She’d caught herself on the corner of my desk and ripped the black fabric of her skirt, creating a large hole, exposing her pale skin.
“God damn it. This place is such a mess.” She stomped over to the exit without looking at me and my jaw began to unclench as the distance between us increased.
With one hand on the doorknob she turned to me. “The Jenkins case—how long did you spend on it?”
“Seven hours,” I said without hesitation. I needed her to leave and would tell her whatever she wanted if it made her shut that door with her the other side of it.
She nodded. The neediness in her eyes had subsided, and she was back to business after whatever it was that had passed between us. “Good.” She swept out and I sat back in my chair.
That had been dangerously close.
If she’d not turned away when she had, my desire for her may have overridden my self-control. The way she looked at me, it was as if she was waiting for me to do just that—like she wanted me just as badly as I wanted her. Even though I knew that mixing business with pleasure couldn’t be a good thing, if I found her in my office again, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to hold myself back. The girl was dissolving my focus, my control, my defenses.
Eight
Violet
It would be two days until I got paid for the first time since arriving in London. I’d eaten grilled cheese for dinner the last two nights and it had gotten old already. Friday night I was going to go wild and order pizza. I might even treat myself to a bottle of wine. I straightened my gray skirt before slipping on my jacket. I was going to have to wear this skirt—my only office-appropriate skirt since I’d ripped my black one—every day until I got my paycheck, so I had to do everything to avoid spilling anything. Or ripping it. Again.
I picked up my bag and headed out to the tube station. I wasn’t quite sure what had passed between Knightley and me in his office yesterday. I just knew it was something—he knew it too. He looked at me as if he were half enraged, half desperate to kiss me. And I’d been waiting for him to touch me, press my lips to his, smooth his hands over my body.
I needed to shut thoughts of him down and keep things professional. I’d been rude to him and he could easily have had me fired, but something told me I had to match him, not submit to him, if I was going to get anywhere with this job.
As I got to the platform, I scanned the people left and right of me. Knightley had gotten onto the same train that first morning, but I hadn’t seen him since.
Today I was going to avoid him, which wouldn’t be difficult. I’d never seen him in the admin room, and I wasn’t sure if he’d ever even been into the clerks’ room. I was going to focus on billing and the paperwork I’d managed to sneak out of his office while he wasn’t there.
“Good morning,” I said as I passed Jimmy’s desk on the way to mine.
“All right?” Jimmy asked.
I’d figured out “all right” was the standard greeting between the clerks and admin team. They weren’t actually asking if you were okay, it was just meant in the same way that Americans would say hello. But they were much more formal with Craig and the clerks. It was almost as if we were the servants living downstairs in Downton Abbey—it was a different world.
“You’re always so cheerful, Violet,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “And good job on that bill yesterday.”
I wasn’t sure if he’d be so impressed if he knew how I’d spoken to Knightley, what had almost happened between us, but hopefully he’d never find out.
“Thanks, Jimmy. Baby steps,” I called over my shoulder as I walked into the admin room. I was the first to arrive again this morning. I squinted as I walked closer, focusing on a shallow, glossy black box on my desk. As I got closer, I could see it was tied with a black bow. What the hell?
I peeled off my coat and dropped it on my chair before reaching for the package. My heart was thumping. Why would anyone leave me a gift? I slid the bow off and lifted the lid of the box as I sat down. I pulled open the white tissue paper and pulled out what was buried.
Oh. My. God.
A skirt. A Dolce and Gabbana skirt.
Knightley. Who else?
I exhaled. I didn’t know what to think. I couldn’t accept a freaking designer skirt. The one that had ripped had been from Forever 21. And it hadn’t even been his fault. So much for avoiding him today.
I slipped past Jimmy and knocked on Knightley’s door.
“What?” he barked.
I grinned and then stopped myself before I went in and closed the door firmly behind me. He didn’t look up.
“Mr. Knightley,” I said.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze to mine. “Miss King.”
I tilted my head. “It was such a thoughtful gift, but I can’t accept the skirt.”
He frowned and blinked, once. “Of course you can,” he snapped. “The damage to your other one was my fault. This office is indeed a mess. I’ve scraped my gown on that corner several times. I should have had someone mend it. It’s a simple replacement.”
I took a step forward. “You don’t replace Forever 21 with Dolce and Gabbana.”
He turned back to his computer. “It would seem you’re wrong about that.”
Arrogant ass. “Well, I can’t accept it.”
“You can, Violet, and you will.”
My breath caught when he used my name.
“You will displease me if I don’t see you wearing that skirt tomorrow.”
I put my hand on my hip. Seriously? “I’ll displease you?”
“Yes, now leave. I have work to do.”
“Tell me about the Generide Corporation case. How many hours?”
He didn’t respond, but kept tapping away at his computer.
“Just tell me how many hours and I’ll go,” I said.
“Patience, Miss King. I’m checking.”
I pressed lips together to stop my smirk from forming.
“Ninety,” he said, looking me straight in the eye.
“Nine zero?”
He nodded.
Holy shitballs; Jimmy was going to love me. Without another word, I turned and left the office, grabbing a handful of papers from the pile I was working on before I left. If he was going to buy me Dolce and Gabbana skirts, then he could give up a few more files.
I closed his door, clutched the papers to my chest, and hurried back to my desk. Another day, another invoice raised, another day I kept my job, but I hadn’t managed to reject the skirt. Worse, he’d commanded I wear it. Like the lawyer he was, he wanted evidence that I’d accepted his gift to me. Did I want to displease him? I landed on my chair and turned to my desk. And the wall. No. I wanted to please him. I wanted him to want me. I wanted him to fantasize about his hand up my skirt, fucking me over his desk. Despite him being moody and bad-tempered, it felt as if I’d pierced a part of his armor, as if I were part of some secret, seductive world—his world that only a few were even invited to.