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“Yeah.” Fucking shit. “What should I do?” I cannot believe I’m asking Drew. He’s an emotionless freak of nature.
“Mark your territory,” he says, simple as that. “Fuck. I’m running over for my next call.” He hangs up, and I laugh. Mark my territory? What a stupid idea.
So I pace some more, up and down, spinning my phone. I look at my Rolex a while later. Two hours. She’s been in there for two hours. Don’t tell me a consultation meeting takes this long. What’s going on in there? I dial Freja, pacing again, willing her to answer and not tell me to go fuck myself. Except she doesn’t answer.
“Fuck.” I get back behind the wheel and anchor myself, giving myself a little therapy session, going over all the reasons why Ishouldn’tstorm her meeting.
I can’t think of any. All I can think about is Van Der Haus in there getting uncomfortably close to Ava. Leaning in to see the drawings. Sitting close to go over the plans. Borrowing her pen and conveniently brushing her hand as he takes it.
Inviting her to dinner.
Telling her I slept with his wife only a few weeks ago.
I’m out of my car fast, tossing the keys to the valet, and I scan the lobby when I enter. “Excuse me.” I stop one of the hotel staff as he crosses the marble floor with a tray of drinks. “If I was to have a business meeting, where would you recommend?”
“The bar, sir. Or if you wanted more privacy, I would suggest the smaller snug.” He indicates toward the back of the lobby.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, my skin prickling uncomfortably. I don’t bother with the bar. I head straight to the smaller snug, where someone would have a meeting if they required a bit ofprivacy.
I reach the doorway and see him immediately. Yet no Ava. But I know she must still be here because there are drawings scattered across the table, Mikael Van Der Haus leaning over them. He’s all casual. Relaxed. My hackles rise. In abusinessmeeting.
He looks up, stilling when he finds me at the door. Just the slow rise of his body to full height tells me plenty. But not enough. “Mr. Van Der Haus,” I say, stuffing my hands into my pockets as I wander in. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yes,” he replies slowly. I detect the animosity. The contempt.He knows.“If you don’t mind, I’m in the middle of a business meeting.”
“I do mind.” I reach the table and glance down at Ava’s work. As ever, it’s spectacular. She should be working for herself. Reaping the benefits, not working herself stupid for someone else’s gain. “Very extravagant,” I muse, my fists involuntarily clenching in my pockets.
“A little like that sex dungeon you run.” His retort is loaded with hostility, and when I glance up at him, I find his expression is too. “Have you fucked my wife there recently?”
He’s straight in with a blow below the belt. “I don’t fuckanyonethere anymore.” Let’s make that clear.
“Oh?” he says, tilting his head. He doesn’t believe me. “Anymore?”
“Since I’ve settled down. I’m a one-woman man, now.”
He laughs, and it’s like nails across my skin. “You? No woman in their right mind wouldsettle downwith you, Ward.”
I frown to myself, something not adding up. “Well,onehas.”
“Who? I’ll pass on the number of a good psychiatrist.”
Who?He doesn’t know?Fuck. I should be panicking, trying to dig myself out of the hole I just put myself in. But instead, I turn my attention to the drawings, running my finger to the bottom right corner where Ava’s name is displayed. “This is the woman who designed Lusso,” I say thoughtfully. “She’s talented.”
“Very,” he agrees, sounding a little cautious.
“I’d love to meet her.” Flicking my eyes up to him, I smile, seeing his alpha ego race to the service.
“She was at the launch.” He looks across the pictures, and I know, I justknow, the fucker is imagining Ava in that red dress. “You should have attended, Mr. Ward, then perhaps you would have had the pleasure.”
I laugh to myself, seeing Ava screaming as I slammed her into the tile and fucked her stupid. Oh, I had the pleasure. “Sounds like I missed out.”
“Oh, you did.”
“Shame,” I muse.
“But you’re a one-woman man now, as you say, so I hope that one woman is getting what she wants from you.”
That’s a backward threat if ever I’ve heard one, and yet it doesn’t prompt me to stow away the ego. “Trust me, she is.”
