Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“I suppose I should be congratulating you,” John mumbles, sounding surprisingly genuine.
“Go on then.”
“What?”
“Congratulate me.” I smile mildly. “Uncle John.”
“Moron.”
“I prefer motherfucker.”
“And have you thought about how to tell Sarah?”
“Kill the buzz, why don’t you.” I flick through the book, reading a few things here and there. Will she do something stupid again?
“I’m just asking.”
“She doesn’t need to know.” I pluck a highlighter out of the pen pot and drag it across a few things I absolutely should remember. One being information on pregnant women flying. Bollocks. That’s taken a honeymoon in the sun off the table.
“She definitely should know,” John says. “You can’t let her find that out from someone else.”
I drop the pen and my head back. “It’s none of her business.” Suddenly parched, I get up and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, waiting for John to come back at me.
“I called the security company again. They aren’t committing to an engineer visit to replace the camera,” he says, pivoting the conversation completely. His way of agreeing to disagree. Fine by me.
“Convenient.”
“Should I push or relent?”
“It’s just the one camera still out?” I ask.
“Around the side by the garages.”
It’s a small mercy. At least it’s not an internal one. “When’s the new system being installed again?”
“Friday.”
“Fuck them.”
“Okay. You should cancel the direct debit.”
“Have Sa—” Fuck my life. “I’ll call the bank.” Surely I don’t need a million numbers and passwords to simply cancel a direct debit. “Could they show up to remove the equipment?”
“They’ll be trespassing. Besides, the equipment is paid for. They can’t remove it. It’s the servicing agreement that’s ongoing.” John waves the contract that Sarah found when she was here on Sunday. “They’re not fulfilling their end of the deal by actually servicing or replacing so we stop paying.”
“Okay, good.”
John puts his shades back on, looking across more paperwork. “I was looking for the site plans.”
“What for?”
“The Manor. To check the boundaries.”
“Why?”
“I don’t fucking know,” John grumbles. “Not that it matters because I can’t fucking find them.”
I press my lips together. Sarah would put her hands on the plans in a beat, just like she did the security contract. John looks up at me, thinking the same. “I can’t, John,” I say, getting up and walking to the window. “I value my marriage and my wife’s feelings too much.”
He sighs. “Ava’s a reasonable woman.”
I cough over my laugh. “She’s also very hormonal right now. Let’s reverse the situation, shall we?”
“What?”
“If Ava came to me and told me she’d continue working for Van Der Haus after what he attempted.”
“You don’t know beyond doubt that Van Der Haus did anything.”
True, but he’s after my woman and that’s enough. “Still, I wouldn’t have it, so I’m in no position to stand in Sarah’s corner.”
“Then we struggle on.”
“We do.” I head out.
“Where the fuck are you going?” John calls.
I stall, my hand on the doorknob. “Breakfast.” I swing it open and go to the bar, snagging a menu. I don’t think I’ve ever read the breakfast menu.
“Since when do you eat breakfast?” John joins me and sits on a stool, waving Pete for a coffee.
“Since today.” It wouldn’t be very reasonable of me to force-feed Ava and skip meals myself. “Isn’t there any peanut butter on this menu?” I ask, unimpressed.
John chuckles, as if my favorite thing’s absence from my own fucking menu is funny, and Pete’s quick to pacify me. “Not on the menu,” he says. “But we keep a stock.”
“Why isn’t it on the menu?”
“Well, sir, it’s an acquired taste, you see.”
“Is it?” I ask, as John’s laughing increases. I can’t even feel grateful for the therapeutic sound.
The fucker.
“An acquired taste . . . like you,” John adds, and I slowly turn an evil glare his way.
“Fuck off.”
“Now, now, kids.” Drew, suited and booted, strolls into the bar.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Meeting Sam for breakfast.” He leans past John and claims the coffee Pete’s just placed on the bar. “I think he’s lovesick.”
“No shit,” I quip. “And you’re going to make him feel better, are you?”
“How you wound me.” Drew takes a sip of the coffee and grimaces. “What the fuck is this shit?”
“Black Americano,” John growls, claiming the coffee. “Get your own, boy.”
“What’s eating him?” Drew asks, taking his stool as John leaves us.
“Me, I think.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s what I won’t do,” I reply, nodding a thanks to Pete when he slides a coffee and a jar of peanut butter onto the bar. Drew raises his brows in question. “Sarah,” I answer. “He wants me to bring her back.”
“Oohhh.”
I laugh. I’m glad someone understands.
“Yeah,” Drew breathes. “That’s an easy no.”
“Is it?” I grab my peanut butter in need of a hit.
“Is she all right?”
“No,” I sigh. “Far from it, and it really fucking sucks that I’m the only person on this fucking planet who can fix that.”