Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“There you are!”
I flinch at the shrill voice of Sarah as I pull Ava along, feeling her hand stiffen in mine. Always does when Sarah’s around. I can’t hold it against her, especially now she knows Sarah’s and I have slept together. But I wish she’d disregard that and listen to me when I tell her there is and never will be anything between us. I suppose it would be helpful to give Ava context but—
Can’t do that.
Sarah skids to a stop and looks past me, her eyes going straight to Ava’s neck. If she could, she’d frown, but she can’t. She can, however, scowl, and she executes that without a problem or fault.
“I’m here now,” I say on a sigh, taking Ava into the bar to get her settled before I’m dragged away to deal with the battery crisis. “Here, sit.” I help her onto the stool and take one myself, searching out Mario across the bar, waving him over.
Something is thrust under my nose between me and Ava. “Can we just go through—”
“Sarah, give me a minute,” I say, ensuring Ava sees my attention is on her alone. Makes sure she knows Sarah means nothing beyond work. Yes, I care about the woman, but that’s simply an unfortunate disadvantage of guilt. “What would you like to drink?”
Ava’s gaze goes to the top shelf behind the bar where Mario, the dapper bastard, has appeared, looking chipper, eager to serve.
“I’ll have a Mario Most Marvelous, please.”
“Yes,” Mario sings, delighted that someone loves his rocket fuel. Because that’s what it is. Highly flammable. Dangerous. I’ll be keeping an eye on her. “Mr. Ward?”
“Just a water, please, Mario.” I give Ava a quick kiss.
“Sloe gin, Mario.” Sarah may as well be on my fucking lap, and Ava pushing herself harder onto my lips, humming happily, is nothing short of pissing up my leg. “Jesse, I could really do with you in the office.”
“Sarah, please.” She’s like a fucking fly buzzing in my ear. I stand, at least showing the signs of my intention to leave, so perhaps she’ll shut the fuck up and let me finish what I’m doing. Or actually, let Ava finish what she’s doing. Claiming me. I ask Ava if she’d like to come, if only to demonstrate who’s most important in this situation, and it isn’t Sarah or my manor.
“I’m good here,” she replies. “You go.”
I take my water as Mario sets it down and drop a kiss onto her forehead. “I’ll be quick.”
I leave fast, Sarah following. “Is it really necessary to show such sickening public displays of affection?”
I stop abruptly, breathe in, and look up to the ornate ceiling of The Manor, making it as obvious as I can that I’m gathering patience. Ripping her head off will only achieve guilt and an earful from John.
“What are you doing?” she snaps from beside me.
“Stopping myself from ripping you a new arsehole.”
She pouts. “I might like that.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I mutter, picking up my feet and breaking into the summer room, weaving through the beautifully dressed tables. Black and gold. I smile. It’s brief. What have I got to do to get Ava back in the extension? “What’s the deal with the batteries?”
“Well, it’s simple. There are no batteries.”
I push my way into my office. “How the fuck did he forget batteries?” I pull my phone out and pull up Google. And pause. What the fuck am googling? Where to get fifteen hundred batteries on a Friday night in the Surrey Hills? “You’re just gonna have to remove the cock rings from the gift bags.”
Sarah breathes in, taking a swig of her drink, looking like she’s the one now gathering patience. “I’m going to whip that little prick so hard.” She throws the clipboard on the sideboard and paces, and I watch her struggling to walk. Not in the heels, she’s a master at walking in heels. It’s the red dress. She can hardly put one foot in front of the other it’s so tight.
I sit on the couch. “Doesn’t look like you can do much in that dress except stand.” One swing of her whip might topple her.
“Don’t you worry, sweetie,” she coos. “With a whip in my hand, I can do anything.”
I laugh. It’s sardonic. “Have you called the schoolboy?” I ask.
“He isn’t answering.”
“Probably oiling up, ready for his whipping session.”
The door opens, and we both look up, just as the boy himself appears, a box in his hands. “Batteries,” he says, looking between us.
“Are you joking?” Sarah slams her glass down and hustles over, opening one of the flaps. “I am going to whip you so fucking hard.”
Niles looks at me, somewhere between alarm and excitement, and I raise my brows. “Don’t look at me, kid. I’ve never had the pleasure.” I throw a dirty look to Sarah’s back, and she turns a wicked smile onto me. “Are we done?” I ask.