The Billionaire's Disgraced Virgin (Billionaire Knights Book 2) Read Online Free
Author: Nic Saint
It was hot out, and Mike’s presence was adding to her acute discomfort.
He must have noticed, for he suggested, “Why don’t we go inside and talk?”
It wasn’t a question as much as an order, for he’d abruptly turned and was striding toward the entrance to her building, a steel-and-concrete behemoth that had seen better days and was crumbling at the seams, covered in graffiti tags.
She cringed when she saw him yank back the rusty old metal door which temporarily replaced the regular glass one, demolished by vandals. Even though she was a neat freak, she lived far more humbly than the likes of Mike Knight did, and for some reason she suddenly didn’t want him to see her modest flat.
There was no turning back, however, so she hurried after him, rummaging through her bag for her keys. Timidly, she glanced up at him. “I—I wasn’t expecting you, sir.”
“I’m sure you weren’t,” he told her wryly.
He watched how her hands shook as she twisted the key in the lock. Why was she so on edge? A sure sign she had something to hide, he decided, and wondered if there was something in her apartment she didn’t want him to see.
He’d already ordered IT to check her emails for any correspondence with Press Corp, though he hardly expected her to use her company account to do so. From her personnel file he’d learned she was a conscientious worker, punctual and beloved by her colleagues. In her evaluations mention was made of the fact she was a quiet person, keeping very much to herself, rarely speaking her piece in meetings. She habitually opted out of team-building events, always giving some medical excuse, as she’d done now, and it was obvious she was a very private person. Not exactly the kind of woman to turn corporate spy, he allowed, but then spies came in all shapes and sizes. Perhaps she needed the money, and he was pretty sure Holmes would pay through the nose to have the edge on Knight.
They traveled up in the elevator, an old and dingy affair, and he was surprised at the dilapidated state of the apartment building in general. The neighborhood, his driver had told him, was one of the worst in London, crime-ridden and gangland-related, with gangs of hardened yobs terrorizing the locals.
It was even rumored the police considered it a no-go zone these days.
It certainly confirmed his theory she was in dire straits. He was aware of her pay scale, and even though she wasn’t raking in the big bucks like some at the executive level, her salary was fair. So why was she living in a dump like this?
Chloe gritted her teeth to prevent them from clattering. Anxiety was holding her in its grip. She’d never imagined when she started her day that morning that she’d be returning home with Mike Knight in tow. She was mortified at the thought of him seeing where she lived, as she’d be mortified if any of her old friends would see how she’d ended up. Still, she took some pride in the fact that she’d managed to move on with her life, and had made something of herself.
Putting herself through night school had been tough, and working three jobs to do it had been too. Now she lived as frugally as she could, and from the money she saved hoped one day to buy herself a small house like the one she’d lived in with her parents. When that happened she’d happily quit her job and return to a more rural and peaceful part of England, and work for a local business. Accountants were always in demand, so she didn’t have to worry about finding a position. She didn’t enjoy living in London, the big city too crowded, noisy and polluted for her taste. She missed Dorset. Perhaps in a couple of years she could return. Not her home town, obviously, but someplace similar.
She daren’t glance up at Mike, her eyes level with the column of his throat, and she was struck by a frisson of awareness of their proximity, the elevator allowing only scant space for two people to travel together. It was a rickety old thing,
He must have noticed, for he suggested, “Why don’t we go inside and talk?”
It wasn’t a question as much as an order, for he’d abruptly turned and was striding toward the entrance to her building, a steel-and-concrete behemoth that had seen better days and was crumbling at the seams, covered in graffiti tags.
She cringed when she saw him yank back the rusty old metal door which temporarily replaced the regular glass one, demolished by vandals. Even though she was a neat freak, she lived far more humbly than the likes of Mike Knight did, and for some reason she suddenly didn’t want him to see her modest flat.
There was no turning back, however, so she hurried after him, rummaging through her bag for her keys. Timidly, she glanced up at him. “I—I wasn’t expecting you, sir.”
“I’m sure you weren’t,” he told her wryly.
He watched how her hands shook as she twisted the key in the lock. Why was she so on edge? A sure sign she had something to hide, he decided, and wondered if there was something in her apartment she didn’t want him to see.
He’d already ordered IT to check her emails for any correspondence with Press Corp, though he hardly expected her to use her company account to do so. From her personnel file he’d learned she was a conscientious worker, punctual and beloved by her colleagues. In her evaluations mention was made of the fact she was a quiet person, keeping very much to herself, rarely speaking her piece in meetings. She habitually opted out of team-building events, always giving some medical excuse, as she’d done now, and it was obvious she was a very private person. Not exactly the kind of woman to turn corporate spy, he allowed, but then spies came in all shapes and sizes. Perhaps she needed the money, and he was pretty sure Holmes would pay through the nose to have the edge on Knight.
They traveled up in the elevator, an old and dingy affair, and he was surprised at the dilapidated state of the apartment building in general. The neighborhood, his driver had told him, was one of the worst in London, crime-ridden and gangland-related, with gangs of hardened yobs terrorizing the locals.
It was even rumored the police considered it a no-go zone these days.
It certainly confirmed his theory she was in dire straits. He was aware of her pay scale, and even though she wasn’t raking in the big bucks like some at the executive level, her salary was fair. So why was she living in a dump like this?
Chloe gritted her teeth to prevent them from clattering. Anxiety was holding her in its grip. She’d never imagined when she started her day that morning that she’d be returning home with Mike Knight in tow. She was mortified at the thought of him seeing where she lived, as she’d be mortified if any of her old friends would see how she’d ended up. Still, she took some pride in the fact that she’d managed to move on with her life, and had made something of herself.
Putting herself through night school had been tough, and working three jobs to do it had been too. Now she lived as frugally as she could, and from the money she saved hoped one day to buy herself a small house like the one she’d lived in with her parents. When that happened she’d happily quit her job and return to a more rural and peaceful part of England, and work for a local business. Accountants were always in demand, so she didn’t have to worry about finding a position. She didn’t enjoy living in London, the big city too crowded, noisy and polluted for her taste. She missed Dorset. Perhaps in a couple of years she could return. Not her home town, obviously, but someplace similar.
She daren’t glance up at Mike, her eyes level with the column of his throat, and she was struck by a frisson of awareness of their proximity, the elevator allowing only scant space for two people to travel together. It was a rickety old thing,
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