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“I’m sorry,” she whispers, looking guilty.
Yeah, me too. I’m sorry for being unable to control my possessiveness. Or my thoughts. Or, apparently, my fucking woman. I get up and walk to the dressing room, hoping to walk off some of the tension, my mind back to Ava, her working day, and who she might be meeting. Good God, this is horrific. Has she spoken to him? And again, does Van Der Haus know she’s with me? Notseeingme. Notdatingme. Butwithme. How the fuck can I find out without asking Freja? Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so hasty and withdrawn her invite. Perhaps I should have made sure I kept her onside. Plied her for information. I pull on my navy suit trousers, laughing at my stupid self. And what would she have wanted in return? Stupid fucking question. I’m backed into a corner here. “Fuck it,” I snap quietly, shrugging on a shirt, buttoning it up roughly, getting some socks and shoes on, and plucking a gray tie from the drawer. In the grand scheme of things, only having one woman on my back is quite an achievement given how many there could be. I flip my collar up and slip my tie around my neck, thoughtful as I knot it. Clive said mature, blond. That’s half the women at The Manor, so what if it wasn’t Freja who was sniffing around? But... who else?
I grab my jacket, slip it on, and head to the bedroom, growing increasingly worried about the day ahead. My cause isn’t helped when I discover Ava, hair pinned up loosely, makeup perfect, her body encased in a beautiful red dress. She’s a man magnet.
“I like your dress,” I say quietly, reaching for my tie to straighten the knot as she turns, clearly delighted by what she finds.
“I like your suit.”
I smile, appreciative of her appreciation, while she gathers what she needs and puts her bag on the bed. But not appreciative enough to stay home and binge on me. I tug my collar down, grumpy, as she ploughs through her handbag, her forehead heavy. I leave her to it and go to the bathroom, pulling my aftershave out of the cupboard and tipping some in my palm. I rub my hands together as I return to Ava. She’s still digging through her bag.
“Lost something?” I ask, patting at my face.
“My pills,” she mutters, slamming her bag down on a quiet curse. My hands still on my cheeks, my whole big body tense. Guilty.Keep your mouth shut, Ward. She didn’t notice that yesterday? Does that mean she didn’t take a pill yesterday?
“Again?” I ask, dragging my hands down my face. I need to sew my fucking mouth shut. Ava glances up, her cheeks turning pink. She’s embarrassed. I need to get out of here sharpish before I clue her in on my guilt. “I’ll see you later.” I quickly kiss her cheek and make a speedy departure, reaching up and wiping my brow.
I take the stairs, looking back over my shoulder, hoping my unusually keen escape hasn’t made me look as guilty as I am. Jesus Christ, I’ve tried to trap her. But is it trapping if she wants to be here? Listen to me. I’m disgraceful—I’m fully aware of that, and yet...I can’t stop myself. This...compulsion. God, if anyone could only hear my thought process. The justifications. Problem is, time isn’t on my side, and not only because I’m considerably older than the object of my affections. There are so many ghosts chasing me, and I know deep down they can’t stay ghosts forever. Not to mention the fact that I’m actually quite worried I’ve pickled my reproductive system with too many years of binge drinking. Stealing her pills is fucking pointless if I’m infertile. I flinch.Infertile.She’ll eventually want kids, and I may not be able to give them to her. And she’ll leave.
I stare at the bin in the corner of the elevator. I could get them out. Pretend I found them...somewhere.
Could.
But...
16
I leavethe pills where they are and exit the elevator, marching to Clive’s desk, getting his attention with a slap of my good palm on the marble. “Mr. Ward.” He smiles, probably because he knows he’s about to earn another nice tip.
“The CCTV we talked about,” I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a note. “I’d like to see it.” I slide the twenty across to him, keeping the tips of my fingers on the edge.
“Not a problem, sir.”
Of course it’s not. I release the note and lean over the desk as Clive huffs and tuts his way around the screen. “Technology,” he mutters, clicking, scrolling, frowning. “Simple, they said.”
I roll my eyes and glance down at my watch, keeping check of the time passing. The last thing I need is Ava strutting out the elevator and finding me mid-bribe of our concierge.
“Simple.” He laughs. “Whatever happened to good old-fashioned watchmen?”
I glance at the elevator, getting twitchier, and am about ready to seize the controls and help him along when he sings, “Aha. Here we are.”
Thank God. Leaning over the desk, I squint, trying to focus on the figure by the pedestrian gate. “You can’t zoom in?” I ask, getting my face closer.
“I suppose there’s some fancy gadget on here that’ll give us a close-up.”
But it might take until next year for him to find it. I look at the elevator again, listening. Fuck it. “Let me,” I say, rounding his desk and hijacking the controls. “Watch and learn, Clive.” I click a few buttons and zoom in on the gates, squinting, feeling Clive bend and get close too.
“It’s a bit grainy, huh?”
“Yeah,” I agree, biting my lip. Tall. Slim. Blond hair. Freja Van Der Haus.I think. Definitely not Coral. I exhale, straightening, looking over my shoulder to the elevator. “Remember our deal?” I ask Clive as he removes his hat and tucks the twenty inside.
“Remember,” he confirms as I head out. “I also have a message for you from maintenance.” He starts scratching around on his desk. “Something about the door.”
“Talk to Ava,” I shout back. “She’s the lady of the house.” I break out into the sunshine and slip on my shades, pulling my phone from my pocket to call the florist but falter when I see John. My surprise is real. I half expected him to quit his job and our friendship. “All right?” I call, pushing my key fob to open my Aston.
He looks over his glasses at me, his face deadpan. I’ll take it as a yes, since he’s not growled or threatened to pummel me. He hasn’t even called me a motherfucker.It could be a great day. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you look it?”
