22 #2
She emits a giggle. “ I promise I won’t be weird,” she babbles on.
“As long as it’s our secret. But why would you even tell anyone at Bradshaw?
That’s ridiculous. Sorry, I’m overthinking it.
We can do this, and I’ll be one hundred percent professional.
I mean in work, not during the sex. I’m not a professional prostitute.
But in work, professional. Yup. You don’t need to worry about that. No, sir!”
“Breathe, Bonnie.”
“Jack?” she asks when I don’t say anything else.
“Sorry. It’s the free cocktails.” She giggles nervously.
“Drought. Hottest guy I’ve ever met. It’s a bad combo.
I’m a wee bit drunk and in unchartered territory.
The last one-night stand I had was in uni with a guy who smoked weed in bed.
One-night stands with billionaires probably have certain rules. ”
Another giggle.
“Bet you don’t eat crisps or smoke weed in bed.”
“You’re right, Bonnie.” I release her hand . “You’re drunk. I’ll get a driver to take you home.”
“ What? I’m not that drunk! I can walk in a straight line. I’ll show you.”
Her face scrunches in concentration as she takes a few heel-to-toe steps in front of me.
“No need.”
“You haven’t even let me do the turn test. The police wait until you do that before deciding the verdict.”
“Bonnie.” I sigh. “Come on, I’ll have a driver for you in five.”
The light in her eyes fades as she goes quiet for a moment. “This really isn’t happening?”
“No, not like this,” I say flatly.
She looks at me like I’ve just kicked a puppy. “I thought you’d be up for the job.”
I chug my Scotch and grimace. “The job of being your rebound sex? That’s not what I want from you.”
Her face falls and she steps back, muttering under her breath.
“Boss man. Bonnie.” I turn to see Adrian and Max. Max frowns slightly, looking between Bonnie and me.
I’m not in the mood for this. “Adrian. Max.”
My jaw flexes as Adrian appreciatively scans Bonnie up and down and goes to hand her another Old Fashioned.
“I’ll take that,” I say, intercepting him. “Bonnie’s getting a lift home with my driver. She’s had enough.”
Max frowns at her. “Everything okay?”
Her cheeks flush with annoyance, but she hides it quickly with a bright smile. “Everything’s fine! I don’t want anymore. Jack’s right—those things are strong! Besides, I have to run ten miles tomorrow morning.”
“Ten miles, Bonnie?” Adrian stretches out her name. “Impressive.”
“I’m doing the London Marathon this year,” she says. “So really, I shouldn’t be drinking much, or it messes up my training.”
Adrian, the prick, rakes his eyes down her bare legs with zero subtly. “That explains a lot.”
I glare at him then turn to Bonnie. “I’ll show you to my driver.”
“It’s fine.” She smiles stiffly at me. “I can make my own way home. The tubes are still running. ”
“It wasn’t a question.”
She shakes her head like a stubborn child. “I’ll get the tube.”
My jaw tightens. “I have a duty of care to anyone from the team who is out late drinking with Lexington.”
She mutters under her breath, “ his bloody duty of care again.”
“Bonnie, take the driver,” Max cuts in.
“Fine.” She huffs. “I’m going to check if Nisha wants to go home too and pop to the ladies.”
She walks off and I wonder why every conversation I have with this woman fires me up so much.
Bonnie
Who wants mirrored walls and doors in a toilet? The last thing I need to see is me sitting on the loo with my knickers around my ankles.
I wish I was on my own cheap plastic toilet at home instead of London’s most glamorous loo (according to Toilets of Instagram).
I wish I’d never set foot in this obnoxious fancy bar.
That kiss.
I wish I’d never kissed Jack Knight like tomorrow was Armageddon and we were all going to die.
And I really wish I hadn’t proposed wham bam thank you ma’am to Jack.
I wish I could rewind the whole damn day.
The low of the missing underwear, the high of humping a hot stomach, the second high of a successful presentation and now the plummeting low of offering myself up on a plate only to be rejected.
He was watching me from the bar the whole time. I might have had one too many Old Fashioneds but I wasn’t imagining that.
So what the hell? What’s the guy’s deal? He clearly gets off on toying with me. Was his plan just to blue ball me or whatever the female equivalent is?
I’m a bloody fool.
Humiliated is not a strong enough word for how I feel.
Excited voices break the silence as the door of the bathroom opens.
“I couldn’t tell you in front of the guys, I slept with him a few weeks ago. Right here in this hotel.”
“No shit!” a second voice shrieks. “I knew it. I could tell by your face the minute he walked past. Lucky bitch. Ugh, I’m so damn jealous. He owns this place, doesn’t he?”
My stomach plummets. For fuck’s sake.
“He does.” The first one giggles. “That’s why the bar staff are treating me like a queen tonight.”
I white-knuckle the toilet roll holder.
“Damn. How did it happen?”
“Same way it’s happening tonight. I was here . . . he was here . . .” she says in a singsong voice. “The chemistry was off the charts. We talked and . . . one thing led to another.”
I stop breathing in case they can hear me. They must think they’re alone.
Get a grip, Bonnie. Why do you care? You are way too emotional over this.
I haven’t even slept with the guy. This is what happens in the dating pool in London. Nisha’s right, I need to harden up.
I care more than I’d like to admit.
“How was it?” the second asks.
Oh God, please shut up, woman.
“Ama-a-a-zing,” the first says, drawing out the word. “I’ll die if I don’t get a repeat.”
“Have you talked to him much tonight?”
“Enough.”
“Is he interested?”
There’s silence for a moment. Then she laughs. “I’m getting some Knight tonight.”
Her words slam into my chest. That’s why he’s trying to get rid of me. He has better options. I need to get the hell out of this bar.
“Do you think you could get him to introduce me to the tech tycoon he hangs out with, Danny Walker?”
More laughter. And lots of clicking from the camera sound of a phone.
“I think Walker is married. Or has a partner.”
“Forty percent of marriages end in divorce,” the second woman says smugly.
This woman is a bitch.
I pick myself off the toilet seat and breathe deeply through my nose. They’re going to think I have bowel problems being in here the whole time.
When I open the door their eyes widen in surprise, but they continue snapping. I thought the duck-face selfie was dead.
“Excuse me,” I mumble as I sidestep them to get to the sinks. Can’t a woman use the bathroom in peace without people taking photos?
They ignore me. “Move more this way, there’s better lighting.”
It’s the girl that was draped over him earlier, with a body to kill for.
She’s not wearing a bra.
Maybe that’s all it takes to get him interested. For a while.
Nisha looks to be in an intimate conversation with her arch nemesis Darren when I reappear from the toilets.
“Hey, Nisha?” I interrupt them.
She drags her eyes away from Darren.
“I’m going to head off. Do you want to come?”
Darren cocks a brow suggestively at her. “One more for the road?”
She shrugs, feigning indifference. “I’ll stay for one more,” she says, not looking at me.
For a fleeting second, I’m amused.
“Are you getting the tube home?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
“Text me the minute you arrive home.”
I lean in for a hug. “See you tomorrow.”
I turn to leave and meet the intense stare of Jack blazing across the room. His glass pauses mid-air as he motions me over.
He’s not alone. He never is. Redhead toilet selfie queen and her perky braless nipples look ready to eat him alive. She’s quick.
I’ll be damned if I’m going to get a lift from one of his drivers, like an annoying inconvenience he has to get rid of.
Averting my gaze, I stride towards the door with the pace of a professional race walker.
“Bonnie,” a deep voice says behind me as that familiar masculine scent wafts up my nose.
Keep walking. Keep walking.
“Wait,” he growls louder.
His hand slides around my wrist, stopping me in my tracks.
I turn and pin him with my fiercest glare.
“I told you I had a car waiting for you.” Irritation laces his voice as he glares right back.
“And I told you I’m taking the tube,” I snap, my heart pounding. “I don’t need to do as I’m told. I’m not a child.”
“You do need to do as you’re told when I want you to be safe.” He glowers at me. “You’ve had too much to drink to walk home from the tube on your own. I’d take you home myself, but I need to go back to the office.”
Cursing under his breath, he takes my wrist and starts walking, leaving me with no choice but to trail after him unless I want to lose an arm.
Outside, Canary Wharf hums with bankers, oil traders and tech people letting loose after a seventy-hour workweek. London’s version of the city that never sleeps.
In silence, Jack leads me to a black Aston Martin. The driver greets us and opens the back door for me.
“Tommy will message me when you’re home.”
Are you going to fuck Redhead in the hotel again?
“You’ll thank me in the morning when you wake up to run ten miles.”
“You don’t need to be concerned about me,” I say, sulking. “You’re right, this . . . us . . . was a ridiculous idea. Forget this morning. Forget tonight.” I play the drunk card. “It was the Old Fashioneds talking. I just wanted to find out what all the hype was about.” I flash him a plastic smile.
“What do you mean?” he asks, frowning.
“One night with playboy Jack Knight. Now I’ve realised what a terrible idea that is. It would complicate things. Forget I ever said anything.”
He looks at me steadily for a moment before nodding his head towards the back seat. “Get in, Bonnie. It’s late.”
“I’m never putting myself out there ever again,” I mutter to myself more than him.
“Putting yourself out there?” Hip lips curl in displeasure. “This isn’t putting yourself out there.”
I take one last fleeting look at him, swallow my pride and get in the car.