The Darkest Knight (Knight Empire)

Chapter 1

CARI

I want my mom to live. That’s what I want, more than anything.

“Cari! Don’t forget. I need the most recent financial projections for Vanhelm formatted, printed, and included in the packets so I can present them at the family dinner.” My boss’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

My fingers tremble, hovering over the keyboard, as I try to rein in my emotions, dispersing my heart-wrenching wishes like dandelion seeds on a breeze.

I look up and stare right into his cutting blue eyes. My brain empties, offering a reprieve for just a few blissful moments. I can’t even remember what I was going to type next. His strong, spicy scent envelops me, and just like that, my shaking fingers still; my pulse fluttering. But for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. Even if it is just to argue with this surly and commanding man.

I sigh. I know he’s jittery, because everything’s riding on this, but goodness, can’t he give it a break? “I know, Jett. You’ve already told me twice this morning.” When I first started working for him, I called him Mr. Knight, but he had asked me to call him Jett. So I did.

With his shirtsleeves rolled up and his large hands pressing down on my desk, he makes it impossible for me not to look at his bare forearms.

“If I’ve told you twice it’s because it’s important.” Another waft of his cologne floats past me and my brain blanks again. “Well?” he says, when I remain silent.

Between my boss’s endless demands and the constant worry about Mom’s health, I’m barely keeping it together.

“I’m taking care of it,” I reply, keeping my voice as steady as I can. “I wish you’d trust me to get this right.”

I also wish he wouldn’t stand so close—like that. Overpowering and in my face. I have trouble getting him out of my thoughts as it is.

He leans in slightly, the gleam in his eyes freezing me in place. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t know you could handle it,” he says, as if that makes it any better. “It’s a big fucking deal.” Then he stands up, shoves his hands in his pockets and steps back, allowing me to breathe again.

I sense he’s possibly bracing for conflict with that overbearing father of his. The Knight family dinners sound like a form of torture that no normal family would subject themselves to, but these are the Knights, and they’re anything but normal. Their father convenes his six sons together over for dinner when there’s something important to discuss, almost always related to business. These people wouldn’t meet to discuss pleasantries.

Jett is negotiating a high-profile merger with Vanhelm Enterprises, a company who specializes in the renewable energy industry. It’s a big deal for him, especially being in a sector that the Knights don’t usually deal in. It’s already pissed his father off, but Jett hasn’t backed down. He’s met the conflict head-on and is still determined to see the deal through. Paul Knight, on the other hand, loves the fossil fuel industry. And therein lies the extra conflict, because this father and his sons don’t really like one another.

“They’ll be done by five,” I reply, forcing calm into my tone, even though I haven’t started the projections yet. I stand up and absentmindedly pick up a paper file and a pen. I’ll probably pretend to file it soon if he doesn’t move.

“And,” Jett adds, his voice laced with that aggravating calm authority, “I need you to pull together the quarterly projections and draft a summary of the Stenson deal for tomorrow’s call.”

I suppress a groan as I set the file down again and scribble a note to myself. This is completely unrelated to the Vanhelm deal, but the Knights have their fingers in so many different pies, I’m often overloaded with work. All of the assistants are.

That’s my lunch break gone—and likely my evening too. “Anything else?” I ask, my tone sharper than I intend.

Jett’s gaze flickers downward, and for a split second, his eyes linger deep inside my blouse. I straighten up immediately, my breath catching at what he might have seen.

He just looked down my blouse.

But Jett Knight isn’t that guy. He’s neither slimy nor a pervert. If anyone has any fantasies, it’s me—about him.

Not the other way around. It would never be the other way around. This man dates beautiful women—high-powered, smart, independent women.

All the things I’m not.

But still, he did look down my blouse. I’m sure of it. A shiver rolls over me. I hate how my body reacts to him, the thrill that sparks when he slips like this, showing me a crack in his steel armor.

He clears his throat and quickly looks away. “No. That’s all.”

When he glances back, there’s a sheepishness in his expression that sets my heart aflutter. Not for long, though. I notice my second button has come undone, leaving visible a sliver of burgundy colored lace. Which means he got an eyeful. At least I’m wearing my Victoria’s Secret bra that my boyfriend, Rory, gave me for Valentine’s Day.

I discreetly try to do up the button.

“Thank you,” he says, loosening his tie. “I appreciate you putting in the extra time. Why don’t you take tomorrow afternoon off?” His voice softens, a rare concession.

Before I can reply, my phone buzzes on the desk. “MOM” flashes across the screen. Guilt tightens my chest, but I hit decline.

Jett frowns. “Shouldn’t you take that? It’s your mom.”

“I can see that, and I will. Once you leave,” I say tightly.

He hesitates, concern flickering across his face. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine.” A lie, but one that gets him moving.

“Good to hear.”

I remember something just before he reaches his door.

"I also sent flowers to William Templeton’s wife. She’s in the hospital recovering from an emergency appendectomy."

He turns around, hands still in his pockets. Of course, I notice his wide shoulders again and the way his cuffs are folded up.

Don't ogle his forearms. Don't.

His brow furrows in that familiar way. "His wife? But I don't know her.”

"That may be, but he mentioned that she was recovering from an operation. He told you about it when we were in the meeting," I prompt.

He stares at me blankly. How can this man not remember?

"Right, right." He says as if the lightbulb has gone off in his head. "We're on the verge of signing the deal."

“Yes, you are,” I reply.

Trust him to remember the deal but forget about the people involved. Personal gestures like this? Not on his radar, even indirectly. Money and numbers are what this man focusses on. His father has taught him well, and these Knight men and their obsession with their empire proves it. They only value money. I don’t trust Paul Knight, I don't like him, and I keep my distance from him. I pity his personal assistant.

What’s even worse is that I can see Jett turning out like him in a decade or so. Maybe Brooke will cause him to change. My heart melts thinking about that adorable little girl who is the center of Jett's world, and the cutest little four-year-old I know.

Jett scratches his jaw. "Thanks?" He says it like a question, as if he doesn't understand why I sent the flowers.

"It’s a nice thing to do. It shows him you care," I explain, "It shows him that you're a human, and things like that matter.”

“You’re probably right,” he admits. “Thank you for handling it. You’re—” He stops, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re good at what you do, Cari. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as he walks away. I don’t know what he’d do without me either, and that’s the problem.

As I sit back down, my phone buzzes again—a text from Mom.

Don’t call. I’m napping. Stop by on your way home. Aunt Scarlett made tacos.

I exhale, relieved she’s resting, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift. Even the thought of my favorite food waiting for me does nothing to relieve the ache.

Jett returns, shrugging into his jacket. “Can you pick something up for Dina?”

I freeze. Dina. His latest girlfriend. “Pick what up?”

“A watch. Cartier. It should be ready.”

My jaw tightens. He really doesn’t listen, does he? “I told you—I’m already working through lunch as it is.”

He stops short, his expression softening. “Right. Sorry.”

My mind is in disarray, still caught up worrying about my mom. Now I stare blankly at my boss.

At my demanding boss.

A man who has no idea what I am going through.

Who lives in his billionaire bubble.

"I suppose I could go and collect the watch myself."

"Do you think you could?" It sounds cockier than I intended. I should let it go, but something snaps. “Why don’t you pick up a cookie-cutter set while you’re at it? Christmas-themed. Brooke needs them for her school project, and I’m guessing you don’t have anything like that at home.” I overheard him on the phone to his little girl a few days ago. She needs him to come home early so that they can make cookies for her to take to school.

His brows knit in confusion, and for a second, I almost feel sorry for him. This man can close multimillion-dollar deals in his sleep, but he’s clueless about the simple things.

Without waiting for a response, I dive into work, typing furiously to claw back time. I’ll finish this, see Mom, and eventually get a minute to breathe.

An hour later, Jett strides back in, phone pressed to his ear. He drops a brown bag on my desk.

“Lunch,” he mouths.

I peek inside—a sandwich from my favorite deli. I open the brown paper wrap, and my heart leaps. He got me my favorite sandwich. Turkey and avocado on toasted sourdough, loaded with lettuce and tomato and a smear of garlic aioli. I slump back. There’s even a slice of pepper jack cheese. How does he know about this? Maybe he overheard me placing an order on the phone. I stare at his closed door, my chest tightening with gratitude and frustration. He doesn’t make it easy to hate him.

He’s a billionaire, a pain in the ass, and a complete enigma. But every so often, he shows he has a heart. And that’s what makes it so damn hard to walk away.