“Watch your mouth,” I grate. “I’ve told you before, Ava. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“For what?”
“To keep you,” I answer frankly, and if that, this, doesn’t spell it out, then I’m at a loss.
But, typical of Ava, she can’t help but let her defiance loose. “What if I don’t want to be kept?”
Listen to her. Who is she trying to convince? Herself? Me? Should I remind her of the words she murmured in the shower? Or the drunken words in the car? Nothing but complete candor will work here. “But you do,” I say. “By me. This is why I’m having such a hard time trying to figure out why you keep fighting me off.” I go back to her diary and finish penning in every single day for the rest of the year, and she remains silent the entire time.
When I’m done, I shut the book and stand, satisfied. My work here is done. “What time will you be finished work?”
“Six-ish,” she whispers, looking somewhat dazed and muddled.
“Ish,” I mimic, offering my hand. She stares at it for a time, psyching herself up. I’m doing the same, but all the time in the world wouldn’t prepare me for the reaction I have to physical contact. I jerk. She jerks, her eyes shooting to mine. How could she even try to deny that? I gently pull away, dragging my touch across her skin, my body blazing. “See?” I say quietly, and she swallows. Yes. She sees. But if I don’t get out of here sharpish, Ava’s boss and colleagues are going to get quite the show.
I’m going to have to wait a few more hours to continue proving what I’m so sick of proving.
27
I killthe rest of the afternoon drinking coffee in a nearby café after shooting to the bike store across town to pick up a few bits for Ava, as well as some new running shoes. And a few other essentials.
John has been persistently calling, and I’ve avoided him. He only calls when there’s a problem these days. I’ve enough of my own, and one in particular is scratching at my mind like nails down a chalk board.
Mikael Van Der Haus.
If he even so much asthinksabout making a move on Ava, I won’t hold back. It’ll be the last thing he does. God damn it, why does this world have to be so small?
Between five fifteen and five fifty, I watch as all of Ava’s colleagues leave the office one by one. I look down at my watch, feeling impatience taking hold. Where the hell is she? A text lands from John.
Answer your motherfucking phone or I’ll beat you hard, you ignorant motherfucker.
It immediately rings, and I immediately answer. I’m not stupid. “John,” I sigh, and he growls down the line before he speaks.
“I’m working to a deadline. These contracts need to be signed, or else the new surveillance company can’t order the equipment, and the installation will be delayed another month. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the thought of The Manor with no security. And Sarah needs you to sign off the accounts so she can file the tax returns. So get your motherfucking arse over here and sign some motherfucking papers, boy.”
“Good day?” I ask, throwing a twenty on the table and rising from my chair.
“Don’t test me, Ward.”
“But I have Ava with me,” I whine, even if that’s not technically true. Again, where the heck is she? “I’ll do it in the morn—”
“Do. Not. Test. Me.” The line goes dead, and the pure threat of John’s words has my face screwing up, defeated. He’s right. I can’t risk leaving The Manor so vulnerable, nor the members. Our security is a huge reassurance to our people. “Fuck it,” I mutter, wandering over to my bike, my eyes never moving from the door of Rococo Union. Did I miss her leaving already? Impossible. My stare has been so focused on her office, my eyeballs are sore.
Then I see the door open, and she backs out, pulling it closed behind her. My smile is instant. I push my helmet on and jump on my bike, starting her up and screeching across the road. Ava jumps like a startled cat, swinging around fast.
I remove my helmet and join her on the pavement. Her semi-scowl doesn’t sit well. “Good day at work?”
“Not really.” Her expression is pure, cock-slashing disdain. She’s still cranky? And then I see the bag with the ridiculous dress hanging from her grasp.
Kill it.
I think for a few moments, sprinting through my options. There’s only one. Distract her from her grievance.
I stroke her forearm, working my way down to her hand. My entire body lights up, despite her displeasure. “Can I make it better?”
“I don’t know; can you?”
Silly question. She knows I can, and I know that both thrills her and pisses her off. “I think I definitely can.” I beam at her, my knockout smile. She’s softening. I can see it in her eyes, feel it on her skin, and judging by the way she looks to the heavens, she’s willing herself not to fold under the power of our touching skin. “I’ll always make it better.” I’ll fix everything. Always. “Remember that.”