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)
“You do, girl?”
“It’s hot out there,” Ava says, all too casually, making me look down at her in disbelief. It’s not hot. It’s warm. Definitely not warm enough to warrant her outfit. But, in the name of peace and tranquility, I will keep my mouth zipped. Because, unlike my wife, I can be reasonable.
I hurry her through The Manor and check the fridge as soon as we get to my office, mentally cheering when I find what I hoped I would. I pull it out and dive right in, taking a seat opposite John, casting my eye across the piles of strewn papers. What the hell has he been doing with it all? “What’s happening?” The first dip is the best, and I hum, satisfied.
“Camera four went down,” he replies.
“Another one? How many is that?”
“Four. I’ve managed to fix three of them, albeit they’re temporary fixes, but the camera around the side by the garages needs more than my limited tech and DIY skills.”
I roll my eyes. Not long until the new system is installed. “Thanks for trying.”
“An engineer was due Friday.” He pulls out his phone. “I’ll chase them up.”
“The contract states a twenty-four-hour window for call-outs.”
“I know.” He gets up and wanders away, and I find Ava still by the door, distracted.
“Baby,” I say, snapping her back into the room. “You okay?”
“Yes, fine.” She shakes herself back to life and comes to the desk, sitting. “Daydreaming, sorry.”
“What about?”
“Nothing. Just watching you settle now that you have your peanut butter.”
I’m settled because she’s with me. The peanut butter helps, I suppose. “Want some?”
“No.” She grimaces as I fix the lid. “How’s Sam?”
Hmmm, what should I say? Ava hasn’t mentioned her brother being at Kate’s. “Shit. He won’t talk about it. How’s Kate?”
“Not good.”
“What do you know?” Did Kate open up to Ava? “Why did she end it?”
“Because of this place, I suppose. It’s probably for the best.” We all know it’s got nothing to do with this place and everything to do with her brother. What the hell did he want yesterday? I didn’t return his call and he didn’t follow up.
I look at John by the window on his phone. We have a lot to discuss. I’ve just added Sam to the list. All stuff I can’t talk about in front of Ava. “Do you want to swim or stay with me?” Shame on me, I’m using a bit of reverse psychology. She thinks I’d rather her not take option one.
“What are you going to do?” she asks.
The paperwork on my desk calls for me. “This is what I’ll be doing.”
“Why don’t you employ someone else?”
Yes, just like that. Jesus, I own this place and even I don’t know what I’m looking at on my desk right now. How the hell can I expect someone else to come on in and get us straight? “Ava,” I say on a sigh. “It’s not that straight forward in this line of work. You have to know someone, trust them.” It’s only ever been John, Sarah, and me. “I can’t just call the job center and ask them to send along someone who can type.” My God, where the hell will I start?
“I could help,” she says.
I glance up, hopeful. “You would?” She’d do that for me? I inhale subtly. Work for me instead of Peterson? She’d be here with me every day. In more appropriate clothes, obviously.
Ava frowns and picks up a piece of paper. “An hour here and there, I suppose.”
I laugh on the inside. It needs a lot more than an hour here and there. Sarah was always working, and when she wasn’t working in the evening, she was whipping. I watch as Ava frowns, craning my neck to see what she’s looking at. A bank statement. Her eyes are nearly popping out of her head.
I smile when she looks up at me in disbelief. “We’re very rich, Mrs. Ward.” And what she’s looking at is just a fraction.
“Fucking hell.”
“Ava—”
“I’m sorry, but . . .” Her eyes drag slowly across the sheet. “This sort of stuff shouldn’t be lying on your desk, Jesse.”
It wasn’t until John started looking for something.
“Wait—” Her eyes widen. “Did Sarah look after your finances?”
Sarah looked after everything, which meant I didn’t need to know an awful lot, and isn’t that obvious now. “Yes.” I won’t try to fool her. I was good for nothing but drinking and fucking before Ava walked into my life. And after? Well, I was too infatuated by her to pay much attention.
“Do you have any idea where your money is?” she asks. Yes, it’s in a bank held hostage by a scorned wife of Steve Cook. “How much there is?” she goes on, eyes back and forth between me and the bank statement.
“Yes,” I say, showing her the paper. She’s shocked enough as it is. I won’t share the other statements, wherever they are. She’ll pass out. “I have this much”—and quite a few million more—“and it’s in this bank.” Where I hold a few more accounts, both business and personal.