Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Jesse?”
I cringe, looking around me, like a rack of clothes might offer me a way out of this. I have nothing, so I just hum.
“Did you hear a word I just said?” she asks.
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Good.”
Fuck me, I should have anticipated the fraud department at my bank would flag a transaction of that scale.
“I’ll call Harrods,” Sarah says. “See if they can give me any details on the person trying to use your card.”
Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck. “It was me, Sarah,” I breathe.
“What?” She laughs. “You?”
“Yes, me. I’m in Harrods now, so you can stop panicking. There’s no one trying to steal my millions.” Somehow, I don’t think Sarah will agree with that.
“What on earth are you buying for that kind of money?”
My face bunches, a stressed hand running through my hair. “It doesn’t matter.” I can’t do this now. This whole experience has been a stress-fest already, without Sarah throwing in her thoughts. “I’m not done shopping yet, either, so can you call the bank and tell them to unfreeze my card?”
“I’m too busy getting ready for tonight. You have the number for your personal bank manager in your phone. Call her yourself.”
I let out a long, loud sigh. Great. The bank manager who hates me. I bet she’s dying to offer her assistance. “Fine.”
“And you said you’d be here to help.”
“I’m busy right now.” I hang up. “Fuck it all to hell,” I hiss, scrolling through my contacts, trying to remember her name. Julie, Julia. “Juliette!” I press down on her name and inhale, taking my phone to my ear.
“Juliette Cooke,” she says in answer, and I raise my brows. Still going by her married name, then?
I clear my throat and stand taller. “Juliette, hi, it’s Jesse Ward.”
Silence.
“I’m shopping in Harrods. I believe there’s an issue with my card.”
“Yes, our fraud department flagged a transaction. Your girlfriend confirmed it was fraudulent and froze your card.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” I shake my head. “And Sarah, my colleague, was mistaken. I have my card and it was me using it. I need you to unfreeze it so I can pay.”
“No problem,” she replies, clipped. “I’ll make a call and have that done as soon as I’m back at my desk.”
“How long will that be?”
“I’m just about to go into a meeting with a client, so as soon as I’m finished I’ll start the process.”
My jaw rolls, my temper flaring. “I need it to happen now. I’m in the store, and I need to pay.”
“I’m afraid—”
“Juliette,” Fuck this shit. She’s being difficult. Obstructive. “I am asking you nicely to unfreeze my card now.”
“And I’m telling you nicely, Mr. Ward, that I will absolutely do that just as soon as I am at my desk.”
“Put the branch manager on.”
“What?”
“The branch manager, put them on the phone now.”
Silence. Good. We’re getting somewhere.
“I’d like to start the process of moving my accounts,” I go on. “Personal and company, to another bank. One that appreciates my business, is happy to help, and doesn’t use their personal hang-ups as a weapon to hold me to ransom and keep me from my money.” There are tens of millions spread across those accounts. If Juliette loses my business, I’ve no doubt she’ll lose her job too, because I’ll make sure the bank knows why I’m moving my money.
Silence. Good. She’s thinking about this.
“I haven’t got all day, Juliette.”
“I’ll postpone my meeting and call Fraud now.”
“Very kind.” I smile tightly. “And please let me know when the hold has been lifted so I can avoid the embarrassment of having my card declined in Harrods again.” I hang up and curse again, then curse harder when a text lands from Zoe, informing me they’re heading back to the changing rooms. Fuck, I need to go see Hans. Fuck, I need to be at the changing rooms when Ava returns to them.
“This is not panning out how I hoped,” I say to myself, breaking out into a jog, dipping and diving around the various displays on my way back to the personal shopping department.
I spot Ava and Zoe in the distance, ahead of me. “For God’s sake.” I pick up my pace, round a young couple, jump over a kid, dodge a sales assistant, circling wide around Ava and Zoe.
I’m fucking knackered when I arrive in the waiting area, slumping down onto the couch, fighting to get my breath. It’s ridiculous. I run miles most days, and a small sprint across Harrods has me blowing out my arse. It’s the circumstances. The stress. My phone rings and I dig it out, seeing Juliette’s name on my screen. “Yes?” I answer, as clipped as she should expect.
“Your card is ready to use, Mr. Ward.”
Ava and Zoe appear, the rail being dragged along behind them, the young lad in charge of it appearing as knackered as I am. Ava looks delightfully relaxed, and maybe a little embarrassed by the amount of clothes loaded on the rail. I flick Zoe a raised brow, and she shrugs. “Thanks,” I say to Juliette, hanging up and rising. “Have fun?” I ask, lavishing Ava, kissing away the blush on her cheeks. “I missed you.”