Fighting Mr. Knight by Rosa Lucas EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Rosa Lucas
- Language: English
- Genre: Billionaire Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Bonnie
You can tell a lot about a man by his nostrils. Pay attention and they’re full of
clues. If his nostrils flare and his lips part, he’s picturing you naked.
The nostrils of the guy in the sharp blue suit at the top of the boardroom
are fat with anger.
Max, my boss.
He checks his watch as the team piles in, taking the seats around me.
Technically, they’re on time, but they’re on Big Ben’s clock rather than
Max’s, which is five minutes slower.
Twenty of us—architects, interior designers, planners—make up Bradshaw
Brown, one of London’s smaller architecture firms.
As far as design firms go, we’re not sexy. We don’t design shiny pointy
things in the London skyline shaped like shards of glass or walkie-talkies and
if I listed ten of our projects to the public, eyes would glaze over.
Restoration of old abandoned heritage buildings, that’s our bag.
The two sales guys take seats at the front. The Antichrist to us creatives.
Their strategy is to pimp us out for deadlines that we can’t meet, then they
ignore our calls because they’re too busy on the phone, selling us to new
clients.
Max hooks up his laptop, and the boardroom screen comes to life.
But this morning, it’s not displaying the Bradshaw Brown team agenda.
Twenty jaws drop to the floor as we stare at an attractive blonde posing
seductively on sand while rocking a red bikini and Santa hat.
Then slowly, like dominoes, nineteen slack jaws swivel to stare at me.
Well, shit.
My body stiffens in defence, and I shoot them back death glares.
I force my horrified eyes back to the screen.
The photo is in a message from a Danielle. To summarise our boss’s
emailed response in big print: Danielle in a Mrs. Claus outfit makes his dick
hard.
It’s not even Christmas.
Danielle smiles playfully at us with wide eyes as she lives her best life on a
beach somewhere.
Max is too busy checking something on his laptop to notice that he’s
broadcasting his digital masturbation bank to the design team. His inability to
pick up on the tension in the room is astounding.
“Uh, Max,” Nisha, Bradshaw Brown’s contracts manager and my close
friend, says sharply beside me. “That’s not the agenda you have on-screen.”
Confused, Max pivots and then flinches as if Danielle jumped out and
slapped him in the face. “Shit!” Choking painfully on his own saliva, he
frantically yanks the cable from his laptop.
We watch gobsmacked. Awkward sniggers sprinkle the room.
Max levies us a glare as if it’s our fault. “Moving on.”
Nisha cocks a brow at me in a ‘you okay?’ as Max recovers, plugs his
computer back in and replaces sexy Mrs. Claus with the meeting agenda.
I plaster a bright smile on my face. Mortified is the understatement of the
century.
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