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)
She turns onto Bruton Street. My pace increases. I’ve got to talk to her. I skirt around the masses of people, hurrying to the corner. I see her in the distance, close to the Rococo Union office. I won’t make it to her before she gets there, and I know I can’t turn up at her workplace. It’ll raise too many questions neither of us want to answer. I’m of sound enough mind to realize that. I can’t put her in that position, and it won’t help my cause. So in desperation, I call out to her, stepping into the road to circle round a group of students. “Ava!”
Beep!
My yell gets drowned out by the horn, and I jump, startled as screeching tires blend into the sound. “Shit,” I gasp, just as a black cab skids to a stop. I look down at the bumper touching my knees.
“What the fuck are you playing at, mate?” the cabbie yells out of the window, waving his fist. “Get out the fucking road!”
I blink, stepping back. “Sorry,” I murmur, looking up to see the door of Rococo Union closing. Shaken, I rake a hand through my hair. I double-check for traffic before crossing, standing on the other side and watching as Ava settles at her desk.
Ready for work.
Ready to distract herself from me.
I breathe out my weariness, drop my eyes to my feet, stuff my hands in my pockets, and make my way back to the tube.
A new Jaguar is blocking the gates when I pull off the main road to The Manor, forcing me to a stop. “The fuck,” I breathe, getting out. I pace to the driver’s side and find the car empty. The door’s locked. Who the hell abandons a car in front of gates that are obviously in use?
“Oh, morning.”
Swinging around, I find a suited bloke appearing from the lane. “Morning,” I say cautiously.
He smiles, motioning to the gates. “Nice place, eh?”
“Yeah,” I reply, taking him in. He’s got salesman written all over him. “Visiting?” I ask.
“I’m trying to get in touch with the owner.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to buy it.”
I’m jarred, my one step back cautious and slow. “It’s not for sale.”
He tosses his keys, nodding. “Everything’s for sale. The owner, his name’s Jesse Ward, right?
“Right,” I breathe.
“Do you know him?”
“Yeah, I know him.”
“Great.” His mobile appears. “Mind sharing his number?”
“Yes, I mind.”
His eyes lift from the screen of his phone, his smile now milder. “Maybe I could leave you my card instead,” he says. “To pass on.” He dips into his trouser pocket and pulls out a gold embossed card. “I’d be very grateful.”
I nod, eyes on him, as I accept, and he gets in his car and drives off.
OWEN CUTLER
That’s it. Just a name. The Manor for sale? I huff and slip the card into the inside pocket of my jacket, returning to my Aston. What’s the fucking point of having a business card if it only tells people your name? “Idiot,” I mutter as I drive past the trees, pulling in around the fountain.
“I didn’t expect to see you today, Mr. Ward,” Pete says as I pass through the hallway. “Congratulations again.”
I smile lamely and increase my pace before anyone can find me and thrust their well wishes on me. The summer room is back to normal, no signs that a wedding happening here this past weekend. I swallow, feeling at my chest as I push my way into my office. I find John at the desk. He looks up, a pile of paperwork in his hand. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Ava’s at work. What do you expect me to do?” I close the door and wander over. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to find the contract for the CCTV system.”
“Ask Sar—” I stop as John looks up at me tiredly. “Shit,” I breathe. It’s going to take some getting used to. “Why do you need it?”
“To check the warranty on the cameras. Two more went down.”
“Great.” I sit on the edge of my desk as John places the paperwork down. I can see the questions coming. “How’s Sarah?” I ask.
“I took her car back and posted the keys.”
“You didn’t see her?”
“Spoke to her. She wasn’t talking much sense. I think the hangover was kicking in.”
I tilt my head. “What was she saying?”
“That she can’t live without you.” He eyes me, his face serious, and I shrink. “That she’s lost, that death would be better than living without you and this place.”
“She was still drunk.” I’m awkward as I reach for my laptop and pull it closer, getting my email account up. Now there’s a way to get my attention. I can’t play that game.
“Probably. Now what’s up with you?”
I laugh to myself. Aside from the guilt trip he’s just sent me on? “Nothing.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up, John,” I say, tapping with too much force at my keyboard. I see an email from the dealership reminding me I need to pay for the car before they deliver it. Stupid me. I’ll ask Sarah to—