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“That man wants you, trust me,” I yell, at a loss. My time’s up.
“Why?”
I’m hitting the steering wheel again. “He wants to take you away from me!”
“But why?” she shouts.
“He just fucking does!”
She withdraws, backing off, settling in her seat, but her eyes remain on my profile, burning into me, her gaze now asking the questions instead of her mouth. I have nothing to offer in this moment. We both need to calm the hell down before we talk, because if I share anything about Mikael now, she’ll spin off the handle with me, and this relationship needs only one psycho at a time, or we both might end up dead.
I swallow and force my foot off the pedal, slowing down the car, hoping calmer driving might lead to calmer moods. I glance across to her, seeing her hair in disarray, her olive cheeks tinged pink, her hands twiddling together. What is she thinking?
When I pull up outside Lusso, she’s out of my car like a shot. “Ava,” I call instinctively, even knowing I should let her go. Let her calm down and take the alone time to calmmyselfdown too. My shoulders drop, my hands going into my pockets as I watch her go. Eager to escape me. And no, I’m not surprised.
John pulls up alongside my Aston and gets out, pulling his shades off.
“I’m calm,” I say before he can tell me.
“You think throwing your weight around like that is going to help?”
“No, John, I don’t, but it’s become very obvious since I met Ava O’Shea that I can’t seem to control myself and my impulses.” Not my love, my desire, my temper. Nothing.
“Well, try.”
I sigh. I have. I try every fucking minute of the fucking day. “I’ll help you,” I say, trudging to the back of his Range Rover as he opens the boot. “You sure you want to come in?”
“It’s only you she’s angry with, boy. Only you who sends her crazy.” He grabs a box and leads the way, and we pass Clive, who looks quite chipper today.
“Mr. Ward,” he sings, coming out from behind his desk and joining me.
“You polished the gold on your hat?” I ask, prompting him to reach up on a small grin.
“I met your housekeeper earlier. Lovely lady.”
I slow to a stop.Oh?“She is.” I hitch a brow. “And?”
“And, nothing.” He takes the box from my hands and carries it to the elevator, putting it on the floor outside and calling it. “Just my observation.” He holds out a set of keys. “I would have given them to Ava but she seemed to be in a hurry.” He leans in, one eye narrowed. “And quite unhappy.”
“Oh, you sensed that?” I say dryly as I pocket Ava’s car keys. “I didn’t notice.” And shit, Cathy’s here. I completely forgot about her return. I look at John. “I haven’t told Ava Cathy’s back.”Fuck it all. I pass him and get in the elevator when it opens, and John collects the box Clive set down, joining me, as well as Clive.
I frown at the concierge, but he keeps his old eyes set on the doors, ignoring me. Nosey old fucker. I tap my foot impatiently as the lift carries us up to the penthouse, and I smell it as soon as the doors open. Cathy’s lasagna. Something tells me I won’t be enjoying a romantic dinner with my girl this evening.
“Hmm, that smell,” John says, taking a long hit of it, his big chest swelling.
“Which smell?” I ask, trudging on. “The food or the tension?” I enter the penthouse and find Ava static, looking no less pissed off, and Cathy looking slightly alarmed, a can of some kind of cleaning product and a cloth in her hand.
For fuck’s sake. What the hell has Ava said to her? “Cathy, you should probably get off now,” I say as gently as I can, trying not to clue her in on the absolute carnage happening. “I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”
“Of course.” She starts collecting her things, all the while flicking cautious eyes both our ways. “I’ve put dinner in the oven,” she goes on. “Give it thirty minutes.” She smiles nervously at Ava and comes to me. I kiss her cheek, eyes on Ava, slightly concerned about the remorse on her face.
She catches my eye. Looks past me to John and Clive. Then marches into the kitchen, not just eager to escapemenow, but eager to escape her shame. The scrutiny. I hear the fridge door open, a huff, and then it slams, followed by her stamping feet again. She emerges and heads for the stairs, making a point of stomping her way up them.
“Jesus Christ,” I breathe, dragging my palm down my face and following Cathy out to the elevator.
“Whatever’s happened?” Cathy asks, looking quite shook up.
“Just a few words,” I assure her, making John grunt in amusement. “I haven’t had a chance to tell Ava you were here, Cathy.”
