Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Revenge is sweet.
Jx
I smile, pick up the éclair and sink my teeth in as I grab my folder and head for Patrick’s office. Sally follows behind with a tray full of tea and cakes.
‘Wait for us!’ Tom whines, watching me pop the last piece of éclair into my mouth. He gives me a disgusted look as I wipe a lump of cream from the corner of my mouth. ‘I want one of them, Sal.’ He diverts his attention to the tray that Sally has placed on Patrick’s desk.
Sally flicks a glance in my direction, frowning. ‘I got vanilla slices.’
‘Don’t offer me any!’ Victoria barks, settling in one of the four tub chairs arranged around Patrick’s huge, mahogany desk.
‘Don’t tell me you’re dieting again?’ Patrick grumbles.
‘Yes, but this one’s working.’ she declares happily. Honestly, the girl is waif to the point of disappearing and on a different diet every week.
I take a seat next to her, and Tom joins us as Sally hands out a spread sheet of clients invoice statuses before pouring the tea and settling down. I scan the list of invoices – all marked “Paid” or “Not due” and run my finger across the page when I come across the highlighted “Overdue” section. There’s one client in the column – just one.
What?
I inwardly cringe. Any hope I had of evading any reference to The Manor and Mr Ward has just been spectacularly dashed. The idiot hasn’t paid his initial consultation fee. What’s he thinking? I glance up, seeing Patrick running through the same list as me, along with Victoria and Tom, who both look up at me in unison with the same expression. It’s an, oh dear look. I sag in my chair, waiting for it.
‘Ava, you need to contact Mr Ward and give him a nudge. What’s the current position?’ Patrick asks.
Oh....dear. I’ve completed no client forms – apart from the initial briefing sheet – I’ve sent no quotations, I’ve not established my role in the project, whether it be to design or design and manage. I’ve done nothing. Well, I have, but nothing you can class as work related. I’ve not even submitted an invoice request for the second so called meeting that had me running away without my bra. That’s a point…where is that bra?
Oh, I’ve spent a few hours sketching a design, sat on my arse in the extension on a Sunday, but I can hardly put a bill in for that. I don’t work on Sundays, and Patrick only has to look at my diary to see no appointment with Mr Ward. The only things I’ve established, concerning Mr Ward, are not of a professional capacity.
Oh, fucking hell. I clear my throat. ‘I’m compiling the consultation breakdown and quotation as we speak.’
He looks up at me, frowning in disapproval. ‘Your first meeting was nearly two weeks ago and you’ve had a second since. What’s taking so long, Ava?’
I break into a cold sweat. A list of my fee structure is a simple task to complete, according to individual contracts, and usually done before the second meeting. I have absolutely no excuse. I can feel Tom and Victoria staring at me.
‘He’s been away.’ I blurt. ‘He asked me to hold off with any correspondence.’
‘When I spoke to him last Monday, he was very keen to get cracking.’ Patrick counters as he checks his diary. Damn him for making notes on everything!
I shrug. ‘I think it was a last minute business thing. I’ll give him a call.’
‘You do that. And I don’t want you spending any more time on it until he’s coughed up. Now, what’s the current status with Mr Van Der Haus?’
I exhale in relief, launching into an enthusiastic update on The Life Building, glad to be off the subject of The Lord of the Manor. I’m going to kill him!
I walk out of Patrick’s office and Tom nudges my shoulder, giggling as he passes.
‘Don’t!’ I warn.
‘That could have been worse, Ava.’ Victoria comments. She’s right. It could have been a disaster.
I leave the office and walk down the street to where Jesse dropped me off this morning. As I approach Berkeley Square, I’m scared half out of my skin by some prat on a motorbike screeching past me. I compose my racing heart and carry on, coming to a stop and leaning against a wall. I pull my phone out of my bag to check my messages. There are two from Kate.
I need some help. Can u pop home & untie me plz?
I gape at my phone, quickly looking at the message details and noting it was sent at eleven. Is she still there? I open the next.
Don’t panic! Sam’s being a knob. I would love 2 c your face. Xxx
Oh yes, Sam the comedian. But a small part of me wonders if there’s an element of truth in his joke. Jesse wasn’t at all surprised when I mentioned it to him. Fun, Kate said. Hmmm. I bet.