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 pull on a white shirt and my navy suit, grumbling my way through my task, before collecting my grey suit off the back of the chair and emptying the pockets, ready for Cathy to take it to the dry cleaners. I feel around in the inside pocket and pull out a card on a frown.
OWEN CUTLER
I laugh under my breath and slip it into my pocket, intent of throwing it in the bin when I make it down to the kitchen. The Manor’s not for sale.
I’m not looking forward to the day ahead. But definitely still curious about what Dan could want. I need to try calling Steve Cook again too, since his wife clearly hasn’t passed on the message, see what he can find out about Mikael Van Der Haus. Check if he’s got a record, and I should find a way to check in Denmark too. So, yes, lots to look forward to today. I huff to myself as I fasten my belt. This routine really doesn’t work for me. How can I remedy this?
I head downstairs pondering that, tucking my shirt in as I go. If I could just get Ava away from London for a while, somewhere hot and relaxing, somewhere we can both chill out, then maybe I could use my powers of persuasion and convince her she’d be better off working for herself. I won’t mention it would work better for me too, which is exactly what she’ll conclude—that my suggestion isn’t purely selfless. I’ll reframe it. She’s an amazing designer. She’s working herself to the bone, dealing with exacting people like this Ruth Quinn, all to line the pockets of Patrick Peterson. What’s worse, she doesn’t need the money. She doesn’t need to work. But being the reasonable man that I am, I can appreciate why she wants to.
Kind of.
I walk into the kitchen, all smiles, but it falls when I find the space empty. “Cathy?” I call, going to the laundry room and poking my head around the door. No Cathy. Odd. I check my Rolex as I wander back out, collecting my keys off the table by the door and slipping the ones for Ava’s wedding present out of the drawer beneath. Something red invades my vision coming down the stairs, still in a fluster. Just look at her. She’s thrown herself together in record time and looks exquisite. I pout to myself. “I’ll take you.” Down to your new car so you can drive yourself to work, just as you always insist you want to.
“Where’s Cathy?” she asks, doing a terrible job of resisting an ogle of my suited form.
I pull at my lapels, standing taller. “I don’t know. It’s not like her to be late.” Now to her gift. Finally. “You got everything?”
“I have.” She comes without fuss, gripping my hand firmly, and I look back, having my own ogle. She looks gorgeous. God damn work. Who’s going to get to appreciate her today? The difficult client? Will Van Der Haus rear his ugly head?
I hum to myself, stepping into the lift and hitting the button for the ground floor as Ava releases my hand and rootles through her bag. I hear her car keys jangle, but I know she’s not looking for those because I just told her I’m taking her. Her new supply of pills? I crane my neck to see and retract it again when she looks up.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” Didn’t I read somewhere that it takes a week for the contraceptive pill to get into a woman’s system? And yet she’s not demanded I wear a condom all weekend. Again, has she, like me, concluded I’m infertile? I add a call to a fertility doctor to the list of amazing things I need to do today.
As soon as the elevator opens, the mystery of my missing housekeeper is solved. Cathy and Clive are chitchatting, laughing. Since when has Clive laughed, except when he’s rinsing me dry? I narrow an eye on him as I pass, mentally telling him to watch his back.
“That would explain,” Ava muses as we pass.
“They’re just talking.” I can’t let my mind go to those places. I saw them at our wedding. Close. Dancing. I shudder.
“They look very friendly.”
I think Clive wants more than friendly.
“Oh,” Cathy sings, happy. “I was just on my way up.”
“No problem.” I narrow both eyes now as Clive watches me pull Ava past. “I’m out of peanut butter,” I mutter, a little reminder to Clive that Cathy is here for me, not him.
“There’s a whole box of it in the cupboard, my boy,” Cathy snaps, disgruntled. Is there? Which one, because I looked in all of them? “Do you think I’d let that run dry?”
“It should be in the fridge, not the cupboard,” I say under my breath, knowing what’s good for me.