Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183150 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 916(@200wpm)___ 733(@250wpm)___ 611(@300wpm)
She rolls her eyes. ‘My friend, you’re blind!’
‘No I’m not. I’m sensible,’ I defend myself. ‘And you’re bias.’ I spit. She’s made it perfectly obvious she likes Jesse, but why oh why, I don’t know. ‘Why do you like him so much?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugs. ‘There’s just something about him, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, and it’s dangerous.’
‘No, it’s the way he looks at you, like you’re the centre of his universe of something.’
‘Don’t be stupid! I’m the centre of his sex life.’ I correct her, suddenly considering the fact that I could, quite possibly, be one of many women he’s showing a good time to. The thought is painful and another reason to walk away while I’m still partly intact. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m already in pieces, but it’s only going to get worse the longer I let this go on.
‘Ava, you’re the master of denial.’ she scorns me lightly.
‘I’m not in denial.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Kate states firmly. ‘You’ve fallen in love with him. It’s easy to see why.’
‘I’m not in denial.’ I affirm, because I don’t know what else to say to that. Is it that obvious? I’m denying it all the way. It should make this painful process easier to bear. ‘I’m going to lie down.’ I push my chair away from behind my legs and it scraps along the wooden floor. I wince at the piercing sound. The hangover’s back with a vengeance.
‘Okay.’ Kate sighs.
I leave her in the kitchen to retreat to the sanctuary of my room, flopping on the bed and pulling a pillow over my head. I hate to admit it, but that pouty bitch is right. I can’t build my dreams of Jesse Ward. The thought is like a knife through my splitting heart.
***
I walk into the office for a fresh week, feeling anything but fresh. I didn’t sleep a wink, and I’m under no illusion as to why that is.
‘Morning, flower,’ Patrick calls from his office. He sounds better.
‘Hi.’ I try to sound chirpy but fail miserably. I can’t even muster up the strength to feign cheerfulness. I throw my bag by my desk and sit down to fire up my computer.
Within five seconds, my desk is screaming in protest as Patrick takes his usual pew. He looks much better as well.
‘What’s the state of play with Van Der Haus?’ he asks. This will be a project that Patrick will keep a keen interest in.
I reach under my desk to retrieve the small box of material samples that I abandoned on Friday. ‘These came on Friday,’ I say, laying some on my desk. ‘He’s emailed me the specifics and sent the drawings over.’
Patrick flicks through the pile of swatches – all in neutral tones of beige and creams, some patterned, some not. ‘They’re a bit boring, aren’t they?’ he grunts disapprovingly.
‘I don’t think so,’ I pull out a lovely, thick striped piece. ‘Look.’
He turns his nose up. ‘Not my cup of tea.’
‘It doesn’t have to be.’ I remind him. He’s not going to be buying a posh apartment in The Life Building. ‘Mr Van Der Haus is back from Denmark today. He said he would call about a site visit. I’m going to crack on, if you don’t mind.’
Patrick stands, and I perform my usual wince as the desk creaks. ‘Yes, you carry on,’ He eyes me suspiciously. ‘Tell me to mind my own if you like, but you don’t seem yourself. Is there anything the matter?’
‘No, I’m fine, honestly.’ I lie.
‘Are you sure?’
No!
‘Yes, Patrick.’ I try, and fail terribly, to sound sure. My phone starts jumping around my desk and Sam Sparro’s Black and Gold blares around the office. I frown, picking it up to see Jesse’s name flashing on the screen. He’s been messing with my phone again. My heart flutters and not in a good way. I can’t speak to him.
‘I’ll let you get that, flower. Keep that pretty little chin up. That’s an order!’
Patrick leaves me as I silence my phone, but no sooner has it stopped, it starts replaying again. I push the button to shut it up, placing it on my desk and throwing myself into some work. I find the email from Mikael. It’s brief, but there’s enough information for me to start compiling my designs.
Fifteen minutes later, my phone is still ringing and I’m getting sick of the track and sick of reaching over to shut the damn thing up. I was delusional if I thought he was going to make this simple for me. My text alert starts chiming, but instead of deleting it – which would be the sensible option – I open it.
ANSWER YOUR PHONE!
Oh, here we go. Sam Sparro starts playing up again, and I silence my phone…again. I’m never going to get any work done at this rate. Then there’s another text.