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)
She wisely goes back to her files, and over the next few hours, she puts me through my paces, reeling off information I’m sure I don’t need to know. I should thank her, really. It’s killing time, even if I’m not technically needed to chew over numbers and finalize the finer details of The Manor’s anniversary party on Friday.
I’m distracted, more than once with a few texts from Ava, and I grin like an idiot as I open them and reply, getting a few tired, impatient sighs from Sarah each time I’m unfocused. Ava’s thinking of me. Forget the fact I’ve made it pretty impossible for her not to think about me.
“And the private suites aren’t open until ten thirty, agreed?” Sarah asks, and I blink, looking up at her.
“What?”
She shows her annoyance, her lips straight. She’s not pissed off that I’m distracted from work. She’s pissed off because of what’s distracting me. “The rooms,” she grates. “They don’t open to members until after dinner around ten thirty.”
“Why am I here?” I ask her, not giving her an answer. She doesn’t need one. For years, she’s run The Manor like clockwork without boring me to tears with the ins and outs.
“You tell me. You clearly struggle to be at The Manor since you met the new, young bit of stuff that you’re currently fucking.”
“I hate you sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?” She rises from the chair slowly. I’d love nothing more than to slap the front she puts on right off her face. But, and it’s ridiculous, I prefer this bitch to the needy, desperate woman who throws herself at me and spikes endless, untold guilt. “See you around, stud,” she purrs, sashaying away. When she reaches the door, it flies open, narrowly missing Sarah’s face. Such a shame.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” she snaps, and Sam wisely backs up, hands raised in surrender.
“Sorry.” He gives her a cheeky smile and strides to my desk, dumping himself messily in the chair Sarah just vacated.
“Come on in,” I say flatly.
“Fuck you,” he mutters, suddenly looking stressed, leaning across the desk. “You need to tell Ava how old you are before Kate cuts off my balls for the information.”
I stare at him. Just stare at him, aware of Sarah still on the threshold of my office. The stupid fucking prick. I’m going to kill him.
“What?” Sarah asks, interested, and I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. Calm. Remain calm. “She doesn’t know how old you are?” Her bark of laughter cuts through me.
“Oh shit,” Sam murmurs.
I open my eyes, giving him a look to suggest he’s dead meat.
“Oh my God,” Sarah howls, clinging to the doorframe to hold herself up. “This is priceless.”
I snarl at Sam, who shrinks farther in his chair, mouthing a sorry as John walks in. He looks at Sarah, who’s still hysterical. Looks at me with a face like thunder. Looks at Sam who’s sheepish.
“What?” he asks. “What the fuck’s going on?”
“Jesse’s little plaything doesn’t know how old he is.” Sarah’s head gets tossed back, her laughter increasing. It’s unbearable. And . . . plaything? I am out of my chair like a bullet, stalking across my office, ready to rip her sick head clean off her shoulders. Obviously, once I make it to her cackling form, I don’t rip her head off. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. And she knows it. “You’ll keep your big fucking trap shut.”
“Promise,” she coos, pivoting and dancing happily away.
“How the fuck did Carmichael ever love that woman?” I ask when she’s gone, my head in my hands.
“She wasn’t this twisted back then,” John says on a sigh, looking across at Sam. “I saw your car outside a certain flat this morning.”
“We’re friends,” Sam grunts, turning his attention to me. “When the fuck are you going to put an end to this stupid game you’ve got going on with Ava?” he asks. “Man, I’m tired of dodging the bullets. So you must be fucking exhausted.”
“Who’s exhausted?” Drew asks, strolling in.
I throw up my hands, exasperated. “What is this, the new venue for your morning coffee club?”
“Would love one.” Drew drops onto the couch and gets comfortable. “No sugar, an extra shot.”
“Why aren’t you at work?”
He gives me a sarcastic smile. “Just checking you’re still alive. And sane.” His eyebrows raise slowly. “And sober.”
I roll my eyes and leave the boys, stomping to the spa, finding peace and quiet in the men’s changing rooms. I sit on a bench and dial Ava, just needing a little hit to get me through the rest of the day. But a text comes in before I can connect. And my heart sinks. Sarah didn’t waste any time letting Freja know.
I just got a message from Sarah. Thanks for nothing.
I reply quickly.
It’s nothing personal. But it will be very personal if you want to make it. I can dig up dirt and make it yours, Freya. Now is the time to let things go.