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 will.”
Wow. Ummm . . . “Thank you?”
“You don’t have to thank me for eating.” She leaves the bedroom, her mood still in the gutter.
“I feel like I should thank you for everything you do without arguing with me about it,” I mumble to myself as I follow her.
“If you were still fucking sense into me, I would argue.”
“Are you pissed because I didn’t service you this morning?” Is that the crux of her shitty mood? No sex?
“Yes.”
“Thought so.” So she feels neglected? Poor thing. Let’s fix that. I yank her into my body and catch her mouth with mine, kissing the daylights out of her, feeling her leaning into me for support. “Have a nice day, baby,” I say, sending her toward the island with a tap of her bottom, my eyes narrowed on the dress. Snip, snip. “Make sure my wife eats her breakfast, Cathy.”
“I will, boy.”
“I’ll see you later. And don’t forget to speak with Patrick,” I remind her, making a call to Cook on my way out. “Anything?” I ask, closing the front door behind me.
“I was just about to call you.”
I stop, staring at the elevator doors. I don’t like the sound of that. “Oh?”
“Can you meet?” he asks.
Definitely don’t like this. “I’m heading to The Manor.”
“See you there.”
38
As the gates to The Manor open, I take the longest breath, my grip of the steering wheel tightening of its own volition. I can’t put my finger on why. Because I know Sarah is here? Because Steve is on his way? Or simply . . . it’s The Manor.
I drive slowly through the line of trees, counting them as I go. Fifty. Twenty-five on each side, all evenly spaced. All hundreds of years old.
Rounding the fountain, I pull into my usual spot and turn off the engine, leaning forward in my seat and removing my shades, looking up the front of the grand, majestic mansion. It’s like I’m seeing it more clearly each day. Feeling like I need to take the time to absorb it and appreciate it. Or . . . what? Make the most of it while I have it?
I get out of the Aston and take the steps, slipping my keys into my pocket as I push my way in. I hear crockery clanging from the kitchens, activity of staff from the bar—all noises that are usually drowned out by the sounds of member’s chatter and laughs. The flowers on the circular table catch my eye. They’re callas. Seven, tall, elegant, white calla lilies. I trace my finger down the side of the vase, frowning. Then I pull out six of the stems and lay them on the table, leaving only one.
“Mr. Ward,” Pete says, passing with a tray of silver salt and pepper pots. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks, Pete.” I check the time and dial John as I wander through the summer room, stopping at the French doors and looking across the grounds to the tennis courts.
“Just dropped her off at the office,” he says in answer.
“Steve Cook is on his way.”
“He’s found something?”
“I assume so,” I say, weaving my way through the couches. “How quick can you be here?”
“On my way.”
I push into my office and come to a jarring stop when I find someone behind my desk. She looks up, smiles, and stands, revealing her body in all of its leather-clad glory. Except this outfit has long sleeves. I don’t mention it’s a bit early for the dominatrix. Or the fact that she probably shouldn’t be thrashing a whip after what she’s done to herself. I’m still stuck on the smile on her face. Have I ever seen a genuine smile on Sarah before? I don’t think so. Weird. So weird. “Morning,” I say, averting my eyes, taking in my office. Tidy. No paperwork piled high anywhere. She’s been busy.
“Morning.” Sarah comes out from behind my desk, letting me take my chair. I pull my jacket tails out and lower, scanning the surface. A pot of pens. A box of Kleenex. My laptop. “This is the contract for the new security system,” she says, slipping a document in front of me. “Your tax liabilities for the last financial year, along with various tax forms that need signing.” Another sheet. “This is the company incorporation renewal, and here’s your bank details should you ever need to log in yourself and send any payments.” A Post-it is placed on top of the papers. “I recommend storing it somewhere protected in your phone.” A few rustles. “An updated list of members whose health assessments are overdue, a list of members who have given their months’ notice, and the building inspector needs to come check the extension before signing off.” More papers are placed down. “These are the registration documents for your wife’s new car, her Mini has been released from the police investigation—let me know if I can give them the nod to scrap it—your bike has been delivered and put in the garage, and your driver’s license is about to expire, so you’ll need to renew it. You can do that online. I’ll send you the link. And lastly, the estimate to repair the damage on your Ducati.”