It was official. I had a crush.
I’d practically skipped to work today. Just the thought of seeing Knightley had my stomach swooping and my nipples hard. He was gruff, antisocial, and sexy as hell. He hadn’t thanked me for sorting out his dry cleaning and he’d in no way made me feel welcome, but I was sure there was a different side to him. The side that had walked me to my interview just a few days ago, the side that yesterday had looked at me like he wanted to fuck me for days. I recognized that look. I just wasn’t used to guys not acting on it. Maybe he was married or had a girlfriend? Or maybe he just didn’t fuck people who worked for him. I liked all the contradictions and complications about him. Most of the men I’d dated in the last few years were simple—easy to read, easy to understand. And boring.
I couldn’t hide my grin as I walked into the clerks’ room. It was before eight and only Jimmy and a girl—Becky, I thought—were behind their desks. I’d come in early, just in case Knightley needed anything from me before court.
“You’re very chirpy today,” Jimmy replied.
“Of course, it’s a beautiful day.” I wasn’t sure if the British weren’t morning people or whether my enthusiasm for the day would be categorized as American.
I headed left toward the admin area, and as I approached my desk I could see a small white box, right in the middle of my workspace. I knew I hadn’t left it there last night. I glanced around for signs that someone had been in the office before me. But there were no coffee cups, coats, or other signs of life. As I stepped forward, I took off my jacket and peered at the box, recognizing the familiar picture of an iPhone. Turning it over, I saw it still had the security label intact on the back.
Knightley. He’d got me a phone.
I lifted the top of the box to discover the latest, top-of-the-line, rose-gold iPhone. It might be the most beautiful thing I owned. I collapsed in my chair and turned over the smooth metal object in my hand. There was no note. No explanation. As if it was nothing . . . but it wasn’t. He hadn’t needed to replace my cell, and he definitely didn’t need to replace it with something so expensive.
There was that softer side again.
I pressed my lips together, trying to disguise my smile.
I put down the phone and logged on to my computer. As much as I might be crushing on Knightley, I still wanted to do good work for him, and I still needed this job.
Jimmy put his head around the door, and surreptitiously I slid the phone into the top drawer of my desk. For whatever reason, Knightley had clearly left it when no one else was in the office. Maybe he’d just been in early. Perhaps he’d wanted no one to see. But I was nothing if not discreet.
“Well done for getting that Foster case billed yesterday. That was twenty-five grand I never thought we’d see.”
“Small steps,” I replied.
“That counts as a giant step from my perspective.”
I nodded. “I don’t want to push too hard, too soon. Especially with this case he’s on now.”
“Agreed, but you’re on the right track. Good job.” He disappeared and I brought up my email, scanning the messages to see if anything had come in from the day before, but there was nothing so I headed to the kitchen. I had no idea if Knightley drank coffee, but it was the least I could do given his desk delivery this morning.
With two mugs clutched in one hand, I knocked on Knightley’s door. I heard him sigh before he replied, utterly exasperated, “Come in.”
I turned the brass door handle and walked in. “Thought you might want coffee before court.”
He looked up at me with a frown. “I don’t drink coffee before court,” he snapped. Apparently, his softer side was hiding today. That didn’t stop his gaze drifting down my body, focusing on my chest and my ass.
I pulled the cup back from where I’d been about to set it down. Oh well, all the more for me. “Thank you for the new cell phone,” I said as I turned and headed back out.
“I owed you a replacement, Miss King.”
“Please, call me Violet. And thank you anyway.” Tell me what the A stands for. I didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to risk being told to mind my own business.
He stood and began gathering papers from his desk.
“Do you need assistance with anything?”
“Yes,” he barked.
My heart leapt. Had I won him over? Was he going to let me help him?
“Please close the door behind you on the way out and ensure I do not have any further interruptions this morning.”
What in the hell had crawled up his ass this morning? Was he like this every time he went to court? “Yes, sir,” I said as formally as my sarcastic tongue could muster, pulling the handle until the old-fashioned door mechanism clinked shut.
Two cups of coffee later, as I was headed to the restroom, I bumped into Knightley coming out of his office.
“Miss King, please watch where you’re going,” he snapped. His bad mood was lingering apparently.
He’d been just as much at fault as me. “We all bump into things by accident from time to time, Mr. Knightley. I trust your mobile phone is safe?”
I swear I saw the corners of his lips twitch, but if a smile was threatening, he managed to suppress it. He stared at me as if trying to figure out how to respond, but he simply took a deep breath, shook his head, and strode out of the door.
I turned and leaned on the ornate wallpaper as I watched him leave. He had a mighty fine ass. It was a shame his attitude needed a workout even if he had his body covered. He should change his mind about coffee before court. It might help.
I stood there for fifteen minutes, watching the door, waiting to see if Knightley came back. But he didn’t. That meant the coast was clear, and for the first time since I started, I had free rein in Knightley’s office. I was going to start filing and archiving today, although I had no clue where I’d begin.
I took a deep breath as I turned the doorknob. It squeaked, as if warning me I was in for trouble. I shut the door and leaned back. Now I knew Knightley would be out of the office all morning, I was better able to take in the room and the size of the task ahead of me. I’d never seen anything like it. Where did I even start? There was barely a path of free space between the door and Knightley’s desk, just stacks of manila files, loose papers, and rivulets of pink.