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

Everything about Maggie’s is intimate, sexy and as British as you can get, paying tribute to the 1950s when Nan was a wild child wreaking havoc in the East End.

City high rollers and parliamentarians rub shoulders with actors, athletes and models without the fear of being judged or papped.

Mona, our hostess, opens the red velvet curtains for me. Staff and club members greet me with smiles, waves and whatever else they can do to catch my attention.

In my twenties, the attention was priceless. I was a kid in a candy store. Blonde, redhead, brunette, shaved head. I was insatiable.

Now in my late thirties, it’s mildly exhausting.

The Lexington and Bradshaw team are in the area reserved at the back.

I scan the crowd for the reason I’m here. The reason that they are all here.

She stands out a million miles. Her cheeks are flushed again, likely from alcohol, as she talks animatedly to Nisha and Sean.

“Scotch, please, Mandy.” I smile at the bartender as I take a position beside the bar in view of Bonnie.

“Right away, Mr. Knight. It’s great to have you with us tonight.”

Our overpriced signature cocktails are designed with the perfect blend of alcohol and aphrodisiacs to keep the posh punters coming back to get their fix again and again. If they can afford the five grand annual membership fee, that is.

Apparently, the cocktails are to die for.

I wouldn’t know. I stick to my neat Scotch.

I thank Mandy and leave a generous tip.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Jack Knight,” a woman drawls beside me. I turn towards the blonde nearly as tall as me. Anna. Ada. Something like that. Sexy as fuck. Kind of reminds me of Cruella de Vil.

I said I would help her charity and ended up sleeping with her in the process. “It’s been too long,” she says, eyeing me with the confidence of a woman who has never been turned down. “You’re ignoring me.”

“Not intentionally.” I smile politely. It’s not a lie.

“Have a drink with me.”

I nod to the team in the corner. “Sorry, all work, no play tonight. My staff and suppliers are over there.”

She’s undeterred. Sexy Cruella de Vil comes right into my space. “Later. Just the two of us.”

I throw back my Scotch. “It’s not a good idea tonight.”

“Why the hell not?”

That’s a damn good question.

Anna or Ada’s knee not so subtly manages to make its way between my thighs.

Is there a smooth way of turning a woman down that you’ve already slept with?

I glance back at the animated blonde in the corner. Bonnie spears me with a fierce glare that either means she wants to strip me naked so she can fuck me until she passes out, or do a Dexter on me, leaving me dead in a pool.

Hard one to read.

I tip my glass in her direction.

She ignores me and turns back to her mate, Nisha.

“Because I need to talk to Counsellor Adams,” I say to Anna/Ada, grabbing my opportunity. “Counsellor Adams.”

Anna/Ada takes the hint and saunters off.

When Adams sees me, he freezes, then his face lights up like a guy who has just discovered how his genitals work.

Damn, this is going to be a long, boring conversation.

“Jack, my man!” And there starts the monologue.

Luckily, I don’t need to concentrate too hard on what he’s saying. A few nods on cue keep him going.

I lean against the bar, directly facing Bonnie. I probably shouldn’t be so blatant, but I couldn’t give a fuck.

She’s sitting to the side, so she has to tilt her head to see me, but every time she does, my gaze is firmly fixed on her.

Nisha leans forward, whispering something to Bonnie that makes her blush even more.

Another guy on the team says something to her. She gives a wide open-mouthed laugh and flicks her hair over her shoulder before glancing over at me coyly.

This little show is all for me.

Nisha gets up and the lead architect from the company overseeing the entire regeneration quickly takes her seat. I hadn’t noticed him waiting in the wings.

He says something to get Bonnie’s full attention.

I clench my teeth as I watch her become more enamoured by whatever the hell they’re talking about. She throws her head back and laughs. Her legs part slightly, and I hope to fuck she bought a pair of panties to go with that bra.

“Another Scotch, old chap?”

“Yes,” I growl at Counsellor Adams. “Put them on my tab.”

The lead architect, whose name I should know, says something else and Bonnie nods, smiling intently. Maybe free alcoholic aphrodisiacs weren’t the best tactic.

The burning sensation in my chest grows and it’s not Scotch.

She darts a glance around the table then slyly hands the guy her phone.

What the fuck?

No, darlin’, I did not bring you out here to get off with another man.

As he passes back her phone, I snap up my own and type: Come here.

She jerks her head around, shocked. “No,” she mouths to me, then turns to the guy.

I curse between my teeth.

“Bad day, Jack? You seem a tad stressed.”

“Most productive day I’ve had in a long time.” I take the refill from Adams and type: Please.

She smirks over at me, typing back. See, that wasn’t so hard?

I sip my Scotch, watching her as she walks the long way around the bar. I’m not even pretending to listen to Adams anymore.

“Excuse me, Counsellor.” I nod towards Bonnie approaching.

“I won’t keep you from your lady friends, Jack.” He winks approvingly at me as he turns back to the bar.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she says as she reaches me.

“So, you did miss me.” I sit on the bar stool so we’re at eye level and gently pull her by the wrists between my legs. Close enough that I can smell her delicious scent but not close enough that the Bradshaw crowd will suspect. They’re far enough away and drunk enough to be oblivious.

Her lips curve into a sassy grin. “Did you want me to miss you?”

“Very much so. For some reason, I’ve been distracted all day. Haven’t been able to focus since a certain hot-headed mouthy cockney tried to come all over my stomach.”

She visibly blanches. “Don’t remind me. I’m so embarrassed. I’m out of practice. Do you know stomach-sitting is actually a fetish? On the bright side, at least you can’t get pregnant from dry-humping a stomach.”

“You can borrow my stomach anytime. Day or night.” My hand trails down her hip confirming panties are intact. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen. “Why?”

“Why?” I raise my brows. “What do you mean why?”

She sways slightly. She’s a bit more drunk than I thought. “Ah, come on, Jack. All the women in the bar turned when you walked in. Literally, every single woman stopped what they were doing and stared.” She hiccups. “Even the ones with guys.”

“Really? The only woman I saw was you.”

She rolls her eyes dramatically and laughs. “That’s a great line.”

I sigh. “Are you going to claim everything I say is a line?”

“I’ll assess them on a case-by-case basis.”

I nod to the Old Fashioned she’s waving precariously in her hand. “How many of those cocktails have you had?”

“Just a few. I’m tipsy, that’s all.”

Says every drunk person.

She glances over at the Bradshaw table and tries to pull away from me slightly, but I hold her in place.

“What was the guy from Nixon Lee asking you?”

“Adrian?” Her cheeks heat as she takes another gulp of cocktail. “Oh, he was chatting about the factory designs.”

She’s lying.

“Questions that he needed your personal number for?”

“I don’t have my work phone on me. It’s at the office.”

Uh-huh.

“So . . . about earlier on.” Her flush deepens as she waits for me to take the bait.

“Ah, yes.” With a grin, I intertwine my fingers in hers. “Earlier on.”

She smiles coyly. “It was pretty hot.”

“It was.” I fight the urge to pull her flush against my chest. “If I had my way I’d pick you up in my arms, kiss every inch of your body, and give you a night so memorable that you’ll never want to see another man again. But I suspect you’ll be upset if I execute that plan in front of your co-workers.”

She blows out her cheeks. “Holy hell that sounds like the best plan ever. But yes, I would be extremely pissed with you. Don’t you care what the teams think?”

“About you and me?  No.” I lean forward. “I want to spend time with you, Bonnie.”

“Damn.” She groans. “Me too. I really want it.”

“It?”

“You.”

She looks up at me with such heat in her eyes my heart jerks in my chest.

Unnerved. That’s how she makes me feel. It’s both a blessing and a curse.

The forced proximity these last few weeks has allowed her to dominate my thoughts, which isn’t helpful when you’re in the process of erecting billion-pound buildings.

“I always thought I had more self-control,” she says to herself as much as me. “That sex isn’t worth the risk of all the office gossip. But I totally get it now. One-night stands with people you work with.”

“Some things are more important than what your co-workers think.” I shrug. “Learn to care less.”

She eyes me sceptically. “Spoken like a boss who doesn’t need to care about what anyone else thinks.” She downs the last of the liquid in her glass. The danger with Old-Fashioneds is that they’re so damn delicious you forget you’re pretty much drinking whiskey neat. “Are we doing this then?”

I feel the pulse in her wrist quicken. “Elaborate, sweetheart.”

“Fucking,” she blurts out in a loud whisper. She doesn’t wait for me to respond. “I mean I don’t know if I’ve got the mentality for casual sex yet, but I’ll damn well try. I can’t even call it a rebound because it’s been so long. But I think I’m ready. No emotional attachment. No strings.”

I stare at her trying to keep up.

She breathes out heavily. “Just pure out-of-your-mind sex.”

“God forbid you get emotionally attached.”

“Nisha’s done it. Jenny from Accounts slept with Bradshaw’s son at the Christmas party. Why can’t I?” She waves her empty glass in the air. “Is it too much to ask for some…just some show-stopping,” she searches for words, “jaw-breaking dirty sex? Mind-blowing sex. Just vanilla though,” she adds quickly.

I blink. “Is that a serious question you expect me to answer?”

She emits a giggle. “I promise I won’t be weird,” she babbles on. “As long as it’s our secret. But why would you even tell anyone at Bradshaw? That’s ridiculous. Sorry, I’m overthinking it. We can do this, and I’ll be one hundred percent professional. I mean in work, not during the sex. I’m not a professional prostitute. But in work, professional. Yup. You don’t need to worry about that. No, sir!”

“Breathe, Bonnie.”

“Jack?” she asks when I don’t say anything else. “Sorry. It’s the free cocktails.” She giggles nervously. “Drought. Hottest guy I’ve ever met. It’s a bad combo. I’m a wee bit drunk and in unchartered territory. The last one-night stand I had was in uni with a guy who smoked weed in bed. One-night stands with billionaires probably have certain rules.”

Another giggle.

“Bet you don’t eat crisps or smoke weed in bed.”

“You’re right, Bonnie.” I release her hand. “You’re drunk. I’ll get a driver to take you home.”

“What? I’m not that drunk! I can walk in a straight line. I’ll show you.”

Her face scrunches in concentration as she takes a few heel-to-toe steps in front of me.

“No need.”

“You haven’t even let me do the turn test. The police wait until you do that before deciding the verdict.”

“Bonnie.” I sigh. “Come on, I’ll have a driver for you in five.”

The light in her eyes fades as she goes quiet for a moment. “This really isn’t happening?”

“No, not like this,” I say flatly.

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 a lot.”

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 proposed wham bam thank you ma’am to 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.

He was watching me from the bar the whole time. I might have had one too many Old Fashioneds but I wasn’t imagining that.

So what the hell? What’s the guy’s deal? He clearly gets off on toying with me. Was his plan just to blue ball me or whatever the female equivalent is?

I’m a bloody fool.

Humiliated is not a strong enough word for how I feel. 

Excited voices break the silence as the door of the bathroom opens.

“I couldn’t tell you in front of the guys, I slept with him a few weeks ago. Right here in this hotel.”

“No shit!” a second voice shrieks. “I knew it. I could tell by your face the minute he walked past. Lucky bitch. Ugh, I’m so damn jealous. He owns this place, doesn’t he?”

My stomach plummets. For fuck’s sake.

“He does.” The first one giggles. “That’s why the bar staff are treating me like a queen tonight.”

I white-knuckle the toilet roll holder.

“Damn. How did it happen?”

“Same way it’s happening tonight. I was here . . . he was here . . .” she says in a singsong voice. “The chemistry was off the charts. We talked and . . . one thing led to another.”

I stop breathing in case they can hear me. They must think they’re alone.

Get a grip, Bonnie. Why do you care? You are way too emotional over this.

I haven’t even slept with the guy. This is what happens in the dating pool in London. Nisha’s right, I need to harden up.

I care more than I’d like to admit.

“How was it?” the second asks.

Oh God, please shut up, woman.

“Ama-a-a-zing,” the first says, drawing out the word. “I’ll die if I don’t get a repeat.”

“Have you talked to him much tonight?”

“Enough.”

“Is he interested?”

There’s silence for a moment. Then she laughs. “I’m getting some Knight tonight.”

Her words slam into my chest. That’s why he’s trying to get rid of me. He has better options. I need to get the hell out of this bar.

“Do you think you could get him to introduce me to the tech tycoon he hangs out with, Danny Walker?”

More laughter. And lots of clicking from the camera sound of a phone.

“I think Walker is married. Or has a partner.”

“Forty percent of marriages end in divorce,” the second woman says smugly.

This woman is a bitch.

I pick myself off the toilet seat and breathe deeply through my nose. They’re going to think I have bowel problems being in here the whole time.

When I open the door their eyes widen in surprise, but they continue snapping.  I thought the duck-face selfie was dead.

“Excuse me,” I mumble as I sidestep them to get to the sinks. Can’t a woman use the bathroom in peace without people taking photos?

They ignore me. “Move more this way, there’s better lighting.”

It’s the girl that was draped over him earlier, with a body to kill for.

She’s not wearing a bra.

Maybe that’s all it takes to get him interested. For a while.

Nisha looks to be in an intimate conversation with her arch nemesis Darren when I reappear from the toilets.

“Hey, Nisha?” I interrupt them.

She drags her eyes away from Darren.

“I’m going to head off. Do you want to come?”

Darren cocks a brow suggestively at her. “One more for the road?”

She shrugs, feigning indifference. “I’ll stay for one more,” she says, not looking at me.

For a fleeting second, I’m amused.

“Are you getting the tube home?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Text me the minute you arrive home.”

I lean in for a hug. “See you tomorrow.”

I turn to leave and meet the intense stare of Jack blazing across the room. His glass pauses mid-air as he motions me over.

He’s not alone. He never is. Redhead toilet selfie queen and her perky braless nipples look ready to eat him alive. She’s quick.

I’ll be damned if I’m going to get a lift from one of his drivers, like an annoying inconvenience he has to get rid of.

Averting my gaze, I stride towards the door with the pace of a professional race walker.

“Bonnie,” a deep voice says behind me as that familiar masculine scent wafts up my nose.

Keep walking. Keep walking.

“Wait,” he growls louder.

His hand slides around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.

I turn and pin him with my fiercest glare.

“I told you I had a car waiting for you.” Irritation laces his voice as he glares right back.

“And I told you I’m taking the tube,” I snap, my heart pounding. “I don’t need to do as I’m told. I’m not a child.”

“You do need to do as you’re told when I want you to be safe.” He glowers at me. “You’ve had too much to drink to walk home from the tube on your own. I’d take you home myself, but I need to go back to the office.”

Cursing under his breath, he takes my wrist and starts walking, leaving me with no choice but to trail after him unless I want to lose an arm.

Outside, Canary Wharf hums with bankers, oil traders and tech people letting loose after a seventy-hour workweek. London’s version of the city that never sleeps.

In silence, Jack leads me to a black Aston Martin. The driver greets us and opens the back door for me.

“Tommy will message me when you’re home.”

Are you going to fuck Redhead in the hotel again?

“You’ll thank me in the morning when you wake up to run ten miles.”

“You don’t need to be concerned about me,” I say, sulking. “You’re right, this . . . us . . . was a ridiculous idea. Forget this morning. Forget tonight.” I play the drunk card. “It was the Old Fashioneds talking. I just wanted to find out what all the hype was about.” I flash him a plastic smile.

“What do you mean?” he asks, frowning.

“One night with playboy Jack Knight. Now I’ve realised what a terrible idea that is. It would complicate things. Forget I ever said anything.”

He looks at me steadily for a moment before nodding his head towards the back seat. “Get in, Bonnie. It’s late.”

“I’m never putting myself out there ever again,” I mutter to myself more than him.

“Putting yourself out there?” Hip lips curl in displeasure. “This isn’t putting yourself out there.”

I take one last fleeting look at him, swallow my pride and get in the car.