Mr. Knightsbridge (The Mister Series Book 2) Read online

  “How’s Greg?” I asked.

  Autumn laughed. “You know I can see your gritted teeth when you ask me that because you’re on video.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m trying to be supportive.”

  “No, you’re not. You were just hoping I’d tell you he’d been crushed by his dad’s muscle car.”

  “I’m not a monster. I don’t want Greg dead. I just don’t want him . . .”

  “Anywhere near me.”

  I couldn’t lie. I would be very happy if Greg disappeared from Autumn’s life. Not because Greg was a bad guy—he wasn’t. But I could guarantee he was going to spend the rest of his life living within a hundred yards of his current home, which just happened to be the Sunshine Trailer Park, managed by none other than Greg’s dad. I wanted something better for Autumn. I dreaded her getting pregnant or announcing she and Greg were getting married or something. She was almost twenty-two and I wanted more for her. Or I at least wanted her to have options. If she took a job in Portland or New York or something and decided she was happier at the trailer park, that was one thing. But not having a choice? I couldn’t live with myself.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Autumn said. “Greg does whatever I tell him and it’s convenient. It’s no big love affair.”

  “How are Mom and Dad?” I asked. Keen as I was to change the subject, I was just jumping from the frying pan right into the fire.

  “Okay, actually.”

  “Have they asked you for money yet?”

  “I gave Mom twenty yesterday but it’s no big deal.”

  I sighed. I’d begged Mom not to ask Autumn for money.

  “It’s not a big deal. She seemed okay actually, talking about applying for a job at Trader Bob’s.”

  “Really?” I said, wondering if I’d heard her correctly. I couldn’t remember the last time my mom had been interested in working. Occasionally she’d get offered something through a friend, but it never lasted long. She’d shoot her mouth off or lose something important. She never lasted more than a week. But I covered their rent and gave them money here and there. I just didn’t want Autumn to have that burden. It wasn’t fair.

  “Yeah. Her friend is working there or something. We’ll see how long it lasts.”

  “How’s Dad?” It had only been a week since I’d left but if Mom was job hunting, maybe Dad had taken up lion taming. Apparently anything was possible.

  “No idea. Mom says he has a cold.”

  Maybe I was overreacting. My dad took to his bed with a cold most months. It was an excuse to watch a lot of TV and not clean up after himself.

  “But enough of boring old Oregon,” Autumn said. “Tell me about last night. How was the dress? Did you get to try on any jewelry?”

  “You know.” I sighed dramatically. “Another evening, drinking champagne and rubbing shoulders with the beautiful people.” I grinned. “I didn’t get to try on the jewelry, which is just as well because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have wanted to take it off again.”

  “You look so happy,” she said. “I bet you looked beautiful.”

  “Well I didn’t get thrown out because my dress wasn’t expensive enough, which at one point, I thought was a real possibility. I even got to drink the champagne.” That wasn’t quite true. I’d tasted it, but I kept putting down my glass and forgetting about it. The jewelry had been all-consuming.

  “You were born to drink champagne,” Autumn said. “I’m glad it’s not just work, work, work. I know what you’re like. I know you’re there to learn but try and have some fun too.”

  “Actually, I got asked out on a date,” I said and then immediately wished I hadn’t.

  Autumn scooted closer to the phone. “Tell me everything. A British guy?”

  Not just a British guy. The British guy. Anyone who was anyone knew Dexter Daniels. I still wasn’t sure why he’d singled me out. “Of course a British guy.”

  “Tell me you said yes.”

  “I took his number.”

  Autumn groaned. “I suppose that’s better than a straight no.”

  Except that I had no intention of using the number, so it wasn’t much better.

  “You should enjoy yourself,” Autumn said. “You can work hard and go out for drinks with someone you know.”

  It was tempting. Dexter had been sweet. And although he couldn’t have been as good looking as I remembered, he was undoubtedly handsome. But he had thrown off my concentration long enough for me to miss my ride. God only knew what the man was capable of during the course of an evening of fondue.

  “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m in London. I’m having more fun than you could possibly imagine.” Compared to life in Oregon, the past week had been a kaleidoscope of fresh, exciting experiences.

  Six

  Hollie

  Jiminy freaking Cricket.

  I’d convinced myself he couldn’t possibly be as good looking as I’d imagined, but sitting across the other side of this gigantic room from Dexter Daniels, it was clear I’d just been delusional. And it wasn’t just how he looked. It was the way he carried himself. It was as if he were the sun and we were all orbiting him, our only option to surrender to his gravitational pull. He was so confident and relaxed, as if nothing could faze him. What would happen if I went up behind him and tickled him under his arms?

  He’d probably forgotten about me by now and moved on to Gigi or Bella. Or some other tall, leggy supermodel who didn’t have one boob half a cup size bigger than the other. I glanced down at my chest. Autumn swore she couldn’t tell but she also told me I was the best jewelry designer in the world, so she was clearly full of it.

  There was no doubt he was gorgeous, the kind of man who was every girl’s type. Was there such a thing as being universally handsome? His suit was blue—not navy—and the color emphasized the black of his hair. His voice was deep with a hint of roughness, like the sound a five-o-clock shadow would make. His hands were capable and strong. We didn’t get many men like Dexter at the Sunshine Trailer Park. Or maybe in all of Oregon.

  Out of nowhere everyone started clapping and the plates that had held our lunches were being whisked away from in front of us.

  Our table was the eight-member competition team of Sparkle. Most other jewelry houses had their own tables, and some had even filled two. We all shifted to see the two people standing behind the lectern at the far end of the room.

  I glanced over at Dexter to see if his attention had also been captured, only to find him looking right at me. The corners of his mouth twitched as we locked eyes, as if he’d just been told a dirty joke in his grandma’s house. I quickly looked away.

  I tried to resist covering my heating cheeks, knowing the movement would just draw attention to my embarrassment. I pretended to be engrossed in what was happening behind the lectern. While the two women in front of us were speaking, I tried to stay focused. In the end I pulled out my notebook and started making notes, just so I’d be forced to follow what they were saying, which wasn’t very much. Something about having the honor of hosting the competition. How the best of the best were all in the same room. They were looking forward to unveiling the designs. Then someone else was welcomed on stage. A tall, slender guy with a shock of white-blond hair. I’d missed who he was, but he looked like he’d be in the airport, welcoming everyone to Finland. When he started talking about his mother and his soon-to-be-married sister, I figured out we were in the presence of royalty. Actual royalty, and I’d nearly missed it because of darned Dexter Daniels. We’d only had one conversation and already I was missing vital pieces of information because he was so distracting.

  That was it. I was determined not to look in his direction again. I wouldn’t even think about that chiseled jaw, those blue eyes and large hands that fit so deliciously in the small of my back. No siree.

  I scribbled furiously for the rest of the presentation, completely focused on what was being said. The prince talked passionately about Finland and the environment and how the charita
ble causes being supported through this competition were important to his entire family.

  As he stepped off the podium, everyone stood and applauded.

  While I was clapping, there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned and found myself face-to-face with Dexter.

  So much for pretending he didn’t exist.

  “Hollie,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

  “Hi,” I said as breezily as I could manage. “Great speech, right?”

  “Inspiring,” he said, grinning at me as if I’d said something hilarious.

  I glanced around, checking that no one from Sparkle was scowling at me for fraternizing with the competition, but no one was paying any attention to me. I turned back to him, staring at his Adam’s apple as if looking him in the eye would turn me to stone—mush more likely. “So, I didn’t call,” I said, feeling awkward at our closeness and slightly ridiculous not meeting his gaze.

  “I figured you must have mislaid my card,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes, irritated at his arrogance, and finally looked him in the eye. This guy didn’t have the power to turn me to mush. He overestimated himself, just like most men, and I wasn’t going to indulge him. “Nope. I know it’s hard to believe, but there are women in this world who actually don’t want to have dinner with you.”

  He paused, his grin never faltering. “I can think of a number of women who fit that description. But you’re not one of them.”

  Was this guy for real? I’d refused to give him my number, for crying out loud. And I hadn’t called him. Why would he assume I wanted to have dinner with him? “It must be the way I keep calling and texting you that has you thinking like that,” I said, folding my arms.

  He chuckled, and a voice in my head told me to turn and walk away. This guy was trouble. Not because he was cocky but because he was right. I did want to have dinner with him. And I didn’t like that he knew that.

  “Nope. Not that,” he replied.

  “Is it the way I sent you panties in the mail?”

  “They were from you?” he asked, and I had to bite back a smile when I rolled my eyes this time. “I’ve not quite worked out why you didn’t call, but I know it’s not because you don’t want to have dinner with me.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” I replied. A pit started to form in my gut at the prospect of him taking me at my word, and finding some other woman to badger about going to dinner.

  I liked being that woman.

  “I don’t find you attractive. I’m not into British guys.”

  He nodded as if he were carefully considering my words. “Give me your phone.”

  I pulled out my brand-new company mobile. I swear, I had never touched anything that expensive. I bet Dexter was going to check if I’d saved his number—to use that as proof I really did want to go on a date with him. “Here,” I said, having unlocked it.

  He scrolled through my four contacts, and I waited for him to hand it back with his tail between his legs when he saw he wasn’t listed. His phone started to ring and he ignored it, then passed me back my phone. “There,” he said. “Now I have your number and mine is saved in your phone. This way I get to convince you to have dinner with me.”

  Well, he wasn’t lacking in confidence.

  “Have you heard of the Me Too movement?” I asked. “You know no means no.”

  He pulled away from me just a fraction and, holding my gaze, blinked once. Then twice. “Hollie, sexual harassment is something to be taken seriously. If you’re uncomfortable, tell me now and I’ll delete your number and walk away. If we’re flirting, having fun, and for some reason you’re a little scared to come to dinner with me and need some convincing, then that’s another matter.”

  My head buzzed with heat. I needed to flee from this place as if it were on fire. Dexter had an answer for everything and seemed to have the measure of me. More reasons to run for the hills. I kept telling myself I didn’t want to be distracted by some guy in London, but the truth was, I had a sinking feeling Dexter wasn’t just some guy. “A lot of convincing,” I corrected him. Darn. I hadn’t meant to show him a chink in my armor. I’d meant to tell him I was absolutely not interested in him and that I didn’t want him to call.

  But the way he looked at me as if he wanted to uncover all my secrets and tell me all his . . . The way his hand felt as he’d helped me out of the car—as if he could protect me from anything. And the way he said my name like he’d never heard anything quite so exotic. It was all too overwhelming. Despite the logical side of my brain telling me to run far away, the thumping in my chest and the pulsing ache somewhere far below it overruled my head. Like it or not, I wanted him to convince me to go to dinner with him.

  “Challenge accepted,” he said, before turning to disappear into the crowd.

  Seven

  Dexter

  Hollie Lumen. She’d finally confessed her last name. It had only taken two days and God knows how many messages. She was a challenge indeed.

  “Have you fallen victim to Fortnite?” Beck asked me as I set his water in front of him.

  “What are you talking about?” I replied and slid my phone onto the table and went back to the bar for my whiskey.

  “You’ve looked at your phone about ninety times since I said hello three minutes ago,” he said as I pulled out the stool and took a seat. Beck and I were almost always the first to arrive at our weekly mates’ night. It gave us a chance to catch up before everyone else arrived.

  “No, I haven’t.” I had been kind of caught up with my phone in the last few days, but Hollie was funny. I looked forward to her messages.

  “Yeah, you really have. Is work okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s fine. How’s Stella?” I knew mentioning the love of his life would be the best way to throw him off the scent of the phone obsession I didn’t have.

  “Oh, you know. She blows my mind every day.”

  “You know if you say things like that, it’s almost mandatory that I have to make an oral sex joke.”

  “Why? Because you’re fifteen? Or you’ve turned into Tristan?”

  “You just make it so bloody easy. It’s ridiculous.” He’d left the door open, true, but we both knew Stella was the best thing that had ever happened to Beck. I was pleased for him. I knew what it was to find the love of your life. I’d been there. And Beck had done better than me. He’d hung on to his and was living their happily ever after.

  “You need a woman who blows your mind,” he said. “That’s your problem. It’s all about the sex for you, but there’s more to a relationship.”

  “Sorry, did you just become my mother?” Ever since Beck had finally sorted it out with Stella, he’d become the world’s biggest proponent of serious relationships. I got it. But he needed to understand—I wasn’t looking for Mrs. Daniels. That ship had sailed.

  “You talked sex with your mother? I just want to see you happy.”

  That’s why I couldn’t even stay mildly irritated at Beck. All he wanted was for all of us to be as happy as he was. Judging by the grin on his face, that was pretty bloody happy.

  “So, what’s going on?” he asked. “You stressed about the competition?”

  “No, that’s not it,” I replied. I had nothing to hide. And maybe if I threw him a bone, he’d get off my case. “I’ve actually been messaging a woman I want to take to dinner. She’s funny. And . . . pretty.” I couldn’t help but grin like a ten-year-old who had been given a United season ticket as I thought about her.

  “This is news. You never talk about women.”

  “I’m not talking about her. I’m just explaining—”

  “I’m not complaining. Who is she? Do we get to meet her? I have to tell Stella.”

  He grabbed his phone from where it lay face down on the table. Before he could start to gossip with Stella, I pulled it from his grasp. “None of your business and no. We’ve not even been on a date yet. Put a hold on that hat.”

  “Wait, what do you mean you’ve not even been on a dat
e? You lost your bollocks and haven’t asked her?”

  “When I lose my bollocks, you can take an ad out in the Times.”

  “So why haven’t you been on a date?” he asked.

  It was a good question. We had chemistry. And I didn’t normally have trouble getting a woman to have dinner with me. But there was something about Hollie that made her scared to say yes. That only made me more intrigued about what lay beneath her beautiful surface—what had made her so scared. I wanted to take her to dinner more than ever. “I’m not sure.”

  “So, you’ve asked her?”

  “Yeah. She said no and then confessed that she’d wanted to say yes. We’re messaging back and forth.” I’d thought about calling her but I didn’t want to spook her. I couldn’t tell Beck that, because Beck would ask me why I cared—and I wouldn’t have an answer. I also wouldn’t have an answer if he asked me why I was checking my phone incessantly in case she messaged me back. I wouldn’t have an answer if he asked me why my stomach flipped whenever a message finally came through.