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“I haven’t been given much choice, have I?” My girl might have dropped it for this evening, but you bet the moment she opens her eyes in the morning, the questions will come. I’m just really fucking happy that Freja Van Der Haus is out of the picture, because that shit would stick and never let go. Her husband, however, is another matter entirely.Fuck.I get off my stool. “I’m going to find Ava.”
“Worried someone’s in her ear?”
“No.”Yes.
I step out of the bar and see her immediately, her back to me. And my heart sinks when I register Sarah with her.
Oh fuck.
34
I can’t seeAva’s eyes, but I can guarantee they’re currently looking up and down Sarah’s front in a way only a pissed-off woman could achieve. “Less is more, Sarah. Have you ever heard of that saying? You would do well to remember it, especially at your age.”
I flinch, as does Sarah.Jesus Christ. Those claws are swiping unapologetically. This isn’t Ava.
No, you’ve made her like this.
I’m flinching again. “Ava?” I say quietly, and she swings around. “What’s going on?”
Sarah leaves, her face a confusing mix of anger and hurt. Sarah doesn’t do hurt. I get nothing from Ava, she just looks around the foyer as members pass, some going upstairs. It’s not ten thirty. But I don’t have the capacity or inclination right now to stop them. I take a couple of steps toward her, cautious, like I’m approaching a volatile animal. “Ava?”
She looks at me, a swirl of emotions in her eyes, and I stop moving forward when she retreats. “I’m leaving,” she says, shaking her head, as if in disappointment, as she turns and walks away from me.
She’s leaving? “Ava,” I call making chase. Again. Always fucking chasing this woman. Her pace increases, like she genuinely thinks she can outrun me. Not ever, and definitely not in heels. “Ava, get your fucking arse here,” I yell at her back, seeing Kate up ahead, looking at us both charging toward her. Ava’s approaching the steps, her hands gathering the bottom of her dress. She’ll break her fucking neck.
I leap down the steps, missing Kate’s static form by a hair’s breadth, a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and get myself in front of Ava, dipping a little to catch her on my shoulder. She yelps as she collides with me and gasps as I hoof her up. “You’re not fucking going anywhere, lady.”
“Let go of me,” she shrieks as I carry her back into The Manor, alarmed looks coming at us from all directions. What the fuck is going on? She went to the ladies’, she was fine, and now she’s far from fucking fine. Don’t tell me an altercation with Sarah caused this severe flip in mood. “Jesse!”
“What’s going on?” Kate asks as I march back past her.
“He’s an arsehole,” Ava spits maliciously, and I laugh sardonically. I’m an arsehole? Five minutes ago, she was sorry. She was all over me. And now I’m an arsehole? It would be lovely to know exactly what has made me an arsehole in the five minutes since she left me in the bar. “Jesse, put me down.”
“No,” I grunt, jolting a little, getting a better hold of her before she wriggles off. Did Sarah say something? Is that what this is about? I look at Kate flanking me, her face demanding answers. I’d love to enlighten her. “It’s fine, Kate.” My jaw is aching it’s so tense. “I just need a little chat with Ava.”
She falls back, and I increase my stride, walking through the middle of endless staff who’ve cleared the tables in the summer room. For fuck’s sake, the band’s not even started yet and members are already creeping off upstairs.
I stomp down the corridor as John leaves my office. He laughs. He fucking laughs. I’m in no mood. I pretty much kick the door open, put Ava down, and get up in her face, furious. Walk away. It’s what she does, no words, no explanation, she just walks away. I’m so fucking done with her answer to everything. I also realize I’m the biggest hypocrite to walk the planet, because lying and using sex as the answer to everything makes me better, obviously. “Don’t youeverwalk away from me,” I bellow, so loud she cowers, and that just pisses me off more, because what did she expect? For me to fall to my knees and beg her not to go? I turn away from her, now frustrated with myself. I’ve begged her before not to leave me. It didn’t work. So, force it is. My physical power over hers. Shameful, yes, but the only way when she’s like this. I go to the drinks cabinet and glance across the bottles, my mouth watering. Kill the pain with vodka. Wouldn’t that be nice?
I look over my shoulder, set on attempting a calmer approach. My intentions go to shit when I see her running again. Not literally, she’s walking, but she’s halfway out the door. I fly across my office like I’ve been launched from a slingshot and get her back inside, slamming the door shut with my foot and looking for something to block it. There’s only one thing nearby, a cabinet. It’ll do. She’s not leaving until we’ve sorted this shit out, so I heave it into place.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I ask, trying to stop myself from physically shaking her but being unable to. “What’s going on?”
On a look that could turn me to ashes on the spot, she wrenches herself away and turns her back to me. It’s all she can do with her means of escape gone, but it has the desired effect. That look was a look that should only ever be directed at a person you hate.
“I can’t believe you trample all over any man who so much as looks at me,” she seethes, her arms animated, swinging around, “yet you think it’s perfectly okay for you to have another woman in your bedroom while you’re naked and lying on the bed.” She takes a breath, her anger exhausting her, and I step back, momentarily confused. “I thought John freed you,” she screeches.
It falls into place. All this because Sarah freed me from the handcuffs? Is she forgetting the small matter that it was her who left me there? She doesn’t get to do that and then be pissy with me when I take my only fucking option.
“Well, he didn’t. He was at The Manor, Sam was unobtainable, and Sarah was nearby. What did you want me to do?” Lie there all day, my arms dead, my hand throbbing, until she decided she was done playing her stupid fucking game?
“Well”—she laughs in disbelief, and it’s a fucking insult—“I wouldn’t want you calling another woman.”
Typical. She wants to have an omelet without cracking an egg. Women! “Well,” I hiss back. “You shouldn’t have left me handcuffed to our fucking bed.”
Nostrils flaring, jaw ticking, she leans in, and I know her next words are going to tip me. “It’syourbed.”
I hate how well I know her sometimes. “Ours,” I yell.
