Two weeks later
“Ready?” I squeeze Bonnie’s hand tightly.
She smiles, failing to hide the worry etched in her beautiful face.
The London Marathon is tomorrow; she needs to do this first, so she can concentrate on the race.
He opens the door before I can ring the bell. He must have been listening on the other side.
“Dad,” Bonnie says breathlessly beside me.
“Mr. Casey.” I stare at the man I’ve been obsessing about for weeks. He looks older than his seventy years. Maybe a guilty conscience does that.
He’s a free man until his court case. With no other criminal record, he’ll get a suspended sentence. Likely community service.
Months ago, I would have fought the verdict tooth and nail.
Now, I’m relieved.
“Frank,” he says nervously, refusing to look me in the eye. “Call me Frank. Please come in.”
I can tell by his tone he doesn’t mean it. My company built this flat, but I’m not welcome here.
Bonnie warned me he likely wouldn’t apologise. Her mum said he doesn’t want to see me.
Well, that’s bloody tough. I want Bonnie to repair her relationship with this man. He’ll just have to tolerate me.
We walk in behind him to the kitchen, gripping Bonnie’s hand.
I take a moment to inspect the interior as I always do in one of my flats. It’s one of the social housing flats. It’s not as shiny as the luxury high tech ones but it’s a damn sight nicer than the old grey council blocks.
“Tea,” he mumbles. “Whiskey?”
“Tea.” I clear my throat. “We’re on my bike tonight.”
“Tea!” Bonnie cries in a high pitch.
“I have biscuits.” Frank Casey shuffles around the kitchen, ignoring the elephant in the room.
“Dad,” Bonnie croaks, on the verge of tears. “I’ve missed you. Can I have a hug?”
He rummages for bloody biscuits and for a second I think the fucker is going to ignore her.
I’m about to say something when he stops and turns, staring at the floor.
Her soft hand tightens in mine then she releases me and tentatively moves towards her dad.
Don’t break her heart, you shit, I warn him with my eyes.
Perhaps he’s not the soulless sap I thought, because tears brim his eyes when he gives his daughter a quick, awkward hug.
My heart constricts.
I’ll do anything for her. Including forgive this man. Forgive a man who’s too proud to say sorry. That, and let him off with half a million pounds. And buy back his house.
This man is my father’s killer and my lover’s father. It sounds like a sick poem.
Okay, so he didn’t twist the knife directly . . . but he let my father die.
I can be the bigger man.
“Frank, I’d like to put the past behind us.”
For the first time, he meets my gaze head-on, suspicion evident in his eyes. “There’s a court case coming up. If coming here is your way of intimidating me, son, well I—”
“It’s not,” I cut in firmly. “Eventually I’ll ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage and I’ll need your blessing.”
Bonnie splutters beside me. “W-What?”
I shrug and give her a wink. “I’m a traditional guy.”
“Oh my God, Jack.” She laughs nervously.
I squeeze her hand. We can talk about our future later.
I haven’t told Bonnie yet about buying her father’s house. She’s still continually apologising, and I don’t want her to feel as if she owes me. And I especially don’t want her to feel like I’m buying her love. I’ll wait until the dust settles.
“So, Frank, how about that tea?”
He nods and turns his back to open the cupboard.
But not before I see something flash between father and daughter.
Hope.
One day later
Bonnie
Although I’ve done everything right, I feel sick with nerves.
I lubed my nipples (and Jack’s too). I’m stuffed with protein. And I’ve found the perfect ass to pound the pavement behind.
The London Marathon starts off conveniently close to Jack’s house in Greenwich. Thousands of us shuffle from leg to leg, waiting for our signal.
What an atmosphere.
The owner of the perfect ass turns to wink at me.
The horn blasts for our section.
The two lovely mounds of muscle flex as their owner falls into a rhythm and I follow in quick succession.
My strategy must have been published in Runners Weekly. All eyes are on the target.
I chose his running shorts. After declining my first request for mankini bottoms, he conceded to tight-fitting Lycra shorts, which probably means Jack’s dick will make front page news during marathon coverage.
That delectable derrière will be mine tonight.
I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
So, 26.2 miles of this . . . easy.
Two weeks later
Bonnie
It’s funny how even the biggest things die down and become yesterday’s chip paper.
Besides Darren constantly nagging me to ask Jack about upping the budget before I orgasm, nobody seems to be that bothered about us anymore.
Nisha said she did me a favour by sleeping with Darren because there’s more gossip about that than Jack and me.
There’s only one person in the company it bothers. Max hates that Jack and I are a couple. But what’s good for the goose is good for the gander. He started it. He’ll never say it of course, but his passive aggressive comments are moving more towards the aggressive end of the scale.
Which is why what I’m about to do feels all the sweeter.
I step in line with Max as we walk out of the Monday morning meeting.
His cold gaze meets mine. “I have one minute, Bonnie. Is this urgent?”
“That’s fine,” I say casually, keeping up with him. “Shall I pop in an invite in your calendar about handover?”
“What?” he snaps. “Handover for what?”
“Handover for me leaving, Max.” I look at him innocently.
He stops in his tracks. Finally, I have his full attention. “What are you going on about?”
I feign confusion. “Did the partners not tell you?”
His eyes sharpen. “Tell me what?”
My mouth forms an ‘O’ and my hand comes up to my throat. “Oh dear! I’m leaving in three days. I handed in my notice weeks ago. I can’t believe the partners didn’t tell you.”
Actually, I can. I bet on it.
He freezes. Not breathing. Not blinking.
His face turns a deathly white. His mouth gapes and I resist the urge to pop something in it, like my pen.
“What the fuck, Bonnie?” he hisses and some spit lands on my cheek. “Are you serious? This is ridiculous. No.” He shakes his head violently. “You’re under an obligation to tell me. You can’t just up and leave without notice. This is negligence!”
“Max.” I smile sweetly. “Didn’t you hear me? I did give notice. I told the two most senior people in the company. It’s their responsibility to disseminate important information and put in place contingency plans. It’s not my problem if I’m not important enough to talk about in the boys’ club.”
I curse myself for the unprofessional slip. Boys’ club slid off my tongue before I could stop it. Still, the look on his face is worth it.
“I’m not surprised Bradshaw and Brown didn’t inform you,” I continue, tipping my chin up. “Not because they’re trying to screw you over but because they don’t value my worth. I was always hidden under you. But that,” I say simply, “is not my problem.”
Max looks like he might vomit. “But the presentation,” he whispers hoarsely.
I didn’t realise how much Max needed me until I handed in my notice. He’s only figured it out right this minute.
I do the majority of the work and Max takes the credit. He has a presentation for our second milestone in a few days’ time and he’s royally screwed.
As Jack said, this is business.
If Bradshaw Brown loses the account because I leave, then it’s their fault for being short-sighted.
I’ve done knowledge transfer for Nisha and Steve. I wasn’t going to leave them in the lurch.
“What the fuck, Bonnie?” Max rarely curses at work. He puffs air into his reddening cheeks. It pleases me that it’s an unattractive look on him. “You bang a billionaire and think you can skip off into the sunset? How could you not tell me this?”
I smile apologetically. “Well, this is quite the oversight, do forgive me. Especially since you’ve always been upfront with me throughout our relationship.”
He narrows his eyes suspiciously.
I don’t feel the need to tell him I know about his cheating on me. It’ll drive him crazier trying to figure out if I do.
Revenge really is best served cold.
No tantrums. No drama. Just getting back at Max in the most passive-aggressive way I can find.
“Don’t worry, Max,” I say gently, adopting my most concerned expression. “Jack knows you’re his biggest fan. I’m sure you’ll convince him to extend the deadline. I can ask him to sign his biography for you if you like?”
His nostrils flare to full capacity as he pulls in so much breath I’m surprised if there’s any oxygen left for the rest of us.
I try not to grin as I turn and saunter away.
You can definitely read a man by his nostrils.
Three months later
Bonnie
Jack slows to a halt outside the Archie Knight Boxing Centre.
He might own half the London skyline, but this small community centre tucked away beside the Motor Works factory is his dream.
Sometimes he coaches here himself.
I’m only home from Astana for three days.
We’ve managed to make it work. If you asked me at Kate’s wedding whether I would trust Jack Knight to do a long-distance relationship I would have laughed my face off.
Now I trust Jack more than anyone else in the world. And I’ll do everything in my power to make sure he trusts me.
We see each other in person once every three weeks but I always feel like he’s with me. He’s my biggest champion.
I miss him shitloads though. I miss my clit sucker too, but I can’t tell Jack. I didn’t have the guts to take it to Astana in case airport security searched my bag.
He’s right, he does have a lot of settings but come on, Jack’s lips don’t vibrate.
It’s worth sacrificing the clit sucker for a few months because working with Lauren Torres has been more than I could imagine.
I’ve never felt so alive.
For so long I let my dream be stifled into something smaller. Something mediocre. I was blind to how cynical I’d become working under Max.
All I wanted was to be the best architect I could . . . under Max.
But that’s not my dream. That’s Max’s dream, with him standing at the top of the hierarchy.
One day, I want to be a Lauren Torres.
“Ready to visit your dad, darlin’?” Jack asks.
I nod. Dad got a suspended sentence for two years with community service.
Dad lives only a few streets over in the new social housing as part of Jack’s regeneration project. I still love to hear from Jack and Nisha about what’s happening on the project.
Dad greets us with a smile. It’s more genuine than the last visit.
“Frank,” Jack jumps off the motorcycle to shake his hand.
Someday soon Jack will get his apology.
But for now, we’ll just accept . . . progress.
Roughly one and a half years later
Jack
“Happy thirtieth, darlin’.”
We are dancing in the garden of our Greenwich home with fifty of our closest friends.
“Thank you, Jack.” She smiles up at me, eyes shining and emotion wells in my chest.
My girlfriend is making a name for herself. She’s working her way up in Lauren Torres’s company. Now she adorns more heritage architecture articles than gossip rags exposing so-called threesomes between us and Michelle Allard.
Next week we are attending the UNESCO Cultural Heritage Conservation Awards and Bonnie and her team have been nominated.
The body-hugging brown leather dress compliments her slender athletic figure perfectly. Her blond hair is swept up in a French braid. Wisps of hair escape, framing her jawline. My dad’s chain adorned with crystals clings to her collarbone.
Her hips thrust in a steady sensual rhythm against mine and she has a gleam in her eye.
Fuck. Now’s not the time for my dick to pay homage to his favourite person.
I shoot her a warning look.
I have something much more important to do.
“You haven’t got your present from Lucy yet.”
“No.” She groans. “I don’t want any more dead birds.”
I chuckle. “I hope you’ll like this more than a dead bird.”
The music lowers and my stomach squeezes tight.
Everyone goes quiet. Most of our close friends know what I’m about to do.
Poppy walks in with Lucy beside her, both delighted at being the centre of attention.
I eyeball Lucy. Don’t fuck this up for me.
Bonnie looks at me in confusion.
She scans the garden then turns back to me and asks in a lowered tone, “What’s going on, Jack? Is there something wrong with the sound system?”
There’s nothing wrong with the sound system, but my fucking heart might give in. This is definitely one of the most nerve-wracking things a bloke has to do. Or a gal.
“No, Bonnie, everything’s fine.”
With clammy hands, I untie the ribbon around Lucy’s neck as she gives me a lick. Attached is a small box.
Danny’s wife, Charlie smiles at me encouragingly. They finally got married a few months ago.
Bonnie’s hands go to her mouth when I drop to one knee. She looks like she is about to scream but no sound comes out.
For the first time in my life, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get my words out. It’s a risk doing it in front of everyone.
I look over at her dad and he nods. I’ve already asked him.
“Bonnie, I’ve waited forty years for this. There’s a lot I’ve been blessed with in my life. I was obsessed with building the most prestigious hotels, the tallest office blocks, the most luxurious apartments.” I pause to take a breath. “The truth is all I need is you. So long as you’re with me, I’d happily leave it all and work on a construction site. You are, and always will be, the love of my life. Will you marry me?”
She stares at me with wide eyes. Her lips part but she remains quiet.
Bonnie? Don’t leave me hanging.
“Yes!” she squeals, flinging her arms around me. “Of course, I will.”
The day after the proposal
Bonnie
The lounge room door bangs open so loudly I scream.
“Ja-ack?” I stammer, his name barely off my lips as a naked Jack barrels through the lounge pushing me backwards until he has my back pressed against the wall.
Everything about him is erect. He towers over me standing to his full height with his cock pushed against my stomach.
His piercing brown eyes blaze down at me as his jaw works. His hair is dishevelled, and his bare chest is glistening with sweat.
He looks unhinged. What the hell is wrong with him?
He doesn’t answer. He grabs my wrists and forces my arms against the wall.
“There’s my little mate,” he growls. His teeth come down to graze the delicate skin on my neck.
His teeth continue to pull at my neck as his hands hold mine above my head. It’s like he’s swallowed a gallon of testosterone and Jack’s levels were already through the roof.
“I can smell your arousal a mile off.”
“You’ve been reading my books,” I gasp. “Which one?”
“Did I give you permission to speak?” His eyes darken in a predatory smirk. “The one hiding under your side of the bed.”
A little shiver escapes down my spine.
I’ll never survive that epilogue.
