Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157175 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
I look down at my phone. It’s asking me for a code again.
‘Your birthday?’ Zara prompts, and I glance up, finding her smiling softly.
I have no idea. Am I that predictable? My date of birth isn’t the number that comes to mind, though. So I tap in the first four digits that do: 3210. The screen lights up, a dozen icons glaring at me. ‘Here.’ I hand it over. ‘It’s probably easier for you to enter it rather than reel it off to me.’
Without question, Zara quickly and keenly taps her number into my phone and connects the call, letting her phone ring once before hanging up and saving my number.
‘Perfect,’ I declare as she hands it back and I slip it into my bag. She smiles. It’s such a warm smile. Friendly and accepting, and it makes me feel so at ease.
We chat about almost anything for the next hour, almost anything except my recent accident. She doesn’t need to know that, and it’s a relief to have it off my mind for a while. Just talking. Getting to know someone. Someone who I’m not already supposed to know. I’m so wrapped up in the chatter, I completely lose track of time.
‘Goodness, where did the time go?’ Zara laughs, getting up from her chair. ‘I was supposed to be at a hair appointment fifteen minutes ago to sort out this mop.’
Her hair looks just fine, long, dark, glossy waves that make her blue eyes more striking.
‘Don’t you work on Mondays?’
‘I usually work from home a few days a week, so I get a bit of freedom to sneak to yoga and the salon.’ She winks, and I laugh. ‘I’ll see you Friday?’
‘Sure.’ We walk to the door together, and as soon as I make it to the pavement, I spot Jesse’s Aston up the road through the trees lining the street. Oh no. John must have called him. I quickly find my phone and cringe. Missed call, texts and voicemails crowd the locked screen. I shrink a little. ‘My husband is waiting for me.’
‘Oh, where?’ Zara looks where I point, having to bend to get Jesse’s car in her sights. ‘That fine man pacing the pavement?’ She gives me a playful look. ‘You lucky thing, you.’
‘Oh, behave.’ I laugh, and she does, too, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Have fun at the salon,’ I call as she jogs off.
I smile, thinking that I like Zara. My smile is short-lived, though, when I turn to find Jesse stalking down the street in my direction, looking nothing short of murderous.
What’s his problem?
‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he barks, positively shaking with rage. ‘I’ve been going out of my fucking mind, lady!’ He seizes my hand harshly, and I look back to see if Zara is still around, because I know just what she would think if she saw this little episode.
What the hell is he doing? ‘Get your hands off me.’ I snap, shoving him away. ‘I went for a fucking coffee.’
His face is that of pure shock. And not because I went for coffee. ‘Mouth!’
‘Fuck you, you heathen.’ I barge past him, attempting to stomp to the car, but my leg is aching badly now. This? This ridiculously over-the-top reaction, just because I went for a coffee? The man has a screw loose.
‘God damn it, Ava!’ He’s coming after me fast, fuelled by his rage. I don’t care. He can’t stop me going for coffee, and come to think of it . . .
‘I’m going back to work.’ I must be fucking doolally. Why would I goad him like this? Why would I poke the fucking bear?
He lands in front of me as I step into the road, every inch of his tall frame vibrating. I square my shoulders and lift my chin, displaying all of the grit I feel. ‘Over my dead body,’ he whispers lowly, getting his face close to mine. I don’t back up. Never. ‘You’re not ready to go back to work.’
‘No, I’m not ready to go back to your work. Because I haven’t got a fucking clue what I’m doing! As soon as I can, I’ll be applying for a job where I do know what I’m doing.’ It’s then, after the onslaught of my shouts, I realise that I haven’t just poked the bear, I may as well have stabbed the beast.
His chest slowly inflates, his face getting redder and redder. I wisely back up now, ready for the beast to explode. But what will come first? Because there are two issues here, my language, and the fact that I’m threatening to get myself another job. He won’t let me work anywhere except with him? How stupid!
‘Watch your fucking mouth!’ he booms, practically silencing the entire street with the volume. Maybe even the whole of London. ‘And the day you get another job is the day you put me six feet under.’