18
Jack
Being London’s biggest property developer isn’t as glamorous as it’s made out to be, despite what the media would have the nation believe.
This evening, I got photographed coming out of a swanky restaurant with the Mayor of London after I was accosted by two females.
By midnight, another threesome will be added to my playboy persona along with the photographic “evidence.” Fifty percent of the time, it’s true and the other fifty, it’s cock and bull.
In my case, my reputation definitely precedes me.
Life was simpler when I was a poor bricklayer.
The motion sensor lights illuminate the walkway of the fortieth floor as I walk to my office. The floor is in darkness except for one corner.
I pause in my tracks, frowning.
She’s bent over her laptop and too engrossed in whatever she’s doing to notice me. Her eyes fix on the screen as she absently brushes loose hair from her neck.
My chest tightens. Bonnie shouldn’t be here alone at this time of night.
The light of the laptop screen bounces off her sculpted cheekbones and razor-sharp features. She must have Scandinavian blood in her with that bone structure. She wraps her lips around a pen, and it might be the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Plump, pouty lips that women pay thousands to fake. Lips I’d like to taste.
I need a reality check here. I can’t stop staring at her.
That’s all I’ve done since our little chat in the gym five days ago.
Watch her from afar. Watch her laugh with others, charm my team and talk to everyone but me, the big bad wolf who kicked her out of a meeting.
When she laughs, she lights up the room. When she scowls, she sets me on fire.
Then I go home and wrap my fist around my poor aching cock, which just wants to follow her around all day until she drops us a bone.
Pretending it’s her. Pretending I’m pushing inside her beautiful soaking pussy as she bounces up and down on my cock, moaning my name like I’m the only man in the world.
Is that too much to ask?
She never comes near me, and there’s been little reason for me to approach her.
She keeps her head down, like the rest of the team, intent on not fucking up the opportunity of a lifetime.
I forced the situation a few times, loitering around the area reserved for the Bradshaw team, asking questions I didn’t need to know the answers to.
But I’m not the only one she doesn’t go near. Except for work conversations she doesn’t seem to engage with Max. I think her comment about flirting with me to make him jealous was only to rile me up.
I just need to get to the root of why.
As if feeling the weight of my gaze, she looks up, and our eyes connect.
The pen drops from her mouth as I walk towards her.
I wish like hell I knew what’s going on in her head. The woman is the most difficult person I’ve ever had to read. Most people, especially women, I can read. Viking could be plotting a slow and painful death for me, and I wouldn’t know.
She stands up to greet me and that’s when I notice what she’s wearing. Tight white tank top sculpted around perfect breasts, stopping at just above the belly button and black running shorts high on the thigh accentuating her long toned legs.
Fuck.
With great effort, I drag my gaze back up to her face.
“It’s ten thirty.” I frown. “Why are you not at home?”
She shrugs. “I want to get something finished.”
My chest tightens even further. I feel like an asshole that she’s working these hours because of me. “I didn’t mean for you to be this dedicated.”
“It’s just one night. I’ll feel better when I’ve finished what I need to. Anyway, most nights I’ve been leaving before nine. Some of the team are usually here as well, so I’m not always alone.”
I wince. Now I know I’m a major asshole. “I don’t want you working this late alone in the office.”
Her lips quirk. “Are you saying you don’t trust your own security guards?”
“Of course, I do,” I say dryly. “I’m worried about what happens when you leave the watch of my security.” My eyes run over her body again. “Why are you dressed like that?”
She looks at me like I’m stupid. “I’m going to run home.”
“To your flat in Brixton? That’s ten miles.”
Surprise crosses her face. “It’s about seven. How did you even—” She stops. “No, not to Brixton. I’m going to my dad’s tonight.”
“Barking? No chance,” I say firmly. “The route is dodgy as hell at this time of night. I’ll take you home. You can run tomorrow morning when it’s daylight.”
“Barking is where my mum lives,” she says in a tone that suggests I’ve pissed her off.
Yup, definitely can’t read the damn woman.
“I’m staying at my dad’s.” The bite in her tone is unmistakable this time.
I frown, confused. “Phil’s not your dad? The dentist?”
She inspects me through slanted eyes as I wonder what the fuck I’ve said wrong. “Phil’s my stepdad. My mum married him when I was eighteen.” Her teeth grind together. “You know my dad.”
“I do?”
Her scowl deepens. “He worked for you for years.”
My mind ticks over, trying to figure out who she’s talking about. “What’s his name?”
“Frank Casey.”
It takes me a long minute for the name to register.
It can’t be. How the hell did I not know that?
“Seriously?”
“ Seriously.”
It all makes sense now.
She crosses her arms, staring at me, bewildered. “You really didn’t know he’s my dad?”
“No.” I sigh. But now that I do, this complicates things. In these situations, it’s best to take the bull by the horns. “You’re annoyed at me because I fired him. Right, Bonnie?”
Her expression darkens. “I’m not exactly delighted about it, no.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Are we off the record? I won’t get in trouble for anything I say?”
“Completely off the record,” I agree firmly. “Hit me with your worst.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “You fired him out of the blue two days before Christmas for no reason. You didn’t pay his last two weeks’ wages. That’s the mild version.”
My jaw ticks.
“I’m sorry, Bonnie, I really am,” I say softly, wondering how to manoeuvre my way through this. “I didn’t know he’s your dad.”
“It’s not really the point.” Her breath stalls and it’s clear she’s not comfortable talking about this with me. “What was your reasoning? It doesn’t even sound legal.”
“It was legal and above board.”
Her eyes narrow. “You winked at me.”
“I winked at you?” I repeat, confused.
“After you fired Dad, you winked at me. In The White Horse. You had a squad of women with you.”
“A squad ?” I smile. “I don’t remember that specific wink, Bonnie.”
My smile drops as her lips thin.
There’s obviously a lot of emotion attached to this wink.
“I always tried to talk to you, Bonnie,” I say gently. “If I winked at you, it was nothing to do with your dad. It was because I was trying to get your attention. You’re hard not to focus on in any pub, but in The White Horse, well, I didn’t stand a chance.”
She’s not having it. She just keeps staring at me.
I lean against the desk so that I come down to her eye level. “Are you going to hold a decade grudge against me? I’m truly sorry, Bonnie. Business decisions I make are never intended to hurt people and I’m regretful that this one has impacted you.” My eyes search hers. “Can we put this behind us?”
A disgruntled, noncommittal sound escapes her.
She thinks she hates me. Hell, she wants to hate me.
Deciding not to push it I revert to our original topic “Where does your dad live?” I ask.
“The Lewis estate.”
The largest social housing estate in that area. He’s in the catchment of the regeneration project. “We’re rehousing him.”
She nods.
“Right, well, you have three choices.” I fold my arms over my chest, mirroring her. “One, you get a lift with my driver. Two, you get a lift with me on my motorcycle. Three, we run to your dad’s house together.”
“Or option four, I do what I want because I’m a grown woman, and I run home alone.”
“No. Absolutely fucking not. Pick an option from the three.” Options two or three only.
She skewers me with a glare. “You can’t stop me from leaving this building by myself.”
My jaw tightens. It’s approaching eleven o’clock and I don’t want to stand here arguing all night. “If you’re in my building, I have a duty of care. Besides, I won’t be able to sleep unless I know you’re safe.”
“You don’t have a duty of care if I’m the one that decides to work out-of-office hours. I’ll email you as soon as I get back.”
I swear under my breath. Why does the woman have to be so stubborn?
She goes to walk around me, but I take her by the wrist and pull her towards me. “If I let go of your wrist and you run out that door, I’m going to run with you the whole way to your dad’s place.”
She tuts. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Try me.”
Her eyes flare, a war brewing behind the blue. “You’ve been drinking. You can’t drive a motorcycle now.”
I shake my head. “I had one beer at dinner. Hours ago. Besides, I break down alcohol quickly. I’m a big guy.”
“That you are,” she mutters. “So . . . was it a date?”
Her light tone doesn’t fool me. I wonder for a second if I should fuck with her.
“Depends how hot you think the Mayor of London is. It was a business dinner. Come on, you’ve been in the office since eight this morning. You must be exhausted. Let me take you home.”
“Fine,” she huffs. “Option two. Motorcycle.”
“Good choice.” I wink.
That makes her even angrier.
“You’re the boss, Mr. Knight.”
“Maybe I overreacted slightly,” I say, sheepishly. “Jack works too.”
“Off the record, maybe you are giving me whiplash,” she mutters. “Wait, why do you have the motorbike with you if you have a driver at your beck and call?”
“You’re about to find out. Come on, grab your things.”
She picks up her bag and follows me to the lifts.
I press the button for the lower ground floor, and the doors slide open. “Ladies first.”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before.” She steps ahead of me into the lift. “You won’t go too fast, will you? I don’t want to be in an accident because of a boy racer showing off his toy.”