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22
My car rollsdown the drive toward The Manor, seeming as reluctant as I am to be here. It’s busy, cars filling the vast expanse of driveway, the double doors open.
Once parked, I notice the state of my gray suit. It looks like I’ve been wrestling in it. My hidden smile is huge, visions of Ava squirming on the bed beneath me running rampant in my mind. I reach down and adjust my dick, the damn thing swelling. I don’t want to be here.
I stomp moodily up the steps, and when I walk in, I’m more than relieved I relented to Ava’s refusal to come, not only because Freja is here somewhere. It seemseveryoneis here.
The foyer is a mass of people zigzagging past each other, coming to and from the bar, heading up the stairs, coming back down. It’s the busiesthotelI’ve ever seen. On a colossal frown, I head into the bar. It’s just as busy. Mario is frantic, serving, shaking, pouring. It’s Tuesday night, a notoriously quiet evening. What gives?
I wander around the back of the bar and help myself to a water. “Mr. Jesse,” Mario sings, ever happy, even when he’s run off his Italian feet.
“What’s going on, Mario?” I ask, motioning to the crowd.
“I not know,” he says, getting back to the masses of people waiting to be served.
John strides in, scanning the chaos, finding me tucked away behind the bar. He jerks his head and leaves. “On my way,” I mutter, stealing a glimpse of the top shelf, starting to feel clammy under the pressure of my impending confrontation with Freja. I shake my thoughts clear and follow him to my office. “Where is she?” I ask his wide back, but he doesn’t answer, just opens the door for me when he arrives, standing back like a gentleman and sweeping an arm out in an over-the-top, sarcastic gesture. “Thanks,” I grumble, seeing her sat on the other side of my desk. I’m wondering whether it’s wise to be in a room alone with her. Not because I’m worried about what I might do, but what Freja will do. I’ve been on the receiving end of a desperate woman one too many times recently.
But I conclude very quickly my office is my only option, especially with The Manor so busy. I don’t need a scene.
I go to my desk and plant myself in the chair, putting a huge chunk of wood between us. “Freja.” My eyes fall to the back of the couch where last time I saw her, she was bent over it. I cringe those thoughts away. “What can I do for you?” Why the fuck would I ask such a stupid question?
Her head cocks in question as if she’s surprised. It doesn’t sit well. “I thought—”
“Oh, no,” I say before I can engage my brain and consider a more diplomatic approach. “Well,Ithought we’d reached an understanding.”
“Yes. Then last week happened.”
The dormant guilt rises and engulfs me. “It was a mistake.” She can’t have missed the moment I lost my baggage and threw them out. I was a mess. She’s being very selective with her memories. “Freja, what happened on—”
“There’s word that you’re seeing someone.”
I bolt back in my chair like I’ve been shot, my eyes regarding her warily. That felt like a backward threat. What’s the word, and who the fuck has been speaking? I’m struck dumb, unable to unravel my tangled thoughts.
“Does that mean you’re off the market?”
“I was neveronthe market, Freja.”
“But available, yes?”
“You mean to fuck?” I ask, keeping it factual, pushing myself farther back in my chair. “Available to fuck.”
“And now you’re not.” She smiles, and I one hundred percent hate it. Fucking hell, this isn’t good.
“How’s the divorce going?” I ask.
“We’re locking horns.”
“Over what?”Please say money.
“Over blame.”
I glance away, not liking the satisfied glint in her eyes. I’m not being intuitive. I’m being real. Freya told me her husband didn’t know she’d been in my bed. Now she has again, has that changed? “Have you told your husband about what happened last week?” I ask, getting fucked off with dancing around her need to stretch this out. I need to know what I’m dealing with.
“No,” she says, and my eyes shoot to hers, surprised. I don’t know why I’m feeling so relieved. I can see there’s a catch coming. “But I’m curious. Why are you so worried about my husband finding out, Jesse?”
I close my eyes on an inhale. “Like I said before, I don’t want my manor being dragged into your mud-slinging match in court.” I can’t tell her about Ava and give her the ammunition she’s looking for. Of all the people who shouldn’t know about Ava, it’s Freja. I can’t risk her telling Mikael. Because if he finds out Freja has been in my bed, he’ll take the sickest pleasure in trying to exact his revenge. He’s already got his eye on Ava, without me in the equation, that was obvious at the Lusso launch.
“Really?” she asks, and I ball my fists, feeling the pressure building.
