Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Well, welcome back to The Manor.
I exhale tiredly, slumping over the bar. I need to stay away from Coral or she’ll get the wrong idea. I look back again when I hear stirring from behind me. Shit, she’s waking up. I can’t be here. I get up and hurry out of the bar, hearing John cursing his arse off behind me. “Sorry, mate,” I mumble. I’m very fucking tempted to let Sarah loose on Coral if this carries on. For fuck’s sake. I reach up to my forehead and rub away my frown lines. I must have aged ten years in the past week, and aging isn’t something I need to be doing anytime soon when I’m trying to woo a twenty-something woman.
I see Sarah at a table in the summer room with another lady, looking over some brochures. “Ah, here he is,” she says, jumping up from her chair.
“Indeed he is,” the woman muses as she gets to her feet, her tits definitely pushing out, her smile coy. “Mr. Ward, what a pleasure to see you again.”
Again? I’ve never seen her in my life. Sarah must catch my frown because she saves me from insulting the woman, who looks pretty fucking delighted to see me. “Chrissie helps me plan the anniversary party each year.”
I still don’t recall her. Jesus, I really am looking at the world through new eyes. Sober eyes. “Nice to see you again.” I blast her with my smile. Literally. She staggers back, taking hold of the edge of the table. “I’ll be in my office.”
“I have piles of contracts I need you to sign.”
“I’m only here until five,” I call back, having decided to collect Ava from work. Like I said, enough is enough. I’m going stir-fucking-crazy. Friday night feels like it was another life ago. “Make the most of me until then.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
To heaven. “Home.”
If Botox weren’t a thing, Sarah would be scowling right now.
* * *
By five, I’m both relieved and agitated. Relieved it’s time to go pick up Ava, even if she doesn’t know I’m picking her up, and pissed off because the florist confirmed delivery of my gift and I’ve not heard one peep from Ava. No call to thank me. No text. Nothing.
I drive back into the city like a madman, my foot naturally heavy on the accelerator, my Aston beautifully responsive. Bundle her in my car. Take her home. Get her into bed. Ravish her.
I pull up down the road from her office, having to double park with the lack of spaces. I’m not driving around the block; I might miss her leaving. I’m about to cross over to go meet her when a bright pink van virtually shakes its way past me. I’d recognize the redhead behind the wheel anywhere. Fuck me, the fumes coming out the exhaust pipe choke me. I cough, flapping a hand in front of my face to waft away the smoke.
It stops outside Ava’s office, and the next thing I know, she appears. “Ava,” I call, but a dickhead in a Merc zooms past, honking his horn, and I jump out of his way. What a cock.
By the time I can cross the road, Ava is clambering into the passenger side and the pink thing is banging its way up the street. “For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, watching as it takes a turn onto Berkeley Square. I run back to my car and jump in, pulling off fast, earning a collection of hand gestures and horns from various motorists that I cut up in my urgency. “Fuck you,” I hiss, skidding away. “Fuck you all.”
I spot the pink monstrosity on the other side of the square, its indicator blinking to take a turn.
I have absolutely no shame or regard for my fellow drivers. Now I’m the cock, as I undertake them, weave in and out of them, all the while wondering where Ava and her friend are going. That damn van looks like a death trap. She better have her seatbelt on.
I twitch, a stressed sweat coming on, no matter how hard I try to reason with myself. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her all fucking day, and now I’m on a wild goose chase across London, trying to catch her. I take a sharp left, seeing the van up ahead in the traffic. There’s no chance of me losing it; I’ll just have to follow the cloud of smoke it’s leaving in its wake.
I tail them all the way to Belgravia, nowhere near Ava’s home, only increasing my curiosity. It turns into a street, and I start impatiently smacking my wheel, willing the Sunday driver in front to put his fucking foot down, at the same time checking ahead in the road for a chance to overtake him. I spot a gap and zip out, slamming my foot on the accelerator. The sounds of horns ring out everywhere as I zip back into the right lane, just missing an oncoming car. I reach up and wipe my brow. Fucking hell, that was close.