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)
My shoulders drop. Can’t he see I’m working against the clock here? I start drumming my fingers on the marble desk, my eyes on his writing hand, willing him to hurry the fuck up.
“Ah, indeed, sir. Let me run through that with you again, sir.”
What? No. I reach over the counter, seize the phone from Clive, and put it back in the cradle.
“Mr. Ward,” he splutters. “I was on a very imp—”
I slap a wedge of cash on the counter, holding it down with my fingertips, my way of telling Clive that the money isn’t his just yet. “We need a chat,” I inform him, and he glances up at me. “You mentioned there was a lady here looking for me yesterday.”
“Not Ava, of course,” he says. “Another lady. A bit older.”
Mature, Ava said. “A bit older than me?”
He hums. “I suppose so. How old are you, Mr. Ward?”
“Blond?” I question, ignoring him.
“Yes, blond.”
“Hmm.” I look past him, my teeth going overtime on my lip. Showing up at The Manor is one thing. My home? Freja’s done it before, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but still. What the hell is she playing at? Is she hoping for visual confirmation that Ava’s still in my home? In my life? I release the cash and pluck the pen from Clive’s hand, scribbling my mobile number down. “Any more women turn up, besides Ava, you send them away and call me.” I tap the wad of notes. “Okay?”
He smiles, bright and cheerful. I think Clive and I will get along just fine now. “Of course, Mr. Ward. Have a good day.”
I nod on a sardonic huff of laughter and board the elevator. “I’ll try,” I say to myself, smacking in the code, my mind turning in circles. Van Der Haus. I wasn’t his favorite person before he knew I’d fucked his wife. Now? And if he finds out I’m in love with the hot, young interior designer he has his eye on? How the fuck am I going to work my way around that? If it needs working around. Freja might not tell him about me and Ava. Might not. Fuck. Then why is she so fucking interested in our relationship?
I exit the elevator and call John. “I need a favor,” I say, letting myself back into the penthouse, my eyes landing straight on the stairs, listening for any signs of life from the bedroom.
“No,” John says, and I recoil.
“I haven’t even asked.”
“Don’t care. I know I won’t want to do it.”
“You get out of bed on the wrong side?”
“I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet, you irritating motherfucker. It’s only just seven.”
I close the door and head for the kitchen, my mind working overtime. What to do, what to do? “I’ll buy you a bonsai tree.”
“I have enough.”
“I’ll give you a pay rise.”
“Don’t insult me.”
I sigh, dropping my arse to a stool. “Please, John.” I’m at his mercy, and I will do anything, absolutely anything he wants, if he’ll just help me out here. “I’m desperate.”
“For what?”
“Sanity,” I mumble, and he laughs. “It’s not funny.”
“How can I help with that, except smash you in your stupid face to try and slap some into you?”
“You can look after Ava for me.”
“What now?”
“Take her to work, escort her on her lunch break, that kind of thing. Discreetly, of course. I don’t want her thinking I’m having her babysat.”
“Discreetly? When I’m driving her to work? Last time I checked, Jesse, I was a six-foot, two-inch Black man with a chest wider than the Thames and a bald head so shiny you could catch a glimpse of it from the fucking moon. Discreetly?”
“Yeah, well, the driving part she’ll agree to. But—”
“You think she might oppose me tailing her every move? I can’t imagine why.”
My head finds my hands. “John, this is important.”
“Why?”
“Because Freja Van Der Haus is sniffing around. She’s called me, asked about Ava. She also turned up here yesterday. Thankfully Ava wasn’t here, and the concierge wouldn’t let her up, but it could have been very different. I can’t risk her intercepting Ava and telling tales.”
“But they’re not tales.”
My jaw tightens. My blood starts to sizzle dangerously. “I’m just trying to reduce the chances of Ava finding out shit I really don’t want her to find out until I know how I’m going to handle it.”
“Fuck, you don’t half make hard work of your life,” John says tiredly, and I laugh out loud. “Fine, I’ll take her to work. Fine, I’ll pick her up. But I draw the line at following her, so you’d better work out something more practical. And quickly. I’ve got shit to do.”
It’s something, and I’ll take anything I can get. “Be here at eight?”
“Fuck you.” He hangs up, but my sanity definitely isn’t saved, because John is right. This isn’t sustainable. Not to mention the fact that Ava’s probably going to throw a fit of colossal proportions when she finds out the lengths I’m willing to go to keep my sanity while keeping her safe from all the people haunting me. Ironic that I’ll probably send her insane in the process. I need to get hold of her diary. Or better still, hire a fucking hitman to get rid of all the fuckers who are trying to ruin me. I growl and go to the fridge, having a few scoops of peanut butter to calm me down. Then I put on the coffee machine and head up for a shower to execute part two of the plan.