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 leave Coral and go in search of a bucket and disinfectant. The surprise on my staff’s faces is warranted as they watch me scrounging through the cleaning closet. “Can I help you, Mr. Ward?” the sous chef asks, venturing from the kitchen to find out what I’m doing around these parts.
“I need a bucket, Paulo,” I say, moving endless things around on the shelves. “Any idea?”
“Let me get Rosa for you.”
“Rosa?” I ask, stopping with my search and turning my attention onto him. “What’s she still doing here?” It’s knocking on eight o’clock. Way over the end of her shift.
“There was a mess that needed cleaning up in the communal room, sir.” He looks wary as he tells me, and guilt flares inside. Someone else suffering the consequences of my poor decisions. I should clear up that mess too.
Paulo disappears to find Rosa, and I continue with my search. I’m not familiar with the cleaning closet and isn’t that fucking obvious now. I can’t find shit. “Fuck’s sake,” I mutter.
“Since when have you become Mr. Domestic?”
I look over my shoulder and find Sarah. “Still talking to me, then?” I ask, returning to my search. “Where the fuck is the antibacterial stuff around here?”
Sarah nudges me out of the way and pulls down a bottle from the top shelf. “Need to cleanse yourself?” she asks, handing me the bottle.
She’s about as funny as the vomit all over the carpet outside my office. “Bite me,” I snap, squirting a bit in her hair before stalking off.
“Mr. Ward,” Rosa says, hurrying through the kitchens toward me. “Let me, let me.”
“It’s fine, Rosa. I can deal with it. You should get off home.”
She snatches the bottle from my hand, giving me a fierce look. “I do,” she snaps, her Spanish accent thick, “my job.” She magics a bucket from nowhere and starts filling it with hot, soapy water.
I turn to Sarah. “Give Rosa a raise.”
“Fine. Where’s the loony bitch?”
“In my office.”
“Do you want me to put her in your suite?”
I frown. “No. I don’t want anyone in my suite ever again.”
“Why?”
“I just don’t, Sarah.” I walk away. “She can stay on the couch in my office until she’s sober.” Then we’ll be having some serious words. This ends now.
John is outside my office admiring the pile of puke when I get back. “I’m getting it sorted,” I growl, taking the door handle, keen to escape before I have more brutal—truthful—words thrown at me.
“Jesse.”
“What?” I don’t face him.
“Have you thought this through?”
“I’ve thought of nothing else, John,” I assure him. “Trust me, she’s on my mind constantly.”
I feel his hand meet my shoulder, and I look out the corner of my eye, seeing his big fingers gripping me lightly. “I hope she can accept you.”
“She has to,” I say, turning to face him. “Because what’s the alternative?” He knows what the alternative is. It’s alcohol and wasting my life away with meaningless woman after meaningless woman. Looking as pathetic as Coral. Hopeless. Irreparable.
“A woman more on your wavelength, perhaps?” His words are too soft for such a big, mean-looking bastard.
“On my wavelength?” I ask on a laugh. “You mean like Sarah was to Uncle Carmichael? Because that turned out well, didn’t it?”
We both flinch. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself,” John grates, his anger rising, the subject guaranteed to spike it.
“How can I, John? It was my fault.”
“No.” He takes both of my shoulders in his big palms and shakes me. “You deserve more than this self-sabotage.”
I can’t agree. I don’t deserve more. I just need some good in my life. Some peace. Some fucking forgiveness. I rest my hands over his and smile mildly. “Maybe Ava is the more you speak of,” I say, throwing his words back at him, and given what he’s just said, he can’t possibly challenge me. And his body shrinking slightly tells me he knows that. “She makes me feel good,” I say, lifting his hands. “I don’t deserve her, but I want her.” I let myself into my office and rest my back against the door, leaving John on the other side, probably with his head in his hands. I’ve always expected too much of him. And it would be too much to expect him to understand. I realize I’m merely replacing alcohol and an unhealthy, hedonistic lifestyle with something else. That itself is unhealthy. Ava and me, though? Together? That’s glorious, and it feels so incredibly right. My dependence, however? I know that’s not right. Or healthy.
I sigh wearily and take myself to the free couch, kicking off my shoes and watching as Coral flips her body over and snuggles deeper. She’s going to feel like hell in the morning. Worse still after I hit her with reality. I get comfortable on my back and fold my arms behind my head, propping it up, tiredness taking hold.