Red Knight: (Red Knight #1)

by L. C White

  I click the plastic lids down and open the till as the bell above the door rings again. I’m not familiar with this lady, and she’s having great difficulty controlling the four bickering kids behind her.

  “Thanks, have a good night,” I call after Carl and Vicky, but like always I’m ignored.

  The frazzled lady stands at the counter, looking up at the chalk board menu. The kids, who I’m guessing are around fourteen, giggle and push each other near the door.

  “I’m so sorry.” She looks at me and turns back. “Will you lot quieten down,” she yells.

  “It’s fine, what can I get you?”

  “A tranquiliser gun would be good right now,” she huffs. “I’ll have a latte to go… oh and extra foam please.”

  I grab a card cup from the pile, when the bell above the door sounds again. I can’t see who it is. Someone tall in a black hoody, wearing of all things, sunglasses.

  The black hood peers out slightly from behind the boys and makes me a little apprehensive. Is the shop about to be turned over?

  The young couple slip by the ominous figure to get outside, as I place the cup under the spout. All the while, I keep an eye on the potential thief in the reflection of the stainless steel. The kids move to the right so I can get a better view.

  God it can’t be. A fast beating gallop stops my lungs working temporarily. That jaw, those lips. Is that Adrien Knight? Oh crap.

  I overfill the cup. It splashes and scolds my hand. Get it together Liz, you can’t tell if it’s him unless you turn your head to see.

  I take another cup, listening to the lady I’m supposed to be serving tapping her fingernails on the counter. I slightly angle my neck, and promptly turn back to the cup. Blood surges beneath my skin, as I battle to hide the blush that has taken over the whole of my face.

  Be professional; you’re falling apart here Liz.

  I top the latte with extra foam, and click on the lid. She hands me a five pound note, and the price of a latte is three pound eighty-five. Can I do mathematics right now? Hell no. Even the basics have eluded me. With a shaky finger I use the cash register to add up for me, trying very hard not to notice him. I hand the lady her change, only to receive a frown.

  “You own me a pound,” she utters with her palm open.

  “Err… sorry.” I quickly sort out my mistake. “Have a nice day… night… sorry,” I call, as she shoves the boisterous brats out onto the street.

  Mr Knight stands back, peering up through his shades at the menu. I take the dirty cloth from the sink, and begin to pointlessly wipe down anything in sight. I swallow again and again, hearing the fabric of his black combat trousers move nearer. His approach is deafening to me.

  I take in a gasp of air and turn, appearing as though I’ve only just this second realised who he is. I bite my bottom lip, pressing my sweat laced hands flat out on the counter. I taper my eyes and tilt my head.

  “Mr Knight?” I aim to be surprised.

  He monitors me over the top of his shades, perched on the edge of his nose. He gazes, and there it is again, that red-hot ray. His lips curve for a short-lived smile.

  “Miss Lovell.” He mutes, still staring.

  I notice his skin. His complexion is much paler than the perfect olive smoothness I remember. Perhaps it’s the bright lighting in here. It doesn’t lessen the effect he’s having on me. He could be any shade tonight, and still make me weak at the knees.

  I grin. “Call me Liz.”

  His glasses slip further down as his brow deepens. “So Elizabeth.” Okay, don’t call me Liz then, that’s absolutely fine Mr Knight. “Someone told me this place serves the best coffee in the city,” he says.

  Wow, he remembers that prickly conversation, me promoting this place. I should have worn a billboard to the banquet.

  “Yeah… what can I get you?”

  Again he lifts his head to see the menu. His muscular shoulders become prominent, as his adam’s apple descends down his crisp white V-neck.

  Don’t look Liz, just for once, listen to the sense in your head. Hopefully he will order to go, then you can collapse in a heap of frustration under the counter.

  “You’re the expert, what would you recommend?”

  Ha. I’m the expert. Why is he making this so difficult? Order coffee, pay and go. Why does he need me to offer an opinion on that?

  Professional Liz. “Well, I would recommend not ordering coffee… not if you want to sleep.”

  “I don’t sleep,” he adds cuttingly.

  Fine, a wandering insomniac; I know a few of those.

  “Well, if you want to stay awake, I’d go for the espresso with spice.” I hum. “Or, if you want to sleep tonight, then you could either have the winter coco, or the light blend.”

  I see my reflection in his shades, and become aware of the fact I look like death. I fidget, hoping he hasn’t detected my scruffiness, casually threading my ratty hair behind my glasses.

  “I asked for your recommendation, not another list.” His face freezes on me. “I don’t sleep… so?”

  If the cellar door beneath my feet was open right now, I would jump down into the darkness. As Harry taught me, customers have bad days. It is our job to cater to whatever mood they’re in. Always serve with a smile. So smile Liz.

  “Espresso.” I turn away before he bites off my head again. “Drink in or out?” Please, please, please, say out Mr Grump. “In.”

  Shit. Right, he’s offended me, been stuck up rude, and what’s with the shades anyhow. Who wears shades in the dark of winter?

  Deal with him Liz, you can do this. He might have inflicted you with dark thoughts and desires, but you need to put a stop to it, before you give in.

  “Take a seat Mr Knight,” I snap.

  Out of the corner of my eye I watch as he shuffles around the empty tables, taking down his hood. His hair is dishevelled and to the side. And the back of his pants are creased. He’s rugged this evening, and I like rugged a lot.

  I fix his coffee, trying very hard not to gawp as he sits with his back to me. The enhanced curve of his spine that I want to run my hands over, has created wicked images in my head.

  I sigh, placing the porcelain cup on a saucer, then begin my slow approach. But hell, my fingers can’t grip through the shakes, and now the damn cup is rattling.

  I arch at his side, a little too close. His fiery glower meets mine, and his sweet scent ignites my nostrils. I drop my head instantly, using both hands to get the boiling cup on the table, before it falls into his lap.

  I cough and straighten up. “Mr Knight… enjoy your coffee.”

  I go to walk to my comfort zone, when his hand grasps my forearm. I blow out loud as the nerves overwhelm me. What is it he wants from me? Is he doing this so he can be entertained by me having a full on panic-attack?

  “Elizabeth.” I reluctantly look at him as he removes his shades, to reveal his super stare. “Forgive me,” his low silver-tongue appeals. “I’ve had a testing day… please join me.”

  I look around the shop. It’s just me and him alone in this fine mess. I can’t do it, not after what Cate told me. Perhaps he’s looking for a bit of low end action. Looking for someone who will not be hard to please. Someone who will not say no to the likes of his fine-self. I bite my cheek hard, feeling a strong current from his delicate grip.

  “I really have a lot of work to do… so… so.”

  He looks around the shop and grins charmingly. It’s very pleasing to see. But never mind that Liz. You have lots to do; clean out the spillage trays again, they’re probably very dirty by now.

  His view comes back to me, as his fingers cause static throughout my nervous system. “It will make my day,” he says.

  Oh god, I’m so easy. Few charismatic words and my legs go jellified, preventing my escape. I drop into the chair across from him, with my fiddling fingers on my lap. I share nothing in common with him, and whatever I say will be tediously dull. I’m going to show myself up as a complete idiot.
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  “So, other than my recommendation, what brings you to this part of the city, Mr Knight?” If that is an attempt to break the ice, it sucks Liz.

  He rotates his espresso then folds his arms across the table. He likes to take long pauses before he speaks. A kind of, ‘I’m weighing you up reflection.’ It’s difficult to read him, unlike myself who is giving everything away with every word, breath, and movement.

  “I have recently purchased a property, the old Smiths mill, so thought I would take a look at how the renovations are coming along,” he explains, hazel eyes on me always. “I run.” I frown unintentionally. “I’m a night time jogger,” he clarifies.

  Fitness fanatic. That explains his physique. Tick against the first thing we don’t have in common.

  “So” I think briefly. “These are for?” I touch his shades.

  His eyelids rapidly narrow. Shit, he doesn’t like the question, or me touching his thousand pound accessory.

  He gradually straightens his back. “I suffer migraines… the glasses help.”

  Hmm, so this today I’m familiar with, the feeling of being pummelled in the head.

  “I take it you suffer the same ailment?” he asks.

  “Sorry?” I squint, believing he can read my mind.

  “The glasses.”

  I completely forgot I had them on. I hate wearing them. The only reason I got them is because they were the cheapest pair in the opticians. And of course they insisted I needed them before I go blind. That day I was pestered into insanity. They wanted me to buy a pair of designer frames I couldn’t afford. It was so embarrassing when I accidently yelled at the lady, ‘No I like these, so leave me the hell alone’.

  “You should be less concerned with how you look,” he says. “You’re fine as you are.”

  Fine. Is that supposed to be a compliment? His fiery eyes are indicating it is. Oh god. I should have never sat in this damn chair. My instincts told me he was after a bit of rough and tumble when I served him the espresso, which he still hasn’t lifted from the table. He’s hot. Too hot for me. Jeez, if he said the word sex to me I would probably pass-out.

  His top lip covers the bottom for a moment. I simmer as butterflies discharge in my stomach. I turn to the window to watch the rain tumble. I must break his interest in me somehow. But his image is in the glass, and there is no way to avoid him. There should have been another customer come in by now, we’re never this quiet. It’s not easy to just get up and leave. Not when I’m this anxious and my butts fused to the plastic. I take a breath and nervously turn.

  “How did the charity event go?” I remain pokerfaced. “Did you raise a lot of money?”

  “Not as much as we should.” He turns his espresso around on the saucer. “The elite are greedy. You need to put on a show for them, wine and dine to get them to un-line their pockets.” He hates his own kind, interesting.

  The bell above the door rings and makes my lungs shudder. It’s Nathan. He’s sopping wet and holding a bunch of flowers. He sees me, not where I should be, but sat.

  I turn back to Adrien, but he’s gone. Nothing but the untouched coffee, and his personal name card lay on the table. Should I look under the table? How on earth did he get by me so fast? He’s just vanished into thin air.

  I blow out, swooping up the card to quickly slide it into my pocket. Awkward, like I’ve just been caught in a precarious position, I stand, picking up the espresso.

  “Taking a break?” Nathan asks. “Quiet tonight isn’t it?”

  I mumble, plodding to the counter. “Nice flowers… good to see you can pop down to the late night garage to buy your next victim a cheap crappy bunch, before getting your leg over,” I snap, mad because he drove Adrien away. “A right prince charming aren’t you.”

  With beads of rain dripping down his face and into his eyes, he holds them out to me. I sigh out a wave of remorse. You’re such a bitch sometimes Liz.

  He stiffens, waiting for me to take the wilting flowers, looking like a poor helpless puppy.

  “They’re for you.” He moves them closer.

  I take hold of the wet wrapper, and rush behind the counter to try and save them.

  “It’s an apology for last night. I was a dick and…” He puffs the rain out from his lips, strokes back his wet hair, and rummages through his inside pocket. “I did a bit of digging at work and printed you off some environmental stuff.”

  I pause and stare. This is why he’s my best friend. He maybe a pain in the backside sometimes, and needs to be kept on a short leash, but his heart is in the right place. In the end, he always wins me over.

  I take the damp paper and have a quick look. Some of the stuff in it, should not be seen by the likes of me. How Westons plc paid someone off to reduce their co2 emissions in their Suffolk based firm. How not one of their factories has signed up to the environmental charter. This stuff could get him in big trouble.

  “Nathan,” I huff. “I can’t do this, it will get you sacked.”

  “You can, and you will.” He sits on the lone chrome stool. “They’ll never know it was me, thousands work for them, and hundreds under me.” He tries not to boast. “Look, they’ll never suspect me, so do your article and blow their socks off.”

  I rush around the counter and grab his wet elbows, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Nathan… you’re my angel.”

  Chapter 3: Severance

  I thought with it nearly being Christmas break, my lecturer might have forgotten about that stupid banquet. But no such luck. Today she asked me again if my article was finished. I’ve not been able to bring myself to write it. For one - It will remind me of the fact Mr Knight gave me his personal number over a week ago, and I’ve not called because he’s hidden in the darkness of my mind. And two - The only info I have was provided by Nathan. And when I do type down those first words, I’ll be plagued with guilt at what it will do to him if it gets out, he’s the companies snitch.

  Wearing my blue plaid flannel pyjamas, I drop down onto my white frame bed under lamplight. I get comfortable on my front, and flip the lid up on my laptop. It’s not the greatest piece of tech, and takes an age to boot up. It hasn’t worked correctly since Nathan did a system restore on it over a month ago.

  At last the swirly circle has gone, and the screensaver of me and Cate holidaying in Rome pops up. I click on the explorer for additional ideas to research, and open a new document in word. My agenda, to use google and rephrase another article to death. You know, a bit a disguised plagiarism. It’s cheating, sure it is. But I never wanted to do this in the first place, and it’s not like this is going to be marked for my finals.

  I tap onto my blank document. I need a title. Come on Liz, it’s got to be something catchy. I chew on my cheek,staring vacantly at my green lightshade. It’s in there, I know it is. I pat the keys and an epiphany hits me. The title -OurManmade Destructive Industrial Age. I stare at the words. No, in fact, don’t look Liz. If you spend any longer critiquing this shit, you’ll be here all night. Just get it down as quickly as possible.

  I unfold the papers Nathan gave me and read. Westons plc clearly don’t apply to the rules, but neither do many other powerful companies. If it saves Nathan, I shall use google to begin with. I go back to the internet tab, pulling my thinking face. Oh great. He’s managed to get in there again, Mr Knight. My brains obviously been diseased by him.

  Shake it off Liz. So what if you haven’t called. That’s what he wants. He needs you to feed his ego, that’s all. His very sexy-self is banking on it.

  I watch the blinking cursor, and as fast as my fingers go, I enter his name, grimacing. I open one eye to the screen. His image is plastered there; photos taken by paparazzi. Some, he’s wearing the black hoody he jogs in. And others, more formal with women, and it makes me scatty.

  I scroll down a little. This is bordering on illegal Liz. I come to the first official website, Knight’s Enterprises, and click. This web page is bizarre. Where’s his picture? I expected him to pop out at me as soo
n as I entered. All I see is a vague description of his company with contact details. It’s not professional at all.

  I come off the page and enter another. The NY financial times. It’s an article that takes up a quarter of the page. Calls him new money. Goes on about investments and rising shares. I exit and click onto the next. The screen flashes, and I’m hit by a pop up for a dating site called: Feel & Fancy. I cross it quick, and arrive on a website that is the equivalent to OK magazine. He’s right there, a middle page spread dedicated to Mr Knight. A first and last exclusive. The only interview given in the space of his two year’s success.

  There’s a black and white image of him leaning against a brick wall. Brilliant white shirt loose around the collar, with his hands in his pressed trouser pockets, holding his head down. He’s so tasty, and this is so very naughty. Hell’s fire, I’m burning up here.

  My eyes skim left to right. I know I’m alone, but shit I’m paranoid. What if there’s some secret way he will know I’m looking him up. I’m giving myself two minutes just in-case there is some kind of tracking device in space, picking up my signal. I’d say two minutes before I break the link, is a reasonable amount of time for me to remain anonymous.

  I turn back to him with an unnerved flurry in my chest. He’s teasing me through cyberspace, and my god it’s working. I goggle with my mouth ajar.

  Perhaps you should read now Liz, time is ticking.

  So, he’s an orphan, raised by a foster family in Washington DC. Thankfully, a happy tale. He was brought up in a loving home with supportive parents, and had a cat called Theo. He moved from his home and overseas to study. Travelled the world, returned, and began to conquer it. He’s a private person, and this is the only interview he’s ever done. This pretty much wraps Mr Knight up in one. But I find it extremely hazy, there’s just no detail. It’s not the greatest article. The only good thing about it is the picture that I can’t tear my eyes from.

  I leap off my bed and open the drawer he’s been hiding in. I pull out the glossy black card which has his name printed in gold. It’s a flashy card. A card that says, I’m the best you’ll ever have. And looking at that picture of him on my laptop, I’m in total agreement.