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)
Answer your motherfucking phone or I’ll beat you hard, you ignorant motherfucker.
It immediately rings, and I immediately answer. I’m not stupid. “John,” I sigh, and he growls down the line before he speaks.
“I’m working to a deadline. These contracts need to be signed, or else the new surveillance company can’t order the equipment, and the installation will be delayed another month. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the thought of The Manor with no security. And Sarah needs you to sign off the accounts so she can file the tax returns. So get your motherfucking arse over here and sign some motherfucking papers, boy.”
“Good day?” I ask, throwing a twenty on the table and rising from my chair.
“Don’t test me, Ward.”
“But I have Ava with me,” I whine, even if that’s not technically true. Again, where the heck is she? “I’ll do it in the morn—”
“Do. Not. Test. Me.” The line goes dead, and the pure threat of John’s words has my face screwing up, defeated. He’s right. I can’t risk leaving The Manor so vulnerable, nor the members. Our security is a huge reassurance to our people. “Fuck it,” I mutter, wandering over to my bike, my eyes never moving from the door of Rococo Union. Did I miss her leaving already? Impossible. My stare has been so focused on her office, my eyeballs are sore.
Then I see the door open, and she backs out, pulling it closed behind her. My smile is instant. I push my helmet on and jump on my bike, starting her up and screeching across the road. Ava jumps like a startled cat, swinging around fast.
I remove my helmet and join her on the pavement. Her semi-scowl doesn’t sit well. “Good day at work?”
“Not really.” Her expression is pure, cock-slashing disdain. She’s still cranky? And then I see the bag with the ridiculous dress hanging from her grasp.
Kill it.
I think for a few moments, sprinting through my options. There’s only one. Distract her from her grievance.
I stroke her forearm, working my way down to her hand. My entire body lights up, despite her displeasure. “Can I make it better?”
“I don’t know; can you?”
Silly question. She knows I can, and I know that both thrills her and pisses her off. “I think I definitely can.” I beam at her, my knockout smile. She’s softening. I can see it in her eyes, feel it on her skin, and judging by the way she looks to the heavens, she’s willing herself not to fold under the power of our touching skin. “I’ll always make it better.” I’ll fix everything. Always. “Remember that.”
Her face is quickly incredulous. “But you made it shitty in the first place.”
“I can’t help it,” I mutter, accepting that we’ll never move on unless I bend a little. And I want to move on. On to The Manor, then on to my bed. We need to reconnect. Make friends properly. We need to close our bubble again, because in our bubble, there’s no interference. The horrible feeling in my chest is non-existent. We’re safe.
“Of course you can,” she exclaims.
She’s so wrong. Where Ava is concerned, I’m at the mercy of a power far stronger than any reason I could find if I had the energy or inclination to find it. Which I don’t. I’m ruled by desperation. Driven by fear. I don’t want to be. It just is, and she doesn’t help the matter by fighting me on just about every-fucking-thing. “No, with you, I can’t help it.” But I might be able to if she relents and constantly feeds this odd, unrelenting hunger. Speaking of which . . . “Come here.” I lead her over to my bike and she frowns at the bag as I open it.
“What’s this?” she asks, definite worry lacing her tone.
“You’ll need them.” I pull out the rather fetching pair of leather trousers and present them to her. Realization hits her like a brick. Literally.
She jumps back, shaking her head. “Jesse, I’m not getting on that thing.”
Wrong. She’s definitely getting on that thing, and I’m going to love every second of her pushed up close to my back. I drop to a knee and shake out the trousers. “On.”
“No.”
I look up, ready to wrestle her into them, but the genuine anxiousness blanketing her face stops me and has me rising, moving in close, feeling at her face.
“Listen to me, lady,” I whisper softly. “Do you honestly think I would let anything happen to you?”
“They scare me,” she murmurs, gazing at me, searching for the reassurance she wants. She’s found it. I’m right here.
Getting my face close to hers, I smile on the inside, feeling her lean into me. Wanting to get close. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
You shouldn’t.
I swallow and kick that thought away, planting a light kiss on her nose before crouching and removing her cute red pumps. Truth be told, I’m amazed at her answer. She trusts me. Even though my behavior with her is somewhat . . . intense.