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“Ah, indeed, sir. Let me run through that with you again, sir.”
What?No. I reach over the counter, seize the phone from Clive, and put it back in the cradle.
“Mr. Ward,” he splutters. “I was on a very imp—”
I slap a wedge of cash on the counter, holding it down with my fingertips, my way of telling Clive that the money isn’t his just yet. “We need a chat,” I inform him, and he glances up at me. “You mentioned there was a lady here looking for me yesterday.”
“Not Ava, of course,” he says. “Another lady. A bit older.”
Mature, Ava said. “A bit older than me?”
He hums. “I suppose so. How old are you, Mr. Ward?”
“Blond?” I question, ignoring him.
“Yes, blond.”
“Hmm.” I look past him, my teeth going overtime on my lip. Showing up at The Manor is one thing. My home? Freja’s done it before, so I shouldn’t be surprised, but still. What the hell is she playing at? Is she hoping for visual confirmation that Ava’s still in my home? In my life? I release the cash and pluck the pen from Clive’s hand, scribbling my mobile number down. “Any more women turn up, besides Ava, you send them away and call me.” I tap the wad of notes. “Okay?”
He smiles, bright and cheerful. I think Clive and I will get along just fine now. “Of course, Mr. Ward. Have a good day.”
I nod on a sardonic huff of laughter and board the elevator. “I’ll try,” I say to myself, smacking in the code, my mind turning in circles. Van Der Haus. I wasn’t his favorite person before he knew I’d fucked his wife. Now? And if he finds out I’m in love with the hot, young interior designer he has his eye on? How the fuck am I going to work my way around that? If it needs working around. Freja might not tell him about me and Ava.Mightnot. Fuck. Then why is she so fucking interested in our relationship?
I exit the elevator and call John. “I need a favor,” I say, letting myself back into the penthouse, my eyes landing straight on the stairs, listening for any signs of life from the bedroom.
“No,” John says, and I recoil.
“I haven’t even asked.”
“Don’t care. I know I won’t want to do it.”
“You get out of bed on the wrong side?”
“I haven’t even gotten out of bed yet, you irritating motherfucker. It’s only just seven.”
I close the door and head for the kitchen, my mind working overtime. What to do, what to do? “I’ll buy you a bonsai tree.”
“I have enough.”
“I’ll give you a pay rise.”
“Don’t insult me.”
I sigh, dropping my arse to a stool. “Please, John.” I’m at his mercy, and I will do anything, absolutely anything he wants, if he’ll just help me out here. “I’m desperate.”
“For what?”
“Sanity,” I mumble, and he laughs. “It’s not funny.”
“How can I help with that, except smash you in your stupid face to try and slap some into you?”
“You can look after Ava for me.”
“What now?”
“Take her to work, escort her on her lunch break, that kind of thing. Discreetly, of course. I don’t want her thinking I’m having her babysat.”
“Discreetly? When I’m driving her to work? Last time I checked, Jesse, I was a six-foot, two-inch Black man with a chest wider than the Thames and a bald head so shiny you could catch a glimpse of it from the fucking moon. Discreetly?”
