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)
“Mr. Ward,” he says, forcing a smile to within an inch of his life. “If I had an Ava, I’ve no doubt I would do exactly the same.” But he doesn’t have an Ava. I, however, do. The Ava. “Perhaps Monday would be more suitable?” No, not Monday either. But for now, I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’ve made my point.
“Of course, Monday will be fine.” Ava rolls her shoulders, trying to break free. It only makes me cling tighter.
Mikael flicks me a cautious look as he holds out his hand. “I’ll call you to arrange a time once I’ve checked my diary.”
My rabid stare is telling him to never call her again.
Ava shakes his hand. “I look forward to it.”
I flick my hips out, prodding her. There she is. The woman who cannot help poking me.
Van Der Haus slowly and thoughtfully leaves but stops at the entrance. He looks back and our eyes lock. His look darkens, disbelief and anger rolling into one. It tells me this isn’t over. It tells me he’s retreating to regroup. I silently wish him good luck, my return stare telling him he’s a dead man if I see him again.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Ava whispers, stock-still in my hold, out of fight. “You’ve just trampled my most important client.”
I turn her toward me, getting up close. “Who is your most important client?”
“You’re my lover,” she breathes, completely exasperated. She should try living my life. “Who happens to be a client.”
A person’s lover is a person they fuck. She’s my life. My best friend. “I am more than your lover.” I watch, waiting for her to agree. She doesn’t. Instead, she sighs loudly and starts to turn away from me. “I need to get back to work.”
I reach for her, stopping her, but she remains with her back to me, making a point. A stupid fucking point. Okay, so I walked into this without really thinking it through. Okay, I marked my territory. Okay, I knowingly put her in an awkward position. But what the fuck else was I supposed to do? Just sit back and let another man, a man who hates me, walk on in and make a move on my woman? My list of transgressions is lengthy, admittedly, but my cause is genuine, and she went one better anyway.
I move, since she’s holding her ground, being stubborn, placing my big body before her. “You encouraged him on purpose.”
Her eyes close briefly, her cheeks pulsing from her harsh bite. Then she looks at me, and I’m caught off guard by her watery gaze. “Why?” she asks, swallowing.
Oh shit. No, I didn’t expect tears. Only defiance. I drop my eyes, shame creeping up on me. “Because I love you.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“Yes, it is,” I argue, showing her my outrage. It’s the best reason. “And anyway, he’s a known womanizer.”
“You can’t hijack every meeting I have with a male client.”
“I won’t, just him.” Although if he’s smart, I won’t need to. “And any other man who may be a threat,” I add, just to put it out there, just so she’s prepared. I’m a tolerant man. I can take a lot, but other men dribbling over Ava isn’t one of those things. Never will be, and that’s something she has to accept.
“I have to go.” She battles in my hold to free herself.
“I’ll take you. Collect your things.” I help gather her papers from the table, avoiding the incredulous glare coming my way. “These are really very good,” I say, peeking over my shoulder, smiling. The glare’s gone. She’s daydreaming now, lost in thought, looking despondent and sad. I really am my own worst enemy but, again, what the fuck was I supposed to do?
Collecting her motionless form, I walk her out and nod to the valet. I constantly flick my wary eyes to Ava while we wait for my car to be delivered, checking her persona. She’s completely withdrawn. I put her in the passenger seat, fasten her seat belt and get in, driving her back to work in silence. She says nothing when she gets out. Not one word. It’s kind of worse than being yelled at.
I watch her walk back to her office, looking weighed down. Fuck. A car up the road pulls out of a space, so I take the opportunity and slip in. I jog to the florist around the corner and burst through the door. “Mr. Ward,” the girl sings, walking straight to the display vases and pulling out some calla lilies. “What’s the card to say today?”
My nose wrinkles. “Sorry.”
She whirls around. “Oh no.” I can see she’s desperate to ask what I’ve done to warrant an apology. I won’t entertain her.
“Add an ish on the end.”
“Huh?” she says on an unsure laugh. “You’re only sorry . . . ish?”