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As we rumble down the driveway toward The Manor, I feel myself tensing, and my tight muscles only get tighter when I see Coral’s car. I hope and pray she had too much to drink last night to drive and called a cab, but the turn of my gut tells me otherwise.
“She stayed the night,” John says before I can ask, coming to a stop and turning off the engine. “Drew and Sam calmed Mike down. She had nowhere to go.” He gets out and walks away, his ominous frame telling me in every way not to question him.
“What are we, a fucking hotel now?” It comes out before my brain engages, and John stops, slowly turning back to me, his persona deadly.
“Maybe if theLord of The Manorstopped allowing sleepovers in his fucking bed, we wouldn’t have this fucking problem.”
I can’t hold back my curled lip. “Fuck you,” I spit, stalking past him, waiting for a dig to my ribs.
“I’ll let that slide, since you’re obviously not yourself these days.”
Myself? Who the fuck am I, anyway? I keep my attention forward and immediately wish I hadn’t. Coral falls out of the bar, literally, and makes a beeline for me, throwing herself into my arms. I have no choice but to catch her or leave her falling face-first to the floor. “You’re here,” she slurs, and I look down at the back of her head incredulously where it’s buried in my chest, her body limp and heavy. “I missed you.”
I inch round with Coral hanging off my front to find John, my face undoubtedly expressing my disbelief. It’s morning and she’s plastered. John just shrugs and walks off. He’s not seriously leaving me to handle this? “Wanker,” I mutter, virtually dragging her back into the bar. “You need to go home, Coral.” I negotiate her useless form onto one of the chairs, resting my hand on her shoulder to stop her from tumbling off as I pull out my phone.
“Mike wouldn’t let me.” She drops her head back, looking up at me. “And I wanted to see you.”
“You’re drunk.” Have I ever stated something so obvious?
“I’m not drunk.” She reaches up and clumsily tucks her hair behind her ears, straightening her slumped body. It’s a feeble attempt to convince me she’s sober. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman so rat-arsed. It’s ugly. “Where have you been?” She tries to focus on me, blinking. “You’re never here anymore. Why?”
I laugh under my breath and dial Sarah, mentally praying she doesn’t let me down. It goes to voicemail, and I curse as I dial again. Nothing. “For fuck’s sake.” I lean as far as I can, trying to see outside the bar when I hear footsteps. I spot Drew coming down the stairs fastening his tie, and I frown. Fuck me, in my absence this place really has turned into a hotel. “Oi,” I call, and he looks up. His face twists. “Some help?”
His eyes fall to Coral, his face twists more, and he carries on his way. “Fuck you,” he calls back, and my mouth falls open.
“I’ll revoke your membership!” I yell, shifting quickly to catch Coral when she slips farther down the chair, dozing off.
“Fine by me,” Drew yells. “I don’t share my fucking space with dickhead estate agents who steal my business.”
I roll my eyes and try Sarah again, thinking I need to get myself some new friends. It’s all I can do not to yell my elation when she answers. “Where are you?”
“I’m... why?”
“I need some help.”
“Dealing with that drunk tart? No. I’ve been dealing with it all fucking night. Your problem.” She hangs up.
“For fuck’s sake,” I yell, disturbing Coral from her slumber. She looks up at me and drunkenly grins.
“I’ve been looking for you.” Her hand lands on my stomach and strokes. “Take me to your room.”
“I’d rather eat razor blades,” I say to myself, resigning myself to the fact that I’m alone in this. I should have stayed at my rental and tore myself apart with my uncontrollable thoughts. Dipping, I lift Coral from the chair and get her on my shoulder, heading out of the bar. I don’t have time for this.
I take the stairs, bypassing my suite and entering the next room. It’s a mess, the cleaners yet to venture in here. I dump her on the bed, batting away her grabby hands when she tries to pull me down with her.
“I left him for you, you know.” She looks me straight in the eye. “Because what we shared, that was special.”
I turn and walk away. Special? No, it wasfucking. I felt nothing. She’s seeing what she wants to see.
I pull the door closed behind me, stopping in my tracks, thinking, Ava’s words hitting me for the millionth time since last night.
Whatever you think you felt, what you think I felt, you’re mistaken.
I recoil. Shit, am I to Ava what Coral is to me?
No.
Laughing, I head to my office, pulling up Google on my way.Think?I don’tthinkanything. I know. Maybe John is right, though. Women love to talk. But not all women. The women of The Manor don’t want to talk. They don’t want to be treated reverently. Be romanced and sent flowers.
