Chapter 11: Fighting Mr. Knight: Chapter 11

What the hell is wrong with me?

Jack Knight-triggered oxytocin has been pumping through my body all night, leaving me a hot mess. And that’s with a stuffed moose head watching me.

The guy looks, smells and dances like sex. I didn’t stand a freakin’ chance. After the dance, a million women fangirled him all night, Max being the ringleader.

That dance. Holy fucking shit.

He was hard.

The guy practically humped my silk bridesmaid dress on the lawn . . . and I let him.

I can’t figure out if I’m happy that I had the chance to knock Mr. Big Dick down a peg or two, or because the possibility of angry sex might be on the cards—not that I would ever go there.

But it’s a fantasy for the Bean Bag.

Besides, Max encouraged me to network. I’m only doing what I’m told.

The breakfast room is the stereotypical aftermath of a British wedding, everyone that looked fabulous last night looks slightly worse for wear today.

Tans are patchy, makeup is still half on, eyes are reduced to slits, rogue pins are sticking out of slept-in updos, and there is a general demeanour of dehydration.

Voices that were roaring last night dull to an idle murmur as they mull over the breakfast buffet, trying to decide whether it’ll make them feel better or worse.

Nisha mumbles incoherently beside me. I banged down her door this morning to get her out of bed.

“Huh?” I ask, distracted, scanning the room for six-foot-something monsters with topknots and ten tons of muscle.

“I feel horrid.” Nisha groans. “I can’t look at that fry-up. Why did you let me drink so much last night?”

“Last time I checked the bridesmaid manual, it didn’t mention keeping guests from overindulging.”

He’s not here. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or disappointed.

“I’m not drinking ever again,” she says firmly as we meander around the buffet. “Okay, at least until Christmas.” She looks at me crossly. “I mean it this time.”

“I’m not doubting you.”

She lifts a lid, sees it’s black pudding and makes a retching sound, closing it quickly. “Why are you so cheery this morning? Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m exhausted,” I mutter. “Go get us a seat, Nisha. I’m going to pop to the loo.”

She sighs and moves towards empty seats.

“Not there,” I hiss as Nisha veers towards Kate’s creepy uncle, Dom.

I turn towards the main hallway where the bathrooms are, after giving the room a final once-over.

Maybe Jack’s left already. He mentioned he’s getting a lift in Tristan Kane’s helicopter. Talk about upstaging the bride, who arrives in a friggin’ chopper?

“The other bridesmaid is a bit of alright, isn’t she? That Bunny.”

What?

I freeze, trying to connect the bodiless voice to a face from last night.

Me?

“What’s going on between you two?” the same male voice around the corner asks.

A knot of anxiety tightens in my belly.

The guy I can’t identify must be talking to Max about me. Why does eavesdropping on Max talking about our relationship freak me out after all these months? Maybe I don’t want to hear from the horse’s mouth how well he’s coping without me.

I lean against the wall and take out my phone to pretend to read.

“Absolutely nothing, mate.”

My head jerks at the sound of the low gravelly cockney voice.

Jack.

Someone is asking Jack about me?

There’s a pause. “You two looked a little cosy.”

“Nope.” Jack’s tone makes my stomach lurch. Cold as ice. All the warmth he had last night is gone. “Definitely nothing of interest going on there.”

The other guy chuckles. “I guess Michelle Allard is more your type, lucky bastard.”

Another pause, and my pulse quickens.

“Michelle Allard is everyone’s type,” Jack says dryly.

My cheeks flame with heat. Wanker.

Obviously, I agree, but hearing it from his mouth crushes me more than it should. I shouldn’t even care.

“She hasn’t got a set of pipes on her like Michelle, but Bunny polishes up good enough.”

I tug at my bra strap, annoyed. Who is this guy?

“Careful,” Jack says, his voice more strained. “Watch your manners. Bonnie is . . . a friend of Sean and Kate’s.”

Huh. I’m only mildly appeased. It’s not exactly a knight-in-shining-armour response.

“Mind if I get her number?”

Another pause.

“Knock yourself out,” Jack replies in a level tone. “No reason for me to mind.”

“So? Do you have it?”

More silence.

“Thanks.”

Thanks? THANKS?

He did not give some random guy my number.

My chest tightens as I back away from the corner. So, Michelle Allard is more his type?

Him and his big dick and his darlins.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Bonnie, says the annoying voice of reason in my head. Billionaires get more attention than babies and bunnies. I witnessed that myself last night. What did you expect?

Father Donaghy would say this is karma for disrespecting his God’s house yesterday.

I can’t believe I even entertained for a tiny slither of a moment the notion of maybe, just maybe, sharing some food with Jack Knight for an hour. All for networking purposes, of course.

I’ve been a fool, but I’ve learned my lesson.

***

After a ten-minute pep talk in the bathroom to pull myself together, I make my way back to the breakfast area.

Kate waves me over.

I’m irrationally annoyed. It’s probably the champagne after-effects and the low you get after hitting it too hard, that’s all.

“Hi, Mrs. Knight.” I beam at Kate as she pulls me in for a massive hug.

“Mrs. Knight,” she repeats, squealing. “Mrs. Knight! Jesus, I’ll look around for Sean’s mum every time someone calls me that. Thank you for yesterday, honey. You were on your feet all day. I think you must have taken me to the bathroom five times last night.”

“Don’t worry. I hope you enjoyed your day?”

She thinks about it. “You know, I really did in the end. I mean, I wouldn’t rush out to do it again and I’m really glad it’s over, but waking up beside my husband this morning . . .” Her grin fades and she squeezes my arm. “I’m sorry, Bonnie. Are you okay? I know you put on a brave face but it’s such a hard thing to go through given the circumstances.”

Huh. This is the first time I’m upset about something other than my split in months.

All thanks to Mr. Big Dick. Maybe he did me and my not-as-good-as-Michelle-Allard-pipes a favour.

“I had a brilliant time.” I smile. “Kate, do you mind if we head off? Nisha’s in a bad way. Also, Bradshaw is doing an important piece of work for Lexington, so I should get at it today, or the week will be a nightmare.” And I need to get the hell out of here before the Lexington CEO appears.

“Speak of the devil.” She grins over my shoulder. “Jack, you bad man. Is your company working Bonnie too hard?”

I turn, horror rising slowly, to see Jack and Michelle Allard behind me.

Jack is back in casual clothes but still looks as deadly as in the tux, if a little more tired in a grey tee and jeans.

Michelle grips his forearm possessively, looking bored. He stiffens but doesn’t remove her arm.

Unlike the rest of us, her skin glows as if an invisible team of lighting technicians is following her around, illuminating her with soft white light.

“Morning.” Jack turns his attention to me. His dark eyes burn a trail up my body. “What’s this about?”

“Bonnie’s gruelling deadline for Lexington,” Kate pipes up, poking Jack’s abs.

If only I had duct tape handy.

His brows rise.

“Kate’s only joking,” I hiss, telepathically telling her to shut the fuck up. Max will bloody well flip if he hears about this.

Michelle looks at me suspiciously as her arm tightens around Jack’s. “I know you. The other bridesmaid. From the lawn.”

I look between Jack and Michelle. He shifts his hand into his back pocket, forcing her arm to drop.

Not a date, my arse. Michelle is clinging to his side like a bodyguard.

“That’s me. The other bridesmaid,” I reply stiffly.

“This is Bonnie, Michelle,” Jack corrects her.

Michelle and I never really spoke last night, so there’s no need for awkward hugging. “Lovely to meet you, Michelle.”

I give Kate a quick hug and then turn to Jack and Michelle.

“Jack.” I pull my lips back from my teeth in an attempt to smile. “I look forward to working on the Motor Works factory for Lexington.”

Before he can respond, I turn on my heels and grab Nisha.

“Aren’t you going to have any breakfast?” she asks, as I march us out the door.

“Nope. Not hungry.”

“I know I wanted us to leave quickly, but slow down a bit,” she grumbles as I jog towards the car, dragging her along as if we’ve stolen half the castle’s valuables. “Hey, when you were talking to Kate in the breakfast room, I saw the tech tycoon Danny Walker eying you up. I repeat Danny Walker.”

“What?” I scoff. “Isn’t he with the hotshot lawyer Tristan Kane’s sister? Wise up, Nisha.”

“I mean it, he looked interested. He kept looking over.” She pants, trying to meet my stride. “Hold up, woman. I’m not training for a marathon, and I had a skinful last night.”

I slow down a fraction. “They have young kids.”

“These rich guys have their baby mamas and women on the side. I didn’t say you should go there.”

The car beeps open as I point the key fob at it. Heavy footsteps churn the gravel behind us.

Oh, shit.

Just as I pull the car door open an inch, a hand covers mine and a deep voice says, “Wait.”

I tilt my head over my shoulder, my pulse quickening. My back is against the chest of the guy I’m running from.

Jack leans forward, his breath hot on the nape of my neck. “Somebody’s eager to get away. Where’s the fire?”

His hand is still on mine, caging me between the car and him. I’ve never seen Nisha move so quickly as she leaps into the passenger’s seat.

I turn to face Jack, backing towards the car. “I want to beat the traffic,” I reply in a level tone.

“It feels like you’re running away from something.” He towers over me, cocky grin in place. “I’ll see you for dinner this week. Does Tuesday work?”

Arrogant ass. I never actually said yes to the date. And apparently, I’m interesting enough to spend a Tuesday with, while the Michelle Allards of the world, everyone’s type, gets him on a weekend.

Be cool.

Big client. Most interesting project ever. Senior architect title. Get the fuck out of Bradshaw Brown.

Leave your emotions out of it.

“Sorry, busy Tuesday,” I say more bluntly than I intended.

“Wednesday.”

“Perhaps the team and I could arrange a working lunch?” I smile helpfully. “We can do it in Canary Wharf, near the office. I’ll talk to your PA. I’m sure the partners and Max would love to attend.”

His forehead creases. “We’re back to playing this game? Okay, next Friday or Saturday night if you’re busy during the week.”

“I can’t do next weekend,” I reply flatly.

His eyes narrow a fraction. “What are you doing that’s making you so busy?”

I’ll be answering my phone to all the guys you pimped me out to.

“Running. I’ve got a really intense training schedule for the marathon over the next few weeks.”

“Okay. No dinner. We can run together to not interrupt your schedule. I can come to your area.”

“I can’t focus when I’m running with other people. Perhaps best to leave it.”

His dark eyes burn into mine in silence for a heated moment. “That must make your running club awkward.”

Shit. I forgot I told him that.

“Fine,” he says in a measured tone, a slight tick in his jaw. “I guess I misread everything.”

He goes to walk away, then turns abruptly.

“What was last night? You were flirting with me. If you’re not interested, why?”

Feeling cornered, I go on the defence. “I’m a bridesmaid—we’re supposed to be nice to the guests. Maybe I wanted to make the other groomsmen jealous,” I blurt out.

His eyes blaze. I get flashbacks from the hot tub of when he fired the poor guys.

“I see,” he growls. “You did a fantastic job. Very realistic.” He turns then stops again. “By the way, Danny is not remotely interested in you, so get that out of your damn head.”

Mouth hanging open, I watch him storm off before letting me respond. Jerk!

“Bonnie,” a small voice calls from inside the car. “Get in.”

I pull open the door to the driver’s side and slump into the seat. “Did you hear all that?”

“Yup, although I must have heard it wrong because it sounded like you were blowing Jack Knight off. What the hell?”

I’m too tired to give her blow-by-blow details. “He asked me out last night when we were dancing. This morning I overheard him talking to some other guy about how he wasn’t interested in me, and then he gave the other guy my number.”

“He asked you out?” she shrieks. “Holy shitballs.”

“So?” I scowl. “Didn’t you hear the rest of the story?”

She waggles her brows. “He wants to share you with another guy. Maybe you could form your own harem.”

I roll my eyes.

“Why on earth did you imply you were making Max jealous?”

“I got flustered.” I exhale. “He thinks he’s God’s gift. I suppose I want to bring him down a peg or two. And.” I pause. “Maybe it’s partially true.”

“When he said the comment about Danny Walker, it looked like you could cook bacon off your face.”

“Great,” I mutter dryly.

“Did you flirt with him?”

I wince. “I may have rubbed up a little against him. It’s not the best networking strategy I’ve ever had. But I’m only human and look at him, for Christ’s sake.”

“But you hate the guy.”

“I don’t hate the guy,” I say sullenly. “I just think he’s a ruthless bastard.”

“And you’re still attracted to him?”

“I’m sexually attracted to him. Some inmates are attractive too, you know. They get really buff in prison. Doesn’t mean they’re good people.”

She nods. “I’d like to have sex with Darren, and he disgusts me. He’s a real hottie to look at, but it’s kind of unsexy when the guy is bad at his job.”

I get it. In my first year at Bradshaw, watching Max work was sexy. Max is a great architect. But she’s right, Darren is the laziest guy at Bradshaw Brown.

She smiles slyly. “But Jack, he seems pretty good at his job. He’s not doing too bad for himself, is he? Must be doing something right for seven billion pounds.”

“I suppose.” I sniff, not accepting her bait. “Right, let’s get the show on the road.”

“Bonnie, by the way . . .” She pauses. “I heard Becky talking about getting Jack’s number. So maybe you should forget it.”

That gets a snort. “Come on, Nisha, as if I thought anything would actually happen.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

So, I really am just the other bridesmaid.

“He called me a Viking.”

“A Viking? Like a big angry hairy ginger man?”

“Exactly.” I tut. “The guy’s a dick.”

She hums in agreement.

“When did, uh, Becky tell you she got his number?” I ask casually.

“When you left me at breakfast this morning. She told the funniest story. She said she met him wandering the hall at 3 a.m. She thought he was sleepwalking or drunk because he looked dazed. Then she noticed he had a raging hard-on the size of a tree.”

“What?” I turn my head to look at her. “They hooked up?”

“Apparently not. He said he was getting something to drink and went back to his room.”

“The guy was just walking the halls of the castle, hard? How messed up is that?” I slump in my seat, secretly relieved. “But he asked for her number?”

“She got his number this morning. Sorry, I didn’t ask for the details.”

Sounds like Jack is giving out numbers left, right and centre.

She studies me. “You know who Jack Knight is. And as much as I want you to get back in the dating game, it’s probably not the most strategic move, shitting on your own construction site.”

“Don’t be silly.” I scoff, starting up the engine. “I know the score. Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

Yes, I know who Jack Big Dick Knight is.

Men like him get pissed when their pawns don’t move around the board as they order. What they forget is that if a pawn moves fast enough, she becomes a queen.