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“Immigration enforcement. They’ll only talk to the owner,” he says, as I flick a cautious look Ava’s way. “I’ve told them you’ve been signed off by your doctor but—”
“No, it’s fine.” I can feel the tension creeping back into me, and I desperately don’t want Ava to see that. She hates The Manor. Right now, I hate The Manor too.
“You sure?” John asks.
“Yeah, give me half an hour.” I disconnect and search for where I kicked off my shoes earlier, locating them at the end of the couch. I head over and stuff my feet into them, feeling Ava watching my every move.
“What’s the matter?” she asks with obvious worry in her tone. I can’t look at her. Can’t allow her to see the unrestrained rage building. The police. The Manor. Things in my way.
“Problem at The Manor,” I say, heading for the door. “I won’t be long.” As soon as I’m in the elevator, I fall against the wall. “Fuck,” I hiss, catching sight of myself in the mirror when the doors close.
I look gray. Empty.
Old.
I turn away from my reflection and stare at the wall until the doors open, and I pace to my car with my head down. “Mr. Ward,” Clive calls, but I ignore him. I have no faith that I can be polite. I’ve not even moved forward and I’m already taking backward steps.
I slip into my car and start her up, taking the wheel and hissing. “Fuck,” I breathe, my throbbing hand protesting.I shouldn’t be driving.I gingerly flex it for a few moments and pull off fast, stress and frustration making my foot heavy on the pedal.
Nothing’s changed there.
The circular driveway is heaving when I pull up. Members leaving. “Fucking hell,” I breathe, swinging into a space by a white Mercedes van. I get out and spot Sam on the steps with Kate, and Drew emerging from the entrance, fastening his tie. No Victoria? Drew spots me and gives me a quick assessment. He must conclude I’m okay because he launches into a rant. “Great for business,” he snaps, pulling and yanking at the material around his neck.
“Where’s Victoria?”
He scowls. Obviouslythat’sa sore subject. “What the fuck’s going on?”
Kate sees me approaching, and her cheeks soon match the color of her hair. If I was in the mood, I’d smile. “Hey,” she says, nowhere near her usual fiery self. “You look—”
“Like a bag of shit, I know.” I exhale, coming to a stop, watching people leaving on mass.
“How are... things?” she asks, almost cautious.
I look at her tiredly. “Amazing.”
She smiles, and it’s small. “Give it time.” She rubs at my arm. “She’ll come round.”
“She will?”
“Sure. I still love your crazy arse, so Ava has to.”
I look at Kate. She doesn’t look convinced. “Where are they?” I ask, walking on and entering the foyer.
“Bar,” Sam answers, wary as fuck. “You okay?”
“Fucking ace,” I mutter, arriving in the bar, where an army of men and women in uniforms are congregated. “Jesse Ward,” I declare, and they all turn my way. I’m trying my fucking hardest not to be hostile. Trying and failing. What the fuck are they doing here?
A man approaches. “Kev Baxter,” he declares. “Chief Immigration Officer.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said—”
“That was a rhetorical question.”
“Right,” he says. “Perhaps only ask me serious questions going forward, yes? Since this is a serious situation.”
“I don’t know what the fuck the situation is.”
