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)
“What?” I bark, knowing what she’s saying is true, but hating hearing it. I can say it myself all I like. But someone else? No. Sarah and Ava will never be friends. They just need to accept each other’s places in my life. Sarah has to accept Ava’s place in my heart, Ava needs to accept Sarah’s place in The Manor. And my conscience. “And being out of my head on vodka and women wasn’t toxic?” I stand, furious. “Or are you just pissed off because I’m more coherent these days? Less chance of me bowing to the lure of you and your fucking whip?”
She recoils, injured, and the bastard guilt multiplies. “I’ve done nothing but be here for you for all these years. Protecting you from the claws of members. Running your fucking business for you. Yes, I may be a bitch from time to time, yes, I may say a few stupid things, but I’m fucking here, despite everything, Jesse, and a bit of fucking gratitude wouldn’t go amiss from time to time.” She leaves, slamming the door behind her, and I stare at it, a little wide-eyed. Gratitude? It’s how she wants to express my gratitude that’s the problem.
I lower to my chair but freeze mid-sit when door opens again, Sarah clearly not done. “Do you think I’m here for my health?”
I don’t answer that, even though I could. It’s a rhetorical question. Yes, she is here for her health. Her mental health. I don’t know who she sees every time she whips some poor fucker in the rooms of The Manor, but it’s what she needs. Like I needed drink and fucking. Escape. Can I hope Sarah finds the one thing that will offer her the peace she needs? The alleviation of guilt?
No, because she can never have what she needs.
Me.
“I’m sorry,” I say, making sure I’m looking into her eyes when I say it. I’m not just apologizing for my rant. I’m apologizing for so much more. Most of all for not being able to give her what she wants. Some might say it’s cruel to keep her around. Let her see me try to go on and live a normal life. Try to find my peace when she’ll never have hers. But it would be crueler to cut the ties. She’d never survive without The Manor. Without me in her life in some small way. It’s all she’s ever known.
Swallowing, Sarah closes the door softly and comes back to the desk, pushing me down into the chair and placing the ice back on my hand. “Can you be around to help out tomorrow?” And just like that, we’re back to business. And this is why it works. She can be reasonable.
I look at the couch across the office. My bed for the night. “Sure.” Then I look at the bottle. I should ask Sarah to take it. Take it all.
“The gift bags are stored in the room next to the spa. Once the rest of the couches are moved out of the summer room later, we need to bring them through.”
“I can do that.”
“Remember, black for the men, gold for the ladies.”
“Black for the men, gold for the ladies.”
“And Drew’s asked me to uninvite your estate agent friend.”
I roll my eyes. Drew needs to get over Chris. “No. And he’s not my friend. What about Niles?” I ask, eyebrow high.
“What about him?”
Look at her acting all nonchalant. “Don’t tell me you’ve not imagined a thousand ways to whip that boy.” Poor kid has no idea what he’s letting himself in for. “Take it easy on him.”
Sarah smiles. It’s as salacious as fuck. Her hand rubs mine, and I roll my eyes at her. “You know me. Tender as a feather.”
I shake my head, smiling on the inside as the door swings open. I look up, assuming I’ll see the big man.
I assumed wrong.
Very, very wrong.
Oh fuck.
I feel every muscle in my face give, falling. She came? She came to a place she hates . . . for what? To end things? Tell me she’s moved out? My questions, my worries, circle on loop as I stare at her on the threshold of my office looking at Sarah with contempt. Then her dark, troubled, really fucking angry eyes move across to me. She has no makeup on. Her hair is wet. But she’s still wearing the blouse and trousers she had on for work today. She’s showered but decided to come here. Again, why?
Nervous, I push my feet into the carpet and turn my chair toward her.
Away from Sarah.
Ava swallows. Sarah remains quiet. I’m grateful. This situation does not need her input.
“Have you had a drink?” Ava asks, throwing me off. I glance at the bottle on my desk briefly. That’s her main worry here? The drink?