Chapter 3: Fighting Mr. Knight: Chapter 3

Winning the Lexington project couldn’t have come at a worse time. After a frantic early morning site visit to the Motor Works factory and a three-hour drive in heavy traffic, I’m now late for bridesmaid duties. Sean and Kate get married in two days’ time and I’m now on the clock.

“Jesus.” Nisha glances at me from the passenger seat. “What is this place, Britain’s most haunted castle? It looks the perfect scene for a murder, not a wedding.”

I shift gears and my dinky city car stalls on the gravel. A grey-stoned eye-popping medieval castle where the royal family would feel right at home awaits us at the end of the driveway.

“They’re trying to pull off a Downton Abbey vibe for the cousins coming in from the States. A Ye Olde English wedding,” I explain as we inch deeper into the sprawling estate. “Wow.” My nerves flutter. I’ve never stayed anywhere this fancy before.

“It’s more Jack the Ripper than Downton Abbey,” she mutters.

“I think a few were beheaded here back in the day. It used to be owned by a knight.”

“A knight as in Jack Knight?”

“No.” I grin. “Not that Knight. It’s one of the few plots of land in England he doesn’t own.”

“How much did you say this place is costing us?”

I shake my head. “Oh, you can close your purse. It’s not costing us a penny. Jack and the Lexington Group are footing the bill as a wedding present. Otherwise, we’d be camping on the lawn.” A lot of the Knights seem to work for Jack. Kate’s fiancé, Sean, is a senior construction project manager in Lexington. “You’d think it’s his wedding the way he flashes his cash.” I pause for effect. “Fifteen K.”

Her mouth slackens. “Fifteen grand for three days? That’s a year’s rent in London!”

“Dream a little bigger, love.” I snort-laugh. “Fifteen grand a night.”

“A night?” Spit flies from her mouth and lands on the dashboard. “Shut the front door! That’s . . . forty-fucking-five grand. That’s an actual house down payment. God, I can’t wait to see the shampoo in the room.”

“Yup. Some of the royals have even stayed here.”

“Holy hell. He’s generous to his employees, I’ll give him that. I suppose it helps that Sean’s his cousin.”

“Generous to the underlings he likes,” I hiss through my teeth.

“Bonnie, you need to be a better actor than that.” She side-eyes me. “Why do you hate him so much anyway?”

I grip the steering wheel tighter.

Nisha doesn’t know my beef with Knight.

How could I not hate him after I helped Dad pack up all his possessions and say goodbye to the house that had been my nan’s and survived two world wars? After that, Dad was never the same. I’m all for men expressing their emotions, but seeing your father weep is pretty soul-destroying, even for a nineteen-year-old.

A month after Jack laid off fifty workers, he entered the UK rich list.

But the thing that pissed me off the most was that the night he fired my dad, Jack sauntered into The White Horse pub, dick swinging and cash flashing, with women hanging off him and he winked at me.

A slow, arrogant wink aimed at me.

I don’t hate the guy. I don’t hate anyone. He’s a businessman and I’m sure it wasn’t personal. It’s more of a festering dislike.

And the most annoying thing? How much I know about the man. It’s hard not to. East End boy made good and nobody in the area is allowed to forget that. The Knights were a rags-to-riches story, all because of Jack.

The White Horse pub even has a damn photo of him on its wall.

I sigh. “It’s complicated.”

She groans. “Well, this is bloody weird. How the hell are we supposed to relax with our biggest client here? I’m surprised he agreed to stay in the castle with us. Doesn’t he have security? What if someone plans to kidnap him?”

“Kate said he has security, but you never see them. They’ll be staying close enough if there is an emergency.” I grin. “Maybe you can ask him.”

“No chance,” she scoffs. “I’m going to mind everything I say in front of this dude. What the hell do you say to a billionaire? How’s work going? I have zero common ground with this guy.”

I laugh. “Maybe you can ask him hypothetical questions like what yacht you should buy if you get a seven billion pound pay raise. Or ‘hey Jack, I’m thinking of getting my biography done because my life is too damn interesting. Who did you use’? Or ‘hey, jackass, how many men did you fire this week?’”

“Quit already.” Her eyes gleam. “His bodyguards will be buff.”

I think about the bodyguard smut I read last week.

Yes, please.

“He might have snipers on the roof.”

“He’s not the prime minister.” I roll my eyes as we crawl into the parking bay of the castle grounds.

Mild panic rises in me as I see throngs of people decorating the lawn drinking in the late afternoon sun and am reminded that as a bridesmaid, mingling is mandated.

What started as an intimate affair turned into a guest list of nearly three hundred for the big day and a two-day pre-wedding celebration for fifty of Kate and Sean’s closest family and friends.

Kate runs to the car, peering in wildly before I get a chance to turn off the ignition.

“Bonnie!” She flings her arms around me as I step out. “I’m so glad you guys are here. Sorry, I’m being extra needy today.” She’s slightly breathless. “The whole wedding is going to shit.”

My eyes widen as I take in her fake mahogany complexion, but I recover quickly. Kate is too nice for her own good. Her cousin and aspiring beauty consultant begged for the job of fake tan artist and appears not to have understood the bridal brief for a natural glow.

No wonder Kate’s distraught.

On the plus side, it makes her teeth and eyes look really bright.

“My flower girl peed her pants when she tried on her dress and now it has to go to the dry-cleaner’s. Apparently, there’s only one in the area, in England, in bloody Europe that will do it in a day! We have to change the seating plan again because Sean’s dicky cousin is turning up but never RSVP’d. Sean keeps telling me to relax while he gets drunk on the lawn and honestly, I’m close to telling him to go fuck himself.” She says it all in one breath.

No mention of the botched tan.

“Okay.” I nod encouragingly. “We’ll sort out any minor mishaps. These are all fixable.” I’m talking out of my ass because I’ve got no clue. The furthest I progressed in the matrimony process was sending out invitations. “It’ll be fine, Kate. It’s just pre-wedding jitters.”

“We’re at your service,” Nisha chips in, nodding vigorously. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Neither Nisha nor I are qualified to advise.

Kate doesn’t look convinced. She draws in a deep breath. “Sorry, I’ll start over like a normal person. Come and say hi to everyone.”

Heads turn as we stride towards the lawn. Not because Nisha and I are an exciting duo but because the conversation between families forced together has clearly dried up.

Glancing around the crowd, I feel self-conscious. I have that disorder where your brain empties names when you’re nervous. Also, there appears to be a pre-wedding dress code I wasn’t informed about, centred around trouser suits, tailored dresses and professionally blow-dried hair.

I’m wearing black leggings that have been washed so many times they are grey and balding at the knees. My hair is scraped up into a donut, which adds about two feet to my height, and I’m wearing an oversized jumper with the Friends cast on it. I expected to go to our rooms to freshen up before the meet and greets.

My gaze flits across the crowd at familiar faces—Max, Sean, Kate’s sister and maid of honour Becky, among others—and many strangers. Kate’s creepy uncle Dom eyes Nisha and me like a man on hunger strike eyes steak.

Holding court at one table is Kate’s mum, talking two octaves higher than necessary. Kate’s tanning expert cousin has attacked some of the table’s occupants who glow like they have bathed in mustard.

At the opposite table, marking her territory, Sean’s mum is surrounded by Knights and other members of Sean’s extended family.

Awkwardly, I wave at everyone.

“There’s Poppy, the little monster who decided to wait until she was in her flower girl dress to piss her pants,” Kate says through a tight smile as we approach them. “See how innocent she looks? She doesn’t realise how close she is to getting sacked.”

I follow Kate’s gaze to the animated girl dressed as a princess as she acts out a scene with a collection of sparkly ponies. Large muscular arms wrap around her waist, preventing her from falling off the knee of the person she’s seated on.

Kate mutters something about Poppy being clever enough not to piss in her princess dress yet conveniently pissed in the flower girl outfit she screamed she didn’t want to wear.

My attention, however, is stolen by the savage creature directing his signature grin at Poppy. The guy holding her. The hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention like a cat ready to attack.

“Where’s the entourage?” Nisha asks in too loud a whisper.

Kate shushes her with an elbow.

“He doesn’t look like a man that belongs in an office, does he?” Nisha murmurs.

No, he does not.

I wish he was grotesque.

With his masculine frame, Jack Knight looks like he lived up a mountain with wolves all his life instead of ruling from a glass box in the sky, trampling on the little people.

I guess he built his muscles on the construction sites. Maybe muscles built from old-fashioned manual labour rather than crafted in a gym are carved sexier.

Jack Knight’s a grafter; I can’t deny him that. He worked his way up from builder’s apprentice at sixteen to property tycoon one brick at a time, or so Max’s copy of the biography says.

And I also begrudgingly can’t deny that no one could describe Jack Knight as anything other than handsome. Show-stoppingly, in fact.

But, boy, does he know it.

Dark eyes from his Italian mother match his thick, dark brown, overgrown hair, styled in a topknot. Strands fall messily over his forehead framing the scar that runs through one of his thick eyebrows.

He’s dressed even more casually than me, in a black singlet T-shirt revealing his thick biceps and a glimpse of chest tattoos, declaring zero fucks given. It’s an outfit only he could get away with.

Which came first? The swagger or the money? I saw him in pubs when I was younger. I’m pretty sure he had the swagger when he was poor.

A glance around the lawn confirms that every woman in the vicinity is jealous of flower girl Poppy, who must be a niece, judging by the similar facial features to Knight.

The fools.

His tongue traces his full top lip and I am reminded of the rumours about what those lips could do to a woman.

Shuddering, I avert my eyes.

Damn. I need to get laid.

Or, at the very least, experience a tongue that’s not my own in my mouth.

Disgust fills me.

I haven’t had sex in a very long time. The cracks are showing. I never used to perve at Jack Knight, of all people.

I call up my best acting skills and pretend I’m not a lust-crazed horny woman who hasn’t felt the touch of human lips in months.

“Hi, guys,” I call awkwardly, as we walk over to the tables.

“Oh, it’s the other bridesmaid,” Sean’s mum announces.

Sean frowns and gets up from the table to greet us. “Bonnie, Mum. You’ve met her many times.”

“Hi, Mrs. Knight,” I greet her politely. “Yes, I’m Bonnie, the other bridesmaid. You met me at Sean’s birthday party last year.”

“Oh, yes. Bonnie.” She applies a fake, full-strength smile. “Remind me what it’s short for, sweetie?”

“Nothing.” I shrug. “It’s just Bonnie.” She asks me this question every time we meet.

“Sean’s mum is being as pleasant as usual,” Kate whispers as Sean and Max approach us.

Max makes a show of giving me a massive hug.

“She’s the bridesmaid that was supposed to get married to the best man,” Sean’s mum says in a loud conspiratorial whisper.

I plaster a large smile on my face. It’s not Max’s fault he doesn’t love me anymore.

Nisha and I stand on display shyly, being pelted with questions that no one needs the answer to. How’s traffic? I heard there was an accident on the motorway. What time did you leave London? Yada yada yada.

“Jack, this is Nisha, our commercial manager at Bradshaw,” Max says briskly. “She’s been with us three years but has worked with major construction firms for a decade. Excellent industry knowledge.”

I give him a sideward glance.

“Hi, uh, Mr. Knight,” Nisha says stiffly, coming forward to shake his hand. “Lovely to meet you, sir.”

“Jack,” he corrects her cheerfully. With one arm wrapped around Poppy, he stands and pulls Nisha in for a hug. “No need to be formal. Great to meet you, Nisha.”

“Of course, you already know Bonnie,” Max adds, gesturing at me like a curator exhibiting a new piece.

My eyes meet Jack’s. He treats me to an arrogant smirk like the big bad wolf that spotted a pig.

My lips curl upwards exposing teeth in what I hope is a pleasant smile. “Hi, Jack.”

“It’s been a while, Bonnie.” Before I know what’s happening, he has let go of Poppy and pulls me into a bear hug, crushing me to his chest. I lean into the embrace awkwardly.

God, that feels good. Smells good too.

The injustice.

I free myself from the hard wall of muscle.

“Bonnie is paired with Jack for the wedding,” Sean explains to the wider group who “ooh” and “ah” with pleasantries.

I see some looks of recognition and I awkwardly try to hide my Friends jumper with my arms.

That’s poor dumped bridesmaid Bonnie, their faces say. How hard must this be to watch her best friend get married? And the best man is the man who left her? It’s like a Jerry Springer episode!

My face heats.

“Which means I’m the second luckiest guy in the wedding, after Sean of course,” a deep voice says beside me.

“Lucky guy, indeed,” Kate’s creepy uncle Dom says, staring freely at my breasts. “Be sure to save me a dance, Bunny.”

Ugh.

“I’m paired with Uncle Jack,” Poppy wails, stamping her feet. “I’m marrying Uncle Jack. Not her!”

“And you’ll always be my favourite, sweetheart.”

He’s talking to Poppy.

Obviously.

But when I glance up, Jack’s staring directly at me.