Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“I did.”
“And she’s not?”
I shake my head. “She went to the doctor’s on Monday.”
“And you know that because . . .?”
“I followed her there.”
“Space?”
I shrug. “No one’s perfect.”
“Fucking hell,” John breathes, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know what to do with you anymore.” But he’s not done? “And she found out you’ve been stealing her pills?”
I nod, the shame ever present. “I truly regret it.”
“Why? Because you failed to get her pregnant?”
“No, because I didn’t consider Ava in any of my backward thinking, only myself. What I needed. What would settle me. I’m a selfish fuck, and I deserve everything coming to me.”
John sighs, not saying whether he agrees or not. “The dealership’s been emailing you.” He motions to the laptop with a limp finger. “You bought a new car?”
“A wedding present for Ava.” I pull over my laptop. “I need to transfer some money to them.” I go to my bank’s website and frown at the screen. “Any idea how to do this?” I ask, clicking through various options.
“No. Sarah dealt with the online banking.”
I sigh. Of course she did. It’s become glaringly obvious that Sarah did most things around here, and John and I are up Shit’s Creek. “I’ll call my personal bank manager,” I say, scrolling through my mobile for Juliette’s number and dialing. She doesn’t answer. Why would she? She hates me. “God damn it.” I hang up and check the email from the dealership for a number, calling them instead. “Hi, Jesse Ward. Cameron please.” I’m placed on hold and use the time to try and figure out the online banking. “Fuck it,” I curse, at a loss.
“Mr. Ward, good to hear from you.”
Yeah, I bet. He must have been wondering if I’ve bailed on the purchase. “Cameron, hi. I’m sorting the transfer today. When can you deliver?”
“If the money lands today, we can get it to you by close of play.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” I toss my phone down and get up close and personal with the screen, clicking a login button. It asks me for a customer number, password, the first, second, and tenth digits of my security code, and to have my card reader ready. “My God,” I murmur, swiping up my phone and calling Juliette Cook again. No answer again. “Bollocks.”
I persist, calling her on repeat until she finally answers on a tired, “Hello, Mr. Ward.”
“Juliette, how lovely to hear your voice.” I only know John’s rolled his eyes because of the few creases that appear on his usually smooth forehead. “I need to transfer a payment to the Range Rover dealership.”
“BACS or CHAPS.”
“Pardon me?”
“How soon does the money need to be there?”
“Today.”
“You need CHAPS.”
“Great. I’ll take CHAPS.”
She laughs. “No, Mr. Ward, you have to log on to your accounts and create a CHAPS payment.”
“I’m looking at the screen now.”
“Okay,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “Type in your customer number.”
“What’s my customer number?”
“You don’t know your customer number?”
“No.” I pull my phone down a bit, looking at John. “Do you know my customer number?”
“For fuck’s sake,” John breathes. “No. Sarah knows your customer number.”
Sarah knows everything. I expect the security digits, the password, and card details are also all logged in her brain. God damn it. “Juliette,” I say, nice as pie. “I’d be grateful if you could walk me through this.”
“Mr. Ward, I’m afraid you need your banking credentials to create a CHAPS payment.”
My jaw rolls. “You’re being difficult.”
“I’m not.” She laughs. “I can’t make payments for you.”
“Look, I’m sorry Steve joined my manor. I’m sorry he—”
“We’re trying again.”
I freeze. “What?”
“He asked to see me a few weeks ago, and I agreed. He’s no longer a member and we’re trying to make our marriage work.”
“That’s great.” I’m stumped. Is that why he didn’t answer my call? “Would you do me a favor?”
“Mr. Ward, I can’t make a pay—”
“No, no, something else. Will you get Steve to give me a call? Not about anything sex related,” I quickly explain, feeling John’s exasperated look on me. “It’s about work. His work. I need his help.”
“I’ll let him know.”
“And the payment?”
“You need your banking details.”
I growl under my breath. “Fine.” I hang up, smashing the lid of my laptop down. “Awkward, bitter cow.”
John laughs. This isn’t funny. I’m a multi-millionaire, and I can’t access any of my money, only my credit card and current account, and I’m quite sure I can’t pay for a car on a card. “How’s Sarah?” I ask, not liking it when John’s writing hand pauses.
He puts the pen down and levels me with a serious look. “She’s in the hospital.”
I sit back in my chair, an odd ripple of dread moving through me. “What?”
“She tried to kill herself.”
Air catches at the back of my throat as I stare at John. His face is impassive, like he just told me something inconsequential. “She what?” She threatened it, but . . .