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“I’m afraid—”
“Juliette,” Fuck this shit. She’s being difficult. Obstructive. “I am asking you nicely to unfreeze my card now.”
“And I’m tellingyounicely, Mr. Ward, that I will absolutely do that just as soon as I am at my desk.”
“Put the branch manager on.”
“What?”
“The branch manager, put them on the phone now.”
Silence. Good. We’re getting somewhere.
“I’d like to start the process of moving my accounts,” I go on. “Personalandcompany, to another bank. One that appreciates my business, is happy to help, and doesn’t use their personal hang-ups as a weapon to hold me to ransom and keep me frommymoney.” There are tens of millions spread across those accounts. If Juliette loses my business, I’ve no doubt she’ll lose her job too, because I’ll make sure the bank knows why I’m moving my money.
Silence. Good. She’s thinking about this.
“I haven’t got all day, Juliette.”
“I’ll postpone my meeting and call Fraud now.”
“Very kind.” I smile tightly. “And please let me know when the hold has been lifted so I can avoid the embarrassment of having my card declined in Harrods again.” I hang up and curse again, then curse harder when a text lands from Zoe, informing me they’re heading back to the changing rooms. Fuck, I need to go see Hans. Fuck, I need to be at the changing rooms when Ava returns to them.
“This is not panning out how I hoped,” I say to myself, breaking out into a jog, dipping and diving around the various displays on my way back to the personal shopping department.
I spot Ava and Zoe in the distance, ahead of me. “For God’s sake.” I pick up my pace, round a young couple, jump over a kid, dodge a sales assistant, circling wide around Ava and Zoe.
I’m fucking knackered when I arrive in the waiting area, slumping down onto the couch, fighting to get my breath. It’s ridiculous. I run miles most days, and a small sprint across Harrods has me blowing out my arse. It’s the circumstances. The stress. My phone rings and I dig it out, seeing Juliette’s name on my screen. “Yes?” I answer, as clipped as she should expect.
“Your card is ready to use, Mr. Ward.”
Ava and Zoe appear, the rail being dragged along behind them, the young lad in charge of it appearing as knackered as I am. Ava looks delightfully relaxed, and maybe a little embarrassed by the amount of clothes loaded on the rail. I flick Zoe a raised brow, and she shrugs. “Thanks,” I say to Juliette, hanging up and rising. “Have fun?” I ask, lavishing Ava, kissing away the blush on her cheeks. “I missed you.”
“I’ve been gone an hour.” She laughs as I suspend her in my arms, the sound glorious. This is more like it. This is what I’m here for.
“Too long. What have you got?”
“Too much to choose from.” Ava looks at the rail when I stand her up. There will be no choosing.
“Go try,” I order softly, swatting her arse, encouraging her on. I give Zoe a pointed look before directing my stare at the jam-packed rail. We’re going to be a while. Of course, she ignores me, marching past to the changing rooms, on a mission to bankrupt me.
Ava follows, and when they reach the door into the private room, Zoe invites Ava in, pushing the rail in too, looking back at me.
“She loved it,” she mouths.
I put up both hands. All fingers. “Give me ten.”
She nods and I leave for yet another sprint around Harrods, arriving at the jewelry room with a sweat. “Hans,” I breathe.
“Mr. Ward, I’m afraid—”
“I know, Hans. I’ve talked to my bank. It’s fine, they were being cautious.” I can see his relief, his sale saved. “And she loved the necklace, so I’ll take that too.”
“Mesmerized, Mr. Ward,” he sings. “I was quite torn. When your card was declined, I very nearly removed the necklace from the case so she couldn’t see it.”
“Thank the commission gods, eh, Hans?” I quip, bracing my hands on the edge of the glass counter, probably smearing it to death, trying to catch my breath. “Now, if you could run through the ring and the necklace sharpish, that would be helpful.”
“My pleasure.” He disappears toward a cash register.
