Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
She recoils, her indignation growing. “Fuck off,” she spits, turning and marching down the stairs. “Have a nice day.”
“Oh, I will,” I murmur, heading for my suite, arranging flowers for Ava and her work friend on my way.
23
I try to lose myself in some work. Try being the operative word. I’m absolutely itching to break free of The Manor by two o’clock, my eyes constantly dropping to my wrist to check the time. Has a day ever passed by so slowly? I’m restless. Impatient.
I stare at the spreadsheet detailing the next delivery of toys, one line blurring into the next. All I can see is lace. “Fuck it.” I slam my laptop shut. My head’s not in it. Grabbing my phone and keys, I head out, meeting Sam on the driveway. My mate always has a certain spring in his step, but today it’s particularly . . . springy.
“My man,” he sings, giving me a playful slap of my shoulder.
“What’s going on with you and Kate?” I ask. He was with her Saturday night, Sunday, Monday, and yesterday. It’s unheard of. Unless, of course, he’s lost in one of the rooms of The Manor.
He shrugs it off like it’s nothing, when I know it is anything but. “Where are you going?”
“Don’t change the subject. What’s going on with you and Kate? And don’t tell me she’s cool.”
“She’s cool,” he says over a laugh, and I roll my eyes, jumping in my car.
I leave the door open and start her up. “If she’s so cool, what are you doing here?”
“Lunch.”
“What?”
“I’m meeting Drew for lunch. Did you know he’s got a date with Ava’s work friend? What’s her name?” He looks to the sky. “Victoria.”
I laugh, grabbing the handle of my door. “Drew doesn’t date.”
“I’m telling you. A date. I got it from the horse’s mouth.”
I still, my door halfway closed. I don’t like this. All of my mates are getting way too close to all of Ava’s friends. Which means it’s more likely someone will drop something they shouldn’t, therefore drop me in the shit with Ava.
“Seriously, dude. When are you going to tell Ava about this place?” he asks, motioning to The Manor.
“She knows about this place,” I mutter, slamming my door. Sam’s up against the glass in a second, his usually cheerful face cut with impatience. I sigh and let the window down. “Maybe tonight. I’m taking her for dinner.”
“Good.”
“What’s it to you, anyway?”
He straightens and wanders off. “I’m fucking dying to get that redhead in the communal room,” he calls over his shoulder, and my head falls back against the headrest. I’m imagining Ava’s reaction to The Manor. It’s not good. I’m imagining her reaction to her friend partaking in some play with Sam. It’s not good.
“Hey, Sam,” I yell, leaning out of the window. He stops at the top of the steps, looking back. “I bought Kate a van,” I declare proudly.
“What?” The poor bloke looks as confused as he should be. “Why?”
“Have you seen that old jalopy she chugs round in?”
“Yeah. It’s cute.”
“It’s also a death trap.”
His jaw tightens. It makes me smile. “Are you saying I don’t know how to look after a woman?”
I slowly lift my eyebrows. That redhead. “Do you want to look after a woman?”
“I want to fuck her black and blue. That’s what I want to do.”
Now that’s more like the Sam I know. I flash him my signature, dashing smile and slip my shades on, razzing off down the driveway.
* * *
I shower and change at Lusso, kill more time tidying up around my apartment, all the time wishing Cathy back soon.
Finally at five, I'm calling Ava to advise her that I’m on my way and to be ready. Except she doesn’t answer. Not the first time, and not the eighth fucking time, by which point I’m pulling into her street. “Answer the fucking phone. Is it too much to ask?” I park up and jog across the road, feeling that god-awful dread creeping up on me. I knock the door gently. It takes everything out of me. Nothing. “God damn you, woman,” I mutter, dropping my forehead to the wood, hoping to God we’re not back at square one again. I walk down the path, turn, walk back, turn, walk back, dialing her again.
“Hello?” she says, sounding perfectly unruffled and calm. Unlike me. This woman is the beginning and end of my stress.
“Where the hell are you?” I snap, unable to hold back the anxiety.
“Where are you?”
Surely this apprehension is not unreasonable. She promised she’d pick up when I called. No, it’s not unreasonable. Every fear, dread, and worry I have is perfectly reasonable. “I’m outside Kate’s, kicking the door down.” I march to the front door, set on actually kicking it down. “Is it too much to ask that you answer your phone the first time I call you?”