Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
She replies in a second, no argument. Because she knows Sarah isn’t here.
On my way x
I enter my office and pout at the mess of papers. One call and it would be sorted. Can’t do that.
After searching through one pile for half hour and then sifting through another for twenty minutes, finding nothing that looks like tax papers, accounts, or deeds, I’m close to losing the will to live. I need Ava. She offered to help sort this out. But will she be too tired after a day at work? Undoubtedly. I can’t ask her to do extra work while she’s carrying my baby.
I start transporting the piles to the floor—I need space to spread out.
Knock, knock.
“What?” I call, sounding irritable.
Drew’s head pokes round the door. “Where’s John?”
“Picking Ava up. Why?”
“No reason.” He grins and backs out, and I follow him, wondering if there’s some trouble I need to sort out.
“What’s going on, Drew?” I ask his back as he hurries down the corridor to the summer room. He slows. Exhales. Looks back. “Steve Cook’s here.”
The burn inside is instant and very fucking real. Cool it. I asked him to call me, not pay a visit. Have him and his missus split up again? Has he been caught whipping young, naïve women without offering a safe word? And, come to think of it, does his wife even know about that?
“Is it wise to let him pass?” Drew asks.
“Probably not.”
“Do you want me to join the meeting and hold you back if your fists decide to take off.”
“Probably should.”
“Okay.” He nods, assessing me up and down, thumbing over his shoulder. “I’ll go get him then.”
“Okay.”
“Stow those fists, Jesse.”
I clench them and tuck them behind my back. “Got any cuffs?”
Drew smirks and leaves, and I put myself back in my office, flexing my fists, working away the tension. I also remind myself that I wanted to talk to Steve, that he could help me. Mikael Van Der Haus still hasn’t reared his smarmy Danish head, and the longer he remains underground, the more certain I am it must have been him who drugged Ava. I just can’t wrap my mind around such vindictiveness and desperation. His beef is with me, not my wife.
I sit on the couch and stand up again. Perch on the edge of my desk. Stand again. I settle for behind my desk. He’ll have more of a chance to escape if I fly at him.
Or maybe not.
The door opens and Drew appears. I nod as he stands aside and lets Steve enter. “Jesse,” he says, his lips pressed into a straight line, the usual cockiness nowhere in sight.
I swallow down the dormant anger hearing his voice spikes. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t got me in a choke hold.”
“Me too,” I admit. But, again, given the severity of the situation—my wife was drugged—I’m willing to put my grievance aside.
Whips. Lashes. The marks all over Ava’s back.
Drew closes the door and puts himself on the couch between my desk and Steve, who’s remained by the door. Close enough to intercept if I let my restraint ping. Drew must be concerned—I know he’d rather be upstairs.
“I needed to apologize,” Steve says.
“You mean apologize for whipping my wife until her skin broke and she was practically unconscious?” Just speaking those words has me fidgeting, the whole horrendous scene parading through my head again. I shake away the thoughts quickly before they take hold and Drew’s forced to play kamikaze. “Does Juliette know about . . .”
He shakes his head, and with that gives me all the ammo I need . . . should I need it. “And I’d rather she didn’t,” he confirms.
“I need you to look into someone for me.”
Steve doesn’t hesitate. “Name?”
“Mikael Van Der Haus.” I can feel Drew’s uneasiness and flick him a look. I’m good. I’ve got this. He can leave. And he does, closing the door quietly behind him. “Danish,” I go on. “Owns a development company.” I write down Van Der Haus’s name and his company name, wandering over to Steve and passing it to him. He looks caught between relief and wariness. “Call me if you dig anything up.” Leave it transactional. I saw his face the night I carried Ava out of here covered in his whip marks. He was shocked, and something tells me his disbelief wasn’t only due to my reaction. He wants to right his wrongs, so he’ll do this. Plus, he doesn’t want me to tell his wife about the depth of his debauched time while he frequented the rooms of my manor.
“Any background information?”
“Ava was drugged the night before . . .” I clear my throat. “The night before . . .” I don’t need to finish. He knows. “One of the security team at the bar got some CCTV footage showing a man in the vicinity. It looks like Van Der Haus.”