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“What?”
“I’ve called the company. We’re on a twelve-hour contract, which means they can come anytime between now and—”
“Early hours of tomorrow morning.” I look up at the ceiling. “Fuck.”
“Indeed. I’m checking them over to see if it’s something I can fix temporarily to tide us over until tomorrow morning. Could do with a hand.”
“I’ll be there soon.”
“Where are you?”
“Hell.”
“Still?”
“How’s Sarah?”
“Moody. What’s gone on?”
Definitely not telling Johnthatover the phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, we also need to discuss Steve Cooke.”
My back straightens.Loose. “Why?”
“I’m not sure I like how he conducts himself. He’s getting a bit heavy-handed for my liking.”
I’ll scratch you back, you scratch mine.Fucking hell, is he expecting me to overlook this? “A complaint?”
“Not yet. Give it time.”
“We should talk to him tonight.” I won’t be scratching his back.
“He’s not attending. On duty. Tomorrow?”
I inwardly groan. I don’t want to doanythingtomorrow other than worship Ava. I certainly don’t want to deal with aloosemember. “I’m a bit busy tomorrow.” I cringe.
“Sunday then.”
I grimace. “I’ll see you in a bit.” I hang up, curse a few times, and return to the personal shopping area, wiping my face clean of irritation. Ava wanders out, her eyes fixed on me, her expression happy. “Thank you.” She gives me a kiss, handing me my credit card.
“You’re more than welcome.” I accept her affection, relinquishing her of the bags. “Do I get another show?” One that doesn’t involve me dashing around like a prick in between outfit changes.
“Of course, but you don’t get to see the gown.”
I laugh to myself. I think I’ve seen every gown Harrods stocks today. “Which one did you pick?”
“You’ll find out later.”
A surprise? Can’t wait.
“So,” she muses, casual. “My man really is knocking on forty.”
I pause sucking at her neck and scowl. Jesus, why does forties sound so much older than thirties? Sounds fucking ancient compared to twenties. I get her in my sights, seeing utter delight on her face. I suppose I should be grateful there’s not horror. But it would be perfect for me if we never talked about our ages. I take her hand and start leading her on. “Does it bother you?”
“Not at all,” she answers quickly, sounding quiet convincing too. So why the fuck won’t she stop banging on about it? “Why does it bother you, though?”
“Ava,” I say on a sigh, keeping us moving, mindful of the time. “Do you remember one of the very first things you said to me?”How old are you?
