17
Bonnie
New day, new outlook. Yesterday, Max told me to continue work as usual, so that’s what I’ll do. Jack kicking people out of meetings is just a normal day in the office, and the barbarian boss has forgotten all about it.
I don’t feel good admitting I wasted a lot of time on Olivia’s social media last night in between long, rambling conversations with Kate and Nisha dissecting every last detail on why, why, just why?
Kate tells me what I want to hear, and Nisha tells me like it is. Between both, hopefully, I’ll meet in the middle and get through this.
Max has always been twenty steps ahead of me in this breakup. He’ll be married with three kids, a dog and a vasectomy before I’ve finished counselling.
I didn’t take that much notice of Olivia before. We exchanged niceties in the office kitchen and smiled at each other in the hallway. She has an English rose look about her with dimples that people would pay to have surgically added.
She’s been at Bradshaw for about six months and is in a pretty junior admin role.
I’ve never even noticed her and Max flirting but clearly, I was blind.
I didn’t realise that she was exchanging bodily fluids as well as niceties with Max.
I’ve been traded in for a younger model and I’m only twenty-eight.
At least she’s across the road in our Bradshaw office, and I’ll rarely see her for the next few weeks.
I don’t want to get back with Max. I said it to Kate last night and I meant it. I’m finally at the point of no return. That’s not what this is about.
The whole situation just stinks of disrespect. For me and for our relationship. I cannot fathom how a man who told me he loved me every day for years could put me in this horrendous situation and not seem that bothered about it.
He’s missing a massive sensitivity chip if he thinks it’s okay to go on our honeymoon destination with another woman from the office.
Now I doubt he ever loved me.
Speak of the devil.
Max hurries up to me as I’m powering on my laptop. “Morning. I’m glad you’re here early.”
“Yesterday was an exception,” I say sharply. “I’m usually early.”
He eyes me warily. “Hopefully, you’ve calmed down now that you’ve slept on it.”
“I’m void of all emotions.” I smile brightly at him. “They’re at the door downstairs.”
His eyes narrow a fraction then he sighs. “Bonnie, I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Neither does someone who committed manslaughter. It doesn’t make it okay.”
His lips press into a fine line.
“Look, you could have waited, that’s all. Let’s leave it. How can I help you, Max?”
“Good.” He nods curtly. “Listen, Bradshaw and Brown wanted to take you off the project. Bradshaw sent over an apology to Jack last night and said he would deal with it.”
Damn.
I slump into my chair.
Short little cretins. Five years here and one minor mishap later, I ’ m ripped out of a project that would advance my career. I may as well put my CV together because that’s my promotion out the window.
“Wait.” Max puts his palm up. “Jack responded at five this morning. He wants you to talk to him directly.”
My pulse quickens. “Talk to him directly . . . is that good or bad?”
He flings his arms up. “I don’t know. I tried. I emailed Jack before Bradshaw did, but he didn’t respond to me.”
“What does he want?” I feel a sliver of hope. “What should I do—email him? Call him? Isn’t it too early? Should I wait until nine?”
I wish the instructions were clearer. The damn guy probably plans to re-enact the scene of firing Dad. Even though he can’t technically fire me, he can cause a lot of damage to my reputation and career stagnation.
Max shakes his head. “He’s obviously an early riser.”
You already knew that; it’s in his biography.
“Do you know if he’ll be in the office today? He has to walk past here to get to his office.”
“I don’t know. He’s a busy man.” He thinks for a minute. “His PA sent around his work number in the email yesterday. She starts work at eight so she can let you know if he’s free to accept your call. At least you’ll have tried.”
But I have his personal number.
“Be prepared to get on your knees and grovel. He’s not known for second chances.”
An image of being on my knees in front of Jack Knight flashes in my head.
Fuck.
“I will.”
“Oh, and Bonnie?” He raps his knuckles on my desk. “Bradshaw doesn’t know about your little outburst when you threw water over me. If he finds out about that, you’ll definitely be taken off the project.”
You’re welcome, his face says as he walks away.
“Max?” I call after him.
He turns.
“Jack doesn’t know about your little bedtime reading. How many times have you re-read From Bricks to Billions ? If he finds out about that, he might feel uncomfortable knowing you’ve got a book about his life that’s so overread, it’s practically disintegrating.”
I smile sweetly and turn my attention to my laptop.
***
Ten minutes later, I’m still stewing over strategy. I can’t call Jack’s personal number. It doesn’t feel appropriate.
“Definitely nothing of interest going on there. ” His words from the morning after the wedding burn into my brain and hurt much more than they should.
Nope. I’m not calling his personal phone.
There is already a surprising crowd in the office, considering it’s 8 a.m., but Canary Wharf never sleeps. All work, no play here. Jack’s not in his office, though.
I open my emails, thinking about what I’m going to say, and then locate his office number. Maybe I could say I had women’s problems, that always shuts men up.
A female voice answers straight away. “Jack Knight’s office. Jess speaking.”
“Morning, Jess. It’s Bonnie from Bradshaw Brown. We’ve spoken before over email. You helped me get some pictures together for the mosaic for Sean’s wedding.”
“Ah, yes, Bonnie!” Her voice floods with warmth. “Thanks for sending me a picture of the final thing. It looked amazing! Kate and Sean must have been delighted.”
“Umm, yeah, I think it went down well. Thanks so much for your help.” I clear my throat. “Listen, Jess, I’m hoping to speak to Mr. Knight for five minutes today if that’s possible? Could I schedule a meeting?”
There’s a pause. “I hope you’re okay after yesterday.”
So, everyone knows.
I let out a sad little laugh. “I’m calling to redeem myself.”
I can feel her sympathy down the phone. “He’s back-to-back with meetings all day. Let me see what I can do, Bonnie. I’ll call you back.” She pauses. “Oh, and I shouldn’t be saying this, but it sounds like you got unlucky yesterday. He’s not usually that hot-headed.”
I know she’s trying to console me, but it somehow makes me feel worse. “Thanks.”
At least I tried. A large part of me is relieved I wasn’t put through.
My phone buzzes.
Fuck.
Double fuck.
Jack Knight flashes up on the screen. It’s his personal number.
Gah.
“Good morning, Mr. Knight,” I say in my most professional tone.
“Bonnie.” His voice is low and hard, a growl rather than a greeting. In the background, there’s a lot of noise, like he’s walking fast.
See, that’s what I’m talking about. The guy kicks me out of a meeting, fires people in front of me in a hot tub, gives my number to random guys, not to mention fires my dad, making him an all-round brute.
Yet my pulse goes from resting to racing just from hearing him say my goddamn name.
I make a mental note to go on a date with Christopher, the guy I’m messaging ASAP.
“I’d like to personally apologise to you for yesterday.” I’m proud that my voice is strong.
“Come and apologise in person.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. “Would you like me to schedule a meeting?”
“No,” he says gruffly. “Come down to the basement. Last door on the left.”
Thank God I had the good sense to get into the office early.
I take the lift.
With each floor, my stomach becomes more unsettled. He’s not going to make this easy if he wants to see me in person at this hour.
Apologise, and move on. In a week, it’ll be forgotten. In a few months, you’ll have your promotion, get on the register and can jump ship.
My pep talk does nothing.
Why the hell am I meeting him in the basement? Besides the gym and access to the carpark, I can’t remember what else is down here.
A morgue?
The lift doors open to the basement. I pass the entrance to the bike shed on the right and a cleaner supply room on the left, then arrive at the only door he can be talking about.
It’s a door right beside the main gym.
I knock.
“Come in,” a man shouts.
Inside is a boxing ring they didn’t show us during the office tour.
And in the middle of the ring is a bare-chested bare-footed sweaty Jack throwing savage punches at another bloke.
Holy. Fucking. Hell.
The muscles of his arms and chest flex with every punch he delivers to the other guy, who can clearly give as good as he can take.
The intensity on Jack’s face could swallow me whole.
Damn.
Speechless. My head involuntarily tips to the side as I examine him, like a beautiful sculpture.
Loud primitive grunts come out of him, acting as my sexual alarm clock. His muscles contract every time he jabs.
Same as my vagina. My version of morning wood.
Jesus, woman. He’s just a man.
Also a hulking, hot-as-fuck man, glistening in sweat.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
The other guy lands a decent punch on Jack’s chest. That must hurt. The muscles ripple but Jack ducks and comes back for more.
“Bonnie,” a gruff breathless voice jerks me out of my daze. Why does it sound like a command every time he says my name? “Are you here to say something to me or stand there gawking?”
“I can come back later if now’s not a good time.”
He stops moving for a second and his dark eyes burn into mine. “No. We do it now.”
“Uh, sure. I’d like to ask that you don’t get me taken off the project.”
Thwack. He resumes his punching.
“I know it didn’t appear so, yesterday,” I continue louder, “but I’m extremely dedicated to this project. Yesterday I wasn’t myself!”
I shout that last bit over the thumps and grunts.