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

With a knock on the door, my PA, Jess, pops her head in. “Jack, Bradshaw Brown are waiting for you in boardroom four.” She looks at her notebook. “Then you have the board of directors at eleven. I’ll have lunch ready for you at twelve thirty. I’ve booked dinner at The Ivy tonight for you and your mother. Your sisters cannot attend, unfortunately.”

“Thanks, Jess.” I nod. “On my way.”

An army of them, suited and booted, are waiting for me when I enter the room. Not surprising considering the contract on the table for a company of their size.

Max jumps to his feet to shake my hand. “Jack.”

I don’t like Max as much as he thinks I do.

“Max.” I shake hands and take a seat at the front of the room beside Sean and two of my other senior managers.

All the Bradshaw crew look nervous, but Max tries to hide it.

“Max, is this the full team?”

His brow furrows. Just as he is about to respond, one of my assistants opens the door and Bonnie rushes in.

I’m late, which means she is very fucking late. I check my watch. Twelve minutes to be precise.

“Sorry,” she says without even looking at me, scanning the room for an empty seat.

I clench my teeth, my anger only slightly tempered by disbelief. “Did you have somewhere better you need to be?”

She gapes at me.

Maybe I wanted to make the other groomsmen jealous.

Her eyes are red and tired looking. What the absolute fuck? Is she hungover?

I take in her blue dress and laced-up boots, which look like flat biker boots. On her, they are sexier than stilettos.

“Personal issue,” she mumbles, squeezing past everyone to take a seat at the back only to realise there isn’t enough room. “Sorry, excuse me” she mutters as she reverses, finally taking a seat at the front.

I glare at her. She thinks she can swan in at any time she likes? “I have thirty minutes so it’s in your own interest not to waste my time. You just wasted two.”

The room collectively inhales a breath and holds it.

She nods, looking contrite enough that I decide to let her off the hook.

I turn my attention back to the room, pausing to roll my sleeves up. “I’ve built urban villages all over the UK but this project is special to me. If you haven’t already figured out by the accent, it’s where I call home. We’re not just building shiny apartment blocks. It takes a lot more to take an existing community entrenched in working-class culture, and sensitively build a whole new community for thousands—two thousand new jobs, 2500 people to rehouse. Community centres, schools, new parks, new health centres.”

Everyone’s eyes are glued to me, with one exception.

Bonnie stares down at the table. She’s on a different fucking planet. Every so often, she glances over at Max like some lovesick puppy.

My nostrils flare. No one has disrespected me like this since . . . well . . . never.

Nobody.

“Businesses will look to the east for headquarters as they would Bond Street and Canary Wharf. The economic benefits are enormous for an area that has been neglected for too long. I need a brilliant team to create that equilibrium between building a new progressive community while keeping our heritage alive.”

Bonnie looks at me briefly then it’s back to staring at the table.

“You have a great responsibility,” I continue, eyeing up the team. The rest look as eager as they damn well should be. “You will be transforming a London historical landmark. London doesn’t have a car industry anymore, but that grey factory sitting idle was the backbone of the East End for years. It provided jobs for thousands.”

As I launch into the details of my regeneration plan, Bonnie doesn’t look up once. Not once.

Max asks a question as I glare at Bonnie. I answer him and move on. The more senior members of the team pepper me with questions and I reply through my growing annoyance.

Sean steps in to answer the finer details.

“You’ll be collaborating closely with the teams working on the other phases, so you’ll move into our office until construction tenders are ready for the building contractors,” I add. “We’ve allocated an open-plan space close to the Lexington team overseeing the project.”

Bonnie looks down at her hands as if this is the last place she wants to be. Is she even fucking listening to a word I’m saying?

“Bonnie,” I growl through my teeth, “do you have any questions?”

Her eyes hit mine like a cow caught in headlights. Her mouth opens and then closes.

“Are you incapable of hearing me?”

Her teeth latch onto her bottom lip as she crosses and uncrosses her toned legs. My adrenaline spikes.

“No, Jack,” she says, her voice cracking. “I have no questions at this moment.”

‘Mr. Knight,” I correct her as the room stiffens.

“Mr. Knight,” she repeats, looking like she needs a hole to be burned in the floor so she can disappear through it.

“You have no questions at all about a project of this size?” I demand. “Of this importance to your company?”

I see the exact moment she stops breathing. She scans the room for help. “Not right now, Mr. Knight.” Her throat wobbles as she swallows. “I’m sure I’ll have questions when I digest all the information.”

“Sounds like my work here is done,” I say sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Jack.” Sean frowns at me. “You have ten minutes left.”

“Uh . . . Mr . . . uh . . . Jack,” Max pipes up, confused about what to call me. “Rest assured the entire team is giving this project our utmost attention. And thank you for extending the deadline.”

I extended their deadline because that doe-eyed vixen hit my soft spot at the wedding.

I’m not having this. Regardless of how much I want to drop to my knees in front of her and demand she open her legs to let me kiss her.

“Get out.”

The cow in headlights is back.

“Me?” The blood drains from her face.

“Jack,” Sean says, “is this necess—”

“Bonnie,” I cut him off, “get out. If you are incapable of listening, leave the room.”

“I am listening, Mr. Knight,” she protests softly.

“In that case, tell me what Sean said about the access statement stipulation from the planning authority. And what I said we need to do about it.”

She swallows and stutters through a vague response.

I stand from my chair and walk over to open the door wide.

She gapes at me, blinking.

Max looks between Bonnie and me, his mouth opening and closing like a dying useless fish. “Bonnie,” he prompts quietly, “it’s best you leave now.”

She nods and lifts her bag onto her shoulder, but the strap falls off. It’s like she’s lost motor skills. Some of the contents of her bag scatter and Nisha hurries to pick them up.

She walks past me, cheeks burning. Close enough for me to smell the perfume she wore at the wedding. And close enough for those bright blue eyes to make me feel a miniscule amount of guilt.

“Sorry, Mr. Knight,” she whispers, a fire burning in her eyes. She is as angry as she is scared.

I grunt under my breath as she disappears out the door.

Bonnie

Son of a bitch.

“I have to call him Mr. Knight? No one calls him Mr. Knight. I heard a cleaner call him Jack. He’s a bastard,” I whisper angrily to Nisha. We are still in his offices and, as much as I hate the guy, I’m not setting a foot wrong to further antagonise him.

I press the power button on my laptop too hard.

Nisha swivels in her new shiny chair to look at me sympathetically. “I’m sorry, love. Maybe you should call in sick for the rest of the day? You could pretend you were feeling poorly during the meeting.”

“No.” I sigh, slumping back in my chair. “It’ll probably start more gossip. I’ll just stay here and ride it out.”

The entire situation is ridiculous. That was the first time I’ve witnessed Jack Knight’s wrath and it was directed at me. I always listen in client meetings. Even if I’m tired, I can muster up enough professionalism.

So, I had an off day. The guy had no right to call me out publicly.

The ball of anxiety builds substance in my stomach. Maybe I have gallstones.

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought, right? It probably seemed worse in my head and I’m blowing it up too much. Like the banged-up eye at the wedding.” Which still looks bruised.

Maybe Jack kicks someone out of every meeting. It’s his thing. Barbarian boss persona.

Nisha looks like she’s sucking lemons.

“Just lie, Nisha. So I can get through the rest of the day.”

Her smile is brittle. “Since it’s mindful Wednesday, how about we go to a yoga class after work? The guy even does face yoga. That’ll relax you.”

“That’s not lying. That’s changing the subject. And what the hell is face yoga?”

“Apparently it tightens your face muscles. I’m worried I’m getting jowls.”

I roll my eyes. “At thirty, I think you’re okay for another few years. Knight needs it more than us to get rid of that tic in his jaw.”

This is a horrible, sucky day and it’s going from bad to worse. As the others continued the meeting, I loitered outside the room, festering and stewing, wondering what the hell to do. Did he mean for me to leave the office entirely or just the room?

I feel like a schoolgirl on the brink of expulsion. Max dropped the Olivia bomb on me and Jack reprimanded me like a naughty student.

Under other circumstances, this would have been an awesome day.

After the meeting, we got a tour of the Lexington building and access passes. Sean talked to me briefly. Following his advice that Jack would likely calm down in a few hours, I tagged along with imposter syndrome.

Ten of us on the team have been upgraded to fortieth floor views overlooking Canary Wharf until we get the designs nailed. It’s one of the C-Level floors but how or why we got this privilege is beyond me. Everyone is deliriously happy as we set up our I.T. in a corner of the office.

Except for me.

Canary Wharf isn’t packed full of great historical buildings like London’s centre, but the peninsula of chrome-and-glass skyscrapers is our version of New York or Hong Kong.

I don’t know how they get any work done on the Lexington top floors. As it houses the most senior members of the company, I suppose they have time to admire the view while the underlings work below.

There’s a rooftop garden bar on the top floor and a lush gym on the bottom with a spa. An actual spa with wet rooms.

Wet rooms would never work at the Bradshaw Brown office. The fear of running into the two partner cretins would be too great.

In the Lexington office, we get ‘mindfulness day’ every Wednesday when massage therapists offer back and head rubs and there’s free yoga in the gym. Thursdays are designated social days for colleagues with free drinks in the rooftop bar. It’s an illusion of being in a holiday resort, so you forget that you’re stressed as fuck with draining deadlines.

I connect my laptop with the large monitor and then spin my chair around to face Nisha. “I can’t believe that for a fleeting second, I considered saying yes to his dinner,” I whisper. “He was all charm and banter at the wedding, and I thought maybe he’s not that bad.” What happened with my dad was a long time ago. People change, yada yada. “But it’s obvious now. The guy’s a fucking psycho. Kicking someone out of a meeting for being late once? Seriously?”

Nisha leans in. “Look, keep your head down and work your ass off. It’ll be forgotten soon.”

I’m not finished. “I’ve never been kicked out of anything in my life,” I huff. “He humiliated me. Who does that? It’s like primary school; he put me in the naughty corner. Do you think this is because I didn’t fall at his feet at the wedding when he asked me to go for dinner?”

She shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Ugh. I wanna grab his stupid nipple ring and pull it until he screams.”

“Bonnie,” Nisha warns, giving me a stern look. “Pipe down now. We can talk about it after work. Keep your emotions under control.”

I nod, sighing. Everyone is already watching me after the showdown this morning, so I’m not helping myself.

I know what I need to do. Just say yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir, whatever the hell he wants.

Knight, King, Billy big bollocks, whatever he wants you to call him, do it with a big smile.

“How was the rest of the meeting?” I ask.

“Tense. No one dared to blink. I literally did not take my eyeballs off the man for a second.” She laughs quietly. “I don’t know how he didn’t balk from the attention.”

I roll my eyes. “He thrives on power. All eyes have to be on him.”

I get a flashback of how Jack looked at me when we were dancing, his brown eyes glazing with need. The possessiveness of his hands gripping my waist. How his hard body felt under my fingers.

I shake my head, shattering the image.

“Max is back.”

I follow Nisha’s line of sight to where Max is storming down the aisle with a grim look on his face.

Oh, fuck.

“Bonnie,” he says in a low voice as he leans over my desk. “I tried to talk to Jack, but he wasn’t having any of it. You’re walking a tightrope here. He’s got a short fuse and you’ve managed to get yourself in his bad boo—.”

“I know,” I cut in before Max can decide something that won’t be in my favour. I search his face. “It won’t happen again. It was a temporary moment of insanity. I’m never late, Max, you know that.”

He blows out a hard breath. “It wasn’t only about being late. He’s not happy with your overall attitude. If Jack requests it, you’re off the project, I’ll have no choice.”

My stomach drops. “Has he?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. But I’ve had to inform the partners about the unfortunate incident. In case they heard it elsewhere.”

My eyes widen. He makes it sound like I rolled up a joint in the middle of the meeting and smoked it. All I did was arrive a few minutes late and avert my eyeballs at the wrong time.

Bradshaw will one hundred percent pull me from the project.

“Please, Max. What can I do to redeem this? You at least owe me that, considering you were the cause of the incident.”

He glares at me. “Leave your personal issues at the door when you enter this building.”

“I can’t leave you behind at the door, can I?” I let out an annoyed huff.

His eyes narrow. “I’m not making any promises, but I’ll do my best to keep you on this project.”

“Thank you.”

I watch him walk away. Why is it that my career is in the hands of two arrogant men? Four, counting Bradshaw and Brown.

“Bonnie, look who’s coming,” Nisha says through gritted teeth beside me. “Nine o’clock.”

I don’t need to look up to feel his presence. The vibe in the office shifts as if everyone has been given an adrenaline shot at the same time.

My gaze travels upwards to see Jack’s dominant frame stalk down the aisle.

He walks more like a fighter than a CEO with that shoulder swag. He radiates too much masculine energy for an office, especially in those blue jeans and white T-shirt, making him the least formally dressed person here.

A walk that says get the fuck out of my way.

I swallow hard and bury the primal cavewoman instinct to jump up and bring the beast to his knees.

There are more important things at stake here. I need to make everything right.

He nods to some of the team as he passes, with the lucky ones getting the infamous Jack Knight grin.

I swallow the big lump in my throat and try to catch his eye. “Mr. Knight,” I call after him.

He hears me. He looks me right in the eyes. Something flares in them for a fleeting second, maybe regret, but it’s gone so quickly it might be wishful thinking on my behalf.

His square jaw flexes and he keeps on walking.

I recoil in horror and look at Nisha, who seems equally shocked.

She shakes her head as he disappears into an office at the end of the aisle. “Just leave it.”

I feel every eyeball in a ten-metre radius boring into me. When I turn, they all divert their gazes like I’m Medusa about to turn them into stone.

I resist the urge to flip him off. Behind his back, obviously.

It’s a lose-lose situation. The worst-case scenario is I’m thrown off the project. The best-case scenario is I get to stay on but I have to watch him swagger up and down past me every day, the two of us hating each other.

The only bittersweet win for me is that the humiliation of getting kicked out of a major meeting is that it will distract me until quitting time from thinking about Max’s love life.

“Wine or yoga, which one will help more?” Nisha asks in a low voice. “Or both?”

“I can’t. I have to run fifteen miles after work. Marathon training.”

“Jesus. I haven’t run fifteen miles this whole year. Each to their own. Endorphins are supposed to make you happy,” she adds hopefully.

My eyes travel to the glass boardroom where Jack is seated, talking to about twenty people.

Abruptly he swivels in his chair and his gaze collides with mine. His lips move but his focus is solely on me.

Wincing, I look away first.

Believe me, fifteen miles worth of endorphins won’t even make a dent after today.