Cuban bar in Knightsbridge with yummy cocktails and salsa dancers and I’m grinding my teeth into stumps with frustration.

We’ve had a one-way conversation for sixty minutes. He hasn’t asked me a single question.

Christopher describes himself as an entrepreneur. My view is it’s a tad dicky to call yourself that unless you’re confident you’re nailing the title.

He works in recruitment and left his job to start his own company, but it sounds like he’s trying to steal all his old company’s leads.

We’ve been chatting daily over Bumble, but the online Christopher seems much less obnoxious than the offline version.

His lips move. They have been for twenty minutes.

He’s talking about Jack. Why is he talking about Jack?

Oh no, he’s still talking about the gym, not Jack.

Gah. I’ve got a problem.

“Takes a lot of dedication,” Christopher drones on. “Especially now that I’m running my own business. I’m in the gym religiously six days a week, 6 a.m. on the dot. It’s worth it, though. My body fat percentage is down to fourteen.” He folds his arms over his chest to showcase his biceps. I’m not a fan. “Muscle mass hit forty percent last week. Pretty good, huh?”

Why’s he telling me this? Does he think I’m a doctor?

I stifle a yawn. My architect partner, Steve and I spent the entire day at the factory reviewing everything in detail. I’m so tired I have the social skills of a slug. “That’s great that you’re happy with your stats. I wouldn’t want to keep you late this evening since you have to stick to your regime. Six tomorrow morning.”

“Don’t worry about me.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Tomorrow is strength training rather than cardio. I can afford to be a little tired.”

As he launches into details of his strength training regime, I realise that if I maintain eye contact and a slight smile, he thinks I’m listening.

When I narrow my eyes into slits, he looks vaguely like Jack.

Jack.

I wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he with Michelle Allard? The alpha-hole thing of making sure I got home safely last night was kind of sweet. I keep replaying our conversation in my head. Does it change anything that he apologised for what happened to my dad?

God, the way he looked at my lips last night . . .

I squeeze my thighs under the table.

Christopher looks mildly pissed off.

I blink. Did he ask me a question? “Can you repeat that?” I smile thinly.

“I asked if you go to the gym.”

“Oh. The office I’m working from has a swanky gym. I might go.” At this point, I couldn’t be arsed talking about myself. The date is a dead end.

“What did you say you do?”

I didn’t because he didn’t ask. “I’m an architect at Bradshaw Brown.” I sip my low-alcohol beer. I’m boring myself.

He nods. “I have a mate who worked on the Shard design.”

His eyebrows rise in expectation. It’s my turn to say something.

“That’s nice. I’m doing a project for Lexington.”

This hits the spot for him. His eyes light up. “Nice.” He sucks through his teeth. “They’ve a lot of open roles on their website. Do you know the head of HR?”

Fuck me. Is he using dates to find leads for his recruitment business?

“I met her once.”

He nods and flashes me a lopsided grin, which I think is intended to make me go weak at the knees. “Think you could swing me a meeting?”

“I don’t think so,” I say sharply. “Like I said, I met her once.”

He’s undeterred. The grin widens. “You could take me to your next work drinks for our second date.”

Right, that’s it. I’m not wasting any more time.

“Speaking of work, I have a big presentation tomorrow.” It’s not a lie. Having worked on this proposal for days, I thought taking a few hours off would help me relax. Instead, I feel tense. I should have stayed at home and masturbated. “Do you mind if we call it a night?”

It’s obvious he minds that I’m the one to decide when the date is over, but he nods chastely.

I beckon the waiter over for the bill.

“I had a great time, Bonnie.”

How? My first foray into the online dating scene has not been a roaring success. According to Nisha I’ll have to do another ninety-nine or so to hit a good date.

“We’ll do this again,” he informs me.

I look at him, startled, and take the chicken route. “Sure, sounds good.” Oh. I think this makes me one of those ghosters Nish and Becky talked about.

I’ve never left a restaurant so fast after paying the bill. Outside, Christopher confidently tries to finish the date with a kiss. He leans in and stares at me intently.

I move my head to the side just as lips touch mine, leaving a wet trail on my cheek from the corner of my lip.

Awkward.

I tell him I’m going to a different underground station, so I don’t have to walk with him. It’ll take me fifteen minutes out of my way but it’s worth it.

I have more chemistry with the guy that delivers my Spicy Slice pizza.

At least now I have time to call Mum. I haven’t been able to get back to her in days. Every night, as soon as I get home from work, I face-plant onto the sofa from exhaustion.

En route to the underground station, I send a message to Nisha and Kate saying that Bonnifer is not happening and send a video request to Mum.

It takes a few rings for her to pick up. When she does, I see an ear.

“Hello, love! I haven’t heard from you in a few days. You have me worried!”

“Hi, Mum. Sorry, I know. I’ve been busy with work. This is a video call, by the way. I can see your ear.”

“Oh. Oh, let me see.” The screen fuzzes for thirty seconds as Mum works out how to turn the phone around. She comes into focus. “There we are. Where are you, love?”

“Just finished drinks with Kate. I’m walking to the tube.” If I tell her I was on a date, I’ll get interrogated.

She looks delighted and moves her head as if she’s going to somehow see around the corner who’s behind me. “Is she there? I wanted to tell her what a stunning bride she was.”

“Sorry, Mum, she’s gone home,” I lie again.

“That’s a pity. You’ll have to bring her over for Sunday lunch soon.”

I nod. “Sounds good. I’ll sort it out in a few weeks when work isn’t so busy. How are you, Mum?”

“I’m great, love, but missing you. I haven’t seen you in ages.” She pouts. “Aunt Leslie came over from dinner. She asked about you. I’m trying to convince her to join the bowling club. I really think she would love it.”

The contrast between Mum’s life and Dad’s kills me. She has private health insurance, doesn’t have to worry about working and is in lots of different women’s societies.

Mum met Phil, my stepdad, a few months after splitting from Dad. It was an East End rags-to-riches story. Phil was a dentist who owned his own practice in the city and fell in insta-lust with Mum. Having a dental practice near the Bank of England HQ means you’re doing okay for yourself.

Six months after she split from Dad, Phil had already bought a detached family home in a leafy suburb with a brag-worthy postal code and moved Mum in.

I kind of resented her for that. Just like Max, I suspect she mentally left the relationship with my dad long before the official split.

I was eighteen so I went away to university and at least that way, it didn’t feel as if I was picking sides.

A year later, Dad lost the house to the bank.

“I’m sure she would, Mum. I need to see Leslie. Sorry I haven’t come over in a while. I’ve been working late every night. I promise I will soon.”

A line forms between her brows. “Why are they making you work late? I don’t like the idea of you going home in the dark by yourself to that little flat.”

“It’s fine, no one forced me to stay late,” I say firmly. “I didn’t go back to my flat. I stayed at Dad’s last night.”

Her expression pinches. “That’s great you visited your father but don’t forget about me.”

“I won’t forget about you, Mum.” I sigh, mildly irritated. “But Dad’s by himself most of the time. And that flat of his isn’t the nicest. I need to check in on him.”

“Your father’s a grown man, Bonnie. You don’t need to feel guilty. By all means, visit your father but I’m not comfortable with you going alone late at night. Did you get a taxi?”

Now’s my chance to get answers.

“Actually, I got a lift with Jack Knight.”

Her face lights up as if I’ve informed her I’ve won the national lottery. “Jack Knight?” She squeals, her eyes gleaming. “How lovely! What a catch, darling. Oh, this really is fantastic—”

“Mum. He gave me a lift, that’s all. In his own words, if I’m in his office, he has a duty of care.”

“Uh-huh. He’s such a handsome chap, isn’t he?” she gushes. “Never mind how successful he is and everything he’s done for the area.”

“He’s a client my company is doing work for. That’s all.”

“I always knew he would go for a down-to-earth East End girl. I saw his mother and twin sisters the other day when Phil and I went to lunch. Snooty bunch. They’d pretend not to know you. Don’t ever think you’re not good enough for him just because he has cash, love.”

I exhale heavily. She’s not even listening to me anymore. She’s got me walking down the aisle and milking him for Knight grandbabies, all over a lift.

She’s still talking about the Knight family when I say, “Mum, stop. And how on earth can you think Jack is such a wonderful person when he fired Dad?”

She frowns, my question throwing her off-kilter. “There was a bit of drama, love, but that was a long time ago. Why are you asking about it now?”

“I want to know the facts,” I say lightly. “He went into a bit of a downward spiral after that. I’d like to understand all the details.”

“It’s nearly a decade ago, love. I’m not sure I remember everything. Maybe ask your father.”

“Just tell me what happened, Mum.”

She sighs but reluctantly starts to speak. “Your dad was always looking for ways to make more money. His wage wasn’t huge, and he was competing with younger tradesmen.”

I feel a stab of guilt. I couldn’t afford my university fees on my own, so Phil offered to cover them outright. Dad, however, wouldn’t have it and paid the rest of the fees himself. I was the reason he was looking for ways to earn more money.

“Sometimes he cut corners.”

I slow to a halt on the pavement. My scalp prickles. Perhaps I don’t want to know the details after all. But now I’ve started this train in motion.

She looks at me wearily. “He won’t like me telling you this.”

“Go on,” I say, sharper than I intended.

“Your dad and a few others were,” she pauses to find the words, “acting a bit dodgy. They figured they were owed a few extras, so they swiped some of the materials at the sites to sell on. It took the bosses at Lexington a while to notice because it wasn’t enough to draw attention.” Her lips curve slightly. “I think they saw themselves as East End Robin Hoods, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor.”

I suck in through my teeth. This is a different story from what Dad told.

“I don’t understand. Who did they give it to?”

“Themselves.” She snorts. “Over time it seemed like small beans, but it added up.”

The prickles on my scalp spread to my neck. “How much?”

She nibbles on her lips. “About half a million over a year.”

Holy fucking hell.

I gawk at her through the phone. “Say that again.”

“You heard me correctly. Half a million. Between the five of them.”

I feel mildly nauseous. Do I know my dad at all?

And Jack.

My cheeks heat as I think about what I said to Jack last night. Bloody hell. What were my exact words? You fired him for no reason. You didn’t pay his last two weeks’ wages.

My throat bobs. “Are you sure? Did Dad tell you this himself?”

“No, your Uncle Pat told me.” She smiles sadly. “I can’t say I was that surprised. Your dad took a lot of risks and they didn’t always pay off. I knew something had gone down, I just didn’t know what.”

All this time, I didn’t have the full facts.

I listened to Dad rant and rave about the injustice of being fired, the injustice of the good workers of the country not getting what they deserved, the injustice of the whole damn world.

Nothing was ever his fault.

I’m reminded of Christopher calling himself an entrepreneur when everything else he said made him sound delusional.

Why didn’t Jack correct me last night?

“Did he pay the money back? Is that why he lost the house?” I ask.

She shakes her head on camera. “Bonnie, your dad was lucky Jack Knight didn’t send him to jail. All things considered, he got off lightly. I think because they were East End guys, Jack went lenient on them. Your father put himself in enough debt to sink the Titanic. That’s why he lost the house. I’m sorry, but you’re old enough to realise the truth. He didn’t want you to know. You know how proud he is.”

I nod slowly. There’s no doubt in my mind that Mum’s telling the truth. I sometimes knew things fell off the back of a lorry and landed in Dad’s lap, but Dad always had a joke and a story to go with it. He made it seem harmless.

“Does he know you know?”

She sighs. “No. I left it alone. It’s better you do too. He’ll only get upset and drink himself into a state. No good will come from it now.”

I let out a long breath. I’m not sure how Dad will react if I ruin the illusion that his daughter thinks he’s the most successful man in East London. He holds onto these things a lot more now that he’s not with Mum. These past few years, he hasn’t seemed that stable.

I say my goodbyes and stand frozen on the spot, staring at nothing.

I spent ten years thinking Jack has wronged Dad. Ten years being awkward any time I’ve been in Jack Knight’s presence.

Kate and I would come back from uni and meet Sean. Jack would sometimes be there and try to talk to me, despite being surrounded by an entourage of hangers-on.

Now I don’t know what to do with the truth.

I shudder, replaying the scene in my head. Jack should have put me in my place and told me what’s what. I actually asked him if it was legal what he did to my dad.

Dad and his conspirators owe Jack half a million pounds. He should hold a grudge against me, not the other way around. Maybe he will now he knows my connection.

“Oh, God,” I say out loud to the empty street.

Behind all the dominance, Jack was sweet last night. I’m not sure I know what to do with sweet Jack. The guy’s a confused tap, one minute he’s freezing cold, the next minute he’s blistering hot.

Before I can overthink what I’m about to do, I take out my phone and locate Jack’s number. And the one and only message he sent me at the wedding makes me laugh.

Jack: Now you have my number you can send me all the nudes you want.

I begin to type: Hopefully it’s okay to text you off the record. Mum told me the truth about Dad leaving Lexington. I’m sorry for how I acted last night and for what Dad did. I’m mortified.

The three dots tell me he is typing.

My breath stalls as I wait.

Jack: Forget it. It’s all in the past.

My breath gushes out. At least he doesn’t hold grudges. Or demand his half a million back which he would have every right to do.

Me: Why didn’t you say something last night?

The dots appear then vanish. Just when I think he’s not going to respond, they appear again.

Jack: Because he’s your father.

Oh my God. My heart’s about to break. Jack kept me in the dark so I would have a positive view of my father, but it meant a negative view of him.

What type of man does that make Jack?

A better one than my father.

A thousand thoughts rush through my head.

Jack: I hope you’re not at the office?

Me: I’m in a bar in Knightsbridge. But leaving now, I add hastily in case he thinks I’m on the sauce, right before the presentation tomorrow.

Jack: Out with friends? The reply is so quick I wonder if he’s doing speech-to-text.

This makes me smile. At least Jack will think that there’s a man out there somewhere interested in me, even if I’m not a Michelle-Allard-type gal.

Me: No, on a date.

I don’t need to disclose that it was a disaster.

No response.

When I arrive at my flat in Brixton after thirty minutes underground, there’s still no response. After watching TV for an hour and taking a long bath, the phone remains silent.

When I realise my eyes are glued to my phone with the precision of a sniper on a target, I admit that maybe I’m a teeny tiny bit bummed Jack hasn’t responded.