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)
* * *
Sarah’s coming down the steps when I pull up at The Manor. Does she have a fucking radar on me? Some papers are thrust against the window, and soon after, her indignant face. Fuck me, I’m pretty sure if those lips met the glass, they’d spread to each edge. “The chef wants approval today,” she says, moving back when I open the door to get out. I take the menu. “And Ken wants to talk.”
“Not interested.”
“And you signed the wrong section of the accounts.”
“I did?”
“And John’s got a leak in the plant room again.”
My shoulders drop.
“And Mario wants your approval on the anniversary cocktail.”
Fuck this. I stuff the papers back into Sarah’s chest and head for the garages.
“Where are you going?” she calls, tottering after me. “We have work to do.”
“You have work to do. I’m taking the day off.”
“Again?”
I don’t entertain her, opening the doors of the garage with my fob and grabbing my helmet. Today is shit already. I need to rectify it.
“You’re wearing a suit,” she goes on, prompting me to shrug off my jacket and dump it on a nearby shelving unit. “Jesse, I can’t do everything myself.”
“I pay you good money to do all the things, Sarah. You always managed fine when I was in an alcohol-induced coma.” I shove my helmet on and straddle my bike.
“That was different. You were incapable.”
“I’m incapable now.” I kick the stand up and start the engine, revving loudly. “Or was it because you knew where I was all the time and now you don’t?”
“What?” she yells, scowling fiercely, her hands over her ears.
“Never mind.” I speed away, the front of my shirt sticking to my chest, the back ballooning.
You should wear leathers too.
I twist the throttle harder.
* * *
I kill a couple of hours in the countryside before collecting my car and driving back into the city, and I only just manage to hold myself back until after lunch to call Ava.
The endless weight across my shoulders alleviates immediately when she answers. “I like,” she says. The ringtone. She likes the ringtone I chose. And she hasn’t given me a hard time for invading her phone.
“Me too,” I say. “We’ll make love to it later.”
“You’re not seeing me later.” She sounds sure. She shouldn’t be.
“I miss you,” I say around my pout.
“You miss me?”
“I do.” I sound like a sullen child. “I miss you.” Something terrible. Days are no longer endless alcohol-induced hazes. They’re just endless. I pull up across the road from her office and find her standing by her desk, one heel pulled up to her arse. I smile. “Don’t go out tonight.” My words were supposed to be soft. Pleading. Unfortunately, they sounded more demanding.
“Don’t,” she says slowly, falling heavily into her chair, her move displaying her exasperation. “I’ve made plans.”
Yes, plans that don’t involve me, and that’s a problem. I hate that she can so easily resist me. Even if I know she really can’t. It’s ridiculous. She’s cutting her nose off to spite her face. “You know, you may be at work, but don’t think I won’t come down there and fuck some sense into you.”
There’s a brief silence, and I know she’s wondering if I’d actually do that. “Knock yourself out,” she whispers, and I laugh.
“I was serious, lady.”
“I know you were.”
“Do your legs ache?”
“Ish.”
“Ish,” I whisper, relaxing in my seat, the stress draining. She’s aching for all the wrong reasons. I should make her an offer she can’t refuse. My hands working those sore muscles all night. All weekend.
Don’t crowd her.
But I’ve already concluded that she likes being crowded. Especially by my body.
Does she like being told what to do?
Stupid fucking question. I’ve never met such a difficult woman. “Remember our deal?”
“No reminder fuck required.” She’s back out of her chair, stretching.
“Watch your mouth, Ava. And I’ll decide when and if a reminder fuck is necessary.” And one is definitely necessary now.
“Roger that.”
I exhale, accepting that while I can’t get my hands on her, I’ll never win. “When will I see you?”
“Tomorrow?”
It pains me. Physically pains me. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Noon,” she fires in return.
“Eight.”
“Eleven.”
“Eight,” I snap.
“You’re supposed to meet me halfway!”
I’m slowly accepting that she’s going out tonight, whether I like it or not. “I’ll see you at eight.” I end the call and watch as her foot drops from her arse and she looks down at the screen. I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking I’m impossible.
She’s a gem. As much as I love her to death, I do not understand her mentality sometimes. Not that I have any knowledge of relationships, but surely you don’t always want to test the boundaries of your partner, right? I’ve never met a woman who can push for her own . . . opinions so consistently. Relentlessly.
I still love her, though.