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No, you fucking won’t.“Excuse me?” I find myself standing all of a sudden, my heart racing.
“We’ll get the drawings together, incorporating Ava’s ideas, of course, and then a proposal across for your consideration.”
I stare across my office, motionless, my head in chaos. She’s bailed? Abandoned the project?You stupid fuck, Ward. I came on stronger than a sex-deprived sex addict at a fucking orgy. But her face. Her composure. Her body language. I didn’t misread any of that, and if I did, I’m more screwed up than I ever thought possible. She’s running scared, because she felt it all too and, unlike me, it deters her rather than draws her in.
I need to remedy this little issue.
“Mr. Ward?” Peterson asks.
“Thanks.” I hang up and head out, bumping into John as I take the steps to the driveway. “Morning,” I say, trying to sound as normal as possible.
“Where are you going now?” He turns on the spot as I pass him, following my path to my DBS.
“Small crisis needs my attention.” I hop in my car, hearing him calling me a stupid motherfucker. “Probably,” I agree, racing away.
I pull onto Bruton Street and slip into a parking space across the road from the offices of Rococo Union, wondering what the fucking hell I’m doing. I won’t need to worry about Sarah scaring Ava off at this rate. Seems I’m prepared to do a damn fine job of that all by myself. I tap the steering wheel, my eyes trained on the windows of the company’s office. Is she even in there? God, would I love to be a fly on the wall of her brain right now. To know what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. Is her mind circling constantly? Is she repeatedly swaying between the thrill of the chemistry, to the distress of being so utterly caught off guard by it?
I narrow my eyes. Something tells me yes, she is doing both, but clearly the latter is taking poll position, hence her withdrawal. I need to convince her she chose wrong. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m making it my mission objec—
Rap, rap, rap!
I jump out of my fucking skin, startled by the aggressive knocks on my window. “What the fuck?” I yell, making the traffic warden, whose face is currently glaring through my window, recoil. I grab the handle, yank it, and jump out of my Aston, my chest pumping with a mixture of fright and anger.
The poor fucker backs up, his eyes climbing my six-foot-three frame, regret plastered all over his face. “You need to pay to park, sir.” He points to a ticket machine up the street as I work to contain my temper. What’s wrong with me?
“I don’t have any change.” I pat down the pockets of my suit. Or my fucking wallet.
“Then you’ll have to move on.”
Move on? And park where, exactly? I could drive around London all fucking day and never find a space. It’s pure luck I landed this one right outside her office.
I feel unfamiliar anger bubbling, and I am unable to contain it. “I’m not moving my fucking car,” I growl, slipping back into the driver’s seat.
“Then I’ll have to issue a ticket, sir.”
“Fuck off,” I snap, slamming the door.What the hell, Ward?I rub my palm down my bristly face. My cheeks feel hot. Move my car? Not a fucking chance.
I realign my sights on her office, trying to regulate my breathing, and once I’ve cooled down, I dial her. My stomach flips a million times, my anticipation to hear her voice off the charts.
But she doesn’t answer. I frown at my phone, thinking, imagining her staring at hers. She didn’t miss my call. She wasn’t otherwise engaged, I just know it. So she ignored me. My jaw clenches without thought, and I dial her again. Perseverance. I can do that. It rings and rings, and just when I reside myself to physically going into her office where she can’t avoid me, she answers.
“Hello?”
And I’m bombarded by an inexplicable rush of pleasure. Pleasure without sex. So I can onlyimaginethe heaven to be found with my body melded to hers, my cock in her pussy, my tongue in her mouth. I lose my breath just thinking about it.
But she sounded... uncertain. “Ava?” Why on earth did I pose that as a question?
“Who’s speaking?”
I can’t stop my laugh. Is she really going to play this game? “Now, I know you already know the answer to that question because my name came up on your phone. Trying to play it cool?”
“You added yourself to my contacts?”
Yes, yes, I did that. I still can’t believe it but, as I’ve told myself one hundred times, and I will absolutely tell her when I have the chance, I’m acting on pure instinct, and my instinct is telling me to have her, one way or another. Easy or hard, and I have a horrible feeling she’s going to make it hard. But I’m ready. I’m ready to remind her of all the bizarre feelings she had on our first meeting. “I need to be able to get hold of you,” I inform her.
“Patrick should have contacted you.” She sounds cool, calm, and collected. Waste of fucking time. “I’m afraid I’m unable to assist you, but Patrick will be more than happy to help.”
I laugh on the inside. How many times has she talked herself round in circles over this? All weekend, I bet. “Yes, Patrick has been in contact. I’m sure he will be happy to help, but I’m less than happy to accept it.” There. What have you got to say about that, Miss O’Shea?
