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“And make sure she’s at my table.”
“She’s not been here since she found out what this place is and left you, and you want to bring her on the busiest night of the year?” She looks exasperated.
“Yes.” She’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. Just as soon as I’ve explained to Ava that The Manor anniversary event isn’t a giant orgy. At least, not downstairs before ten thirty.
“And what do I tell Freja Van Der Haus?”
“No fucking idea.”
“Helpful.”
My phone starts dancing across my desk again, but this time it’s John, thank God. I answer, not bothering to excuse myself from Sarah. “John?”
“I dropped her off to get her car.”
I frown. “Why? You were supposed to take her to work.”
“Well, she asked me to take her home to get her car.”
“It’s not her home,” I bark, making Sarah’s eyes widen and John curse his arse off at me. I compose myself. Not crazy. “Ava’s moved in with me.”
Sarah’s eyes go rounder, and I glare at her, daring her to pass comment. But John can’t see my warning look. “Does Ava know that?” he asks, flat and coolly.
“Fuck off. You’re a shit chaperone.” I hang up, well aware that I’ve just signed my death warrant and lost Ava’s chaperone. “Next?” I ask Sarah expectantly.
She wisely goes back to her files, and over the next few hours, she puts me through my paces, reeling off information I’m sure I don’t need to know. I should thank her, really. It’s killing time, even if I’m not technically needed to chew over numbers and finalize the finer details of The Manor’s anniversary party on Friday.
I’m distracted, more than once with a few texts from Ava, and I grin like an idiot as I open them and reply, getting a few tired, impatient sighs from Sarah each time I’m unfocused. Ava’s thinking of me. Forget the fact I’ve made it pretty impossible for hernotto think about me.
“And the private suites aren’t open until ten thirty, agreed?” Sarah asks, and I blink, looking up at her.
“What?”
She shows her annoyance, her lips straight. She’s not pissed off that I’m distracted from work. She’s pissed off because ofwhat’sdistracting me. “The rooms,” she grates. “They don’t open to members until after dinner around ten thirty.”
“Why am I here?” I ask her, not giving her an answer. She doesn’t need one. For years, she’s run The Manor like clockwork without boring me to tears with the ins and outs.
“You tell me. You clearly struggle to be at The Manor since you met the new,youngbit of stuff that you’re currently fucking.”
“I hate you sometimes.”
“Just sometimes?” She rises from the chair slowly. I’d love nothing more than to slap the front she puts on right off her face. But, and it’s ridiculous, I prefer this bitch to the needy, desperate woman who throws herself at me and spikes endless, untold guilt. “See you around, stud,” she purrs, sashaying away. When she reaches the door, it flies open, narrowly missing Sarah’s face. Such a shame.
“Watch where you’re fucking going,” she snaps, and Sam wisely backs up, hands raised in surrender.
“Sorry.” He gives her a cheeky smile and strides to my desk, dumping himself messily in the chair Sarah just vacated.
“Come on in,” I say flatly.
“Fuck you,” he mutters, suddenly looking stressed, leaning across the desk. “You need to tell Ava how old you are before Kate cuts off my balls for the information.”
I stare at him. Just stare at him, aware of Sarah still on the threshold of my office. The stupid fucking prick. I’m going to kill him.
“What?” Sarah asks, interested, and I close my eyes and breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. Calm. Remain calm. “She doesn’t know how old you are?” Her bark of laughter cuts through me.
“Oh shit,” Sam murmurs.
I open my eyes, giving him a look to suggest he’s dead meat.
