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)
“I’m here,” I confirm, wishing I fucking wasn’t. “What’s happening?”
She glances my way. Definitely recoils. “You look . . . stressed.”
I stand and round my desk. It’s this place. Obviously I can’t deal with it when I’m sober. “I’m moving today,” I say lamely, passing her. “A lot on my mind.” I haven’t once thought about the fact that I’m moving today. Not once. I need to call Cathy. “How are the rooms coming along?”
Sarah follows me, her heels clicking the floor. That irritates me too. “All of the beams are now reinforced. What about the designs? How are they coming along?”
Good question. I need Ava back here, and not just to design. Close. Keep her close. She’s young, beautiful, ambitious. It’s only a matter of time before a more suitable match comes along and sweeps her off her feet. A younger, unbroken man. I frown. Not happening. “Great,” I lie, as we pass through the summer room. “And the anniversary party?”
“Invites have gone out.”
Our annual glamorous shindig/gigantic orgy is four weeks away. I’ll confess to Ava before then. Tell her what this place really is, and then she can come. Be my date. Obviously, she won’t leave my side. Or step foot in the communal room. I nod agreeably to myself. Four weeks. I can do that.
“How was last night?” Sarah asks as I take the stairs.
I look over my shoulder, finding what I knew I would. Curiosity. “The launch? You should know, you were there.” I round the gallery landing, heading for the new wing. I am not talking to Sarah about Ava. I might say something I regret like yesterday and be forced to apologize by guilt.
“She doesn’t know what goes on here, does she?”
My teeth scrape together. “Not yet.” If she laughs, I can’t promise I won’t lose my shit. “But she will,” I add, wondering how the fuck I’m going to tell Ava. She thinks I’m a hotelier, for fuck’s sake.
“Planning on keeping her around, then?”
I stop just shy of the entrance to the new wing, turning to face Sarah. “I need you to back off.”
Her face softens. That pisses me off too. “I’m just looking out for you.”
“I don’t need you to look out for me, Sarah.” I motion up my tall, well-built frame. “I’m a big boy, in case you haven’t noticed.”
She looks at me tiredly. “You’re vulnerable.”
I laugh. “What?”
“In case you’ve forgotten, you’re a bloody millionaire, Jesse. And she’s a lot younger than you.”
I wince, disgusted. “Are you insinuating she only wants me for my money? Kick me in the gut, why don’t you?” I motion down my body. “This body is the most desired around these parts, so take your conclusion on Ava’s intentions and shove it up your tight arsehole.” I turn and stalk off, hearing Sarah laugh as she follows.
“This arsehole isn’t very tight after last night, actually.”
I grimace, pushing my way through the final door. “Too much information,” I say, but at the same time, I smile, remembering last night, the kitchen, the bedroom, the ecstasy. Ava’s flushed cheeks. Her wonder. How easily she accepted me into her body. All positive signs. But what about her heart? Will she accept me into that?
“I’m just pointing out the obvious,” Sarah goes on. “As I’m sure many will.”
I sigh, deflating. Many can go fuck themselves. Besides, it’s a moot point, because Miss O’Shea has done everything she could to resist me. Too bad for her, I’m irresistible. And persistent. If she was interested in my money, she would have jumped into bed with me at the first opportunity. She’s not like that. She’s different from what I know, and that’s just making her more wonderful. “Do me a favor, Sarah,” I say, inspecting the finished beams. “Stay out of my relationship with Ava.”
“So it’s a relationship?” she asks, shocked. “You? In a relationship?”
My shoulders drop. I can’t be affronted. It is quite amusing. “I’m done here.” I leave, finished for the day. “I’ve got to collect Cathy from my rental.”
“What about the membership renewals I put on your desk?”
“Get John to deal with it.” I can’t think straight, my mind bouncing between deep-rooted fulfilment and contentment, to dread and self-doubt.
I need a distraction, and I’m not getting it here.
13
Chris the prick meets us at Lusso to give me the codes I need for the gates and elevator. He definitely has a spring in his step. Apparently, the concierge isn’t in until tomorrow so security will be covering and I should request a code change ASAP.
After seeing him off, I take Cathy up to the penthouse, smiling at her constant sounds of awe. “I’ve bought the essentials,” she says, wandering into the kitchen and opening the fridge. She starts pulling out jars of peanut butter and setting them on the shelf. “But you’ll have to do a supermarket run for other supplies.” She shuts the door and smooths a palm over the countertop, then tuts, rubbing her fingers together. “This won’t do,” she mutters, magicking a bottle of kitchen cleaner from her bag and attacking every surface in sight. I’m glad. There were dozens of people here last night, and I’ll be glad to have all their fingerprints cleaned off my . . . home. Not a rental, not a crash pad. A home.