Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 202638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1013(@200wpm)___ 811(@250wpm)___ 675(@300wpm)
‘You do?’
‘I do.’ he asserts quietly. He’s going to distract me again. I need to get some proper food in him and we need to discuss the fact that it is Monday tomorrow and I’m going to have to go home and to work. After his sly stunt of depositing a stupidly over-the-top advance payment into Rococo Union’s bank account, I’m concerned that he’ll maintain his previous unreasonable request to have me working at The Manor all day everyday.
‘It’s Monday tomorrow.’ I say positively. I don’t know why I choose that tone. Positive as opposed to what?
‘And?’ He folds his arms over his chest.
What do I say? Would it be too much to ask him to be reasonable about my requirement to tend to other clients? He has openly admitted he doesn’t like sharing me, socially or professionally.
I drum my fingers on the worktop next to me. ‘And nothing, I was just wondering what you might have planned?’
I see a fleeting look of panic sweeps over his stubbled face, and I’m instantly worried that tomorrow is going to be a trauma. ‘What have you got planned?’ he asks.
I look at him like he’s a dumb arse. ‘Work.’ I answer, watching as he starts chewing his bottom lip and those bloody cogs start turning again. There is no way he’s going to convince me not to work. ‘Don’t even think about it. I’ve important meetings to keep.’ I warn, before he has a chance to spit out what I know he is thinking.
‘Just one day?’ He pouts at me playfully, but I know he is deadly serious. I’m bracing myself for a countdown or a sense fuck.
‘No, you must have lots to catch up on at The Manor.’ I affirm assertively. He does have a business to run and he’s been unconscious for a whole working week. John can’t be expected to run things forever.
‘I suppose so.’ he grumbles.
I mentally cheer. No countdown? No sense fuck? We really are moving forward.
‘Oh, Clive said there was a woman here earlier.’ I completely forgot about that.
‘He did?’ He looks surprised.
‘He said that she was trying to get up to the penthouse. She wouldn’t give her name and you didn’t answer your phone when Clive tried to call you. Blonde woman. Mature. Wavy hair.’ I watch for his reaction, but he just frowns.
‘I’ll have a word with him. Is my well-balanced meal ready yet?’
That’s it? He’ll have a word with Clive? I want to know who she is. ‘Who was it?’ I ask casually, as I get down from the worktop to check the steamer.
‘No idea.’ He jumps up himself and gets some cutlery from the drawer.
Is he avoiding this? ‘You really don’t have any idea?’ I ask doubtfully, while removing the chicken from the oven and putting it in the pan to finish it off.
‘Ava. I really have no idea, but I assure you, I will speak to Clive and see if I can establish who she was. Now, feed your man.’ He sits back down and holds his knife and fork in his hands, upright from the counter. If he bangs them on the table, I’ll wrap them around his head.
I go about serving up and present him with the first meal I have ever made him. I hate cooking.
He tucks straight in. ‘Yum.’ he mumbles around a mouthful of chicken. ‘How was your day with your brother?’
Better if he hadn’t of interrupted me with a meltdown. ‘Fine.’ I answer, sitting next to him.
‘Just fine? This is really good.’
It’s good to see him eat something other than peanut butter. He’s like a different man again – so confident and self-assured, but in the next breath he’s falling to pieces. Do I really have that much of an impact on him?
‘We had a great day. We did Madame Tussaud’s and went to dinner at our favourite Chinese.’ This chicken really is good. I can’t believe I’m eating more.
‘Tussauds?’
‘Yeah, it’s our thing.’ I shrug.
‘It’s nice to have a thing.’ He sounds sincere. ‘You’ve eaten already?’ He looks at my plate and I blush. ‘Are you eating for two?’ he asks, looking up at me. I nearly choke on a potato.
‘No!’ I splutter around my food. I’ve already told him there’s no chance. I wish he would stop fretting. ‘Stop worrying.’ I grumble, returning to my dinner.
He continues eating while making appreciative sounds around his fork every now and again. I would think he might be taking the piss, but I’ve tasted it – it’s good.
Once we’re done, I load the dishwasher and my thoughts start drifting. Him brushing off the mystery visitor is eating away at me. He’s being vague and it’s bothering me.
I turn to challenge him and crash straight into his hard, naked chest. ‘Oh!’
He towers over me, breathing hard, and my eyes weld to his huge erection tenting the front of his jersey shorts. ‘Lose the sweater.’ he demands, his voice low and husky.