Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193115 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
“Just get your motherfucking arse over here.” He hangs up, and I laugh to myself. God, would I love to smash that fucker in the face from time to time. The feeling is probably mutual.
On a heavy sigh, I start to get into one of my finest suits, my armor, a mask to hide the cracks, rough up my blond hair with some wax, slip on my Rolex and brogues, and head to the new wing.
I find John in the farthest room, staring at the ceiling. “What’s the problem?”
His head drops, and I get a rare glimpse of his eyes as he stares over his wraparounds at me. “Are you happy with them?” He motions to where four thick oak beams span the width at even intervals.
“They look great.”
John raises his arms, and I frown, wondering what the fuck he’s doing. Then he launches his big body upward and wraps his hands over the top of a beam, his huge, imposing frame dangling from the ceiling. I recoil. More so when I hear an almighty crack. “What the fuck?”
John drops to his feet. “Still happy?”
“There was no mention of reinforcements,” the scrawny man next to him says, sounding panicked.
Well, fuck me. “How many of these have been installed?” I ask, mentally calculating the number of new rooms and how many beams are in each.
“All of them,” John grunts, throwing an accusing glare the guy’s way.
Oh. Well, that’s fucking great. “We need to fix this,” I say, looking across to the contractor who’s franticly flicking through his phone, probably searching for the email that makes no mention of reinforcements. Whatever. We’re here now and it needs sorting out. Jesus, I’ll have personal injury claims thrown at me left and right. “We need to hang things from these, mate,” I say, pointing to the ceiling.
“What kind of things?”
“People.”
He recoils. “P . . . p . . . people?”
“Yes, people.” I head for the door, smiling to myself. Poor fucker probably thinks he’s walked into a butchering house. “I’ll be in my office.”
As I pass through the lobby, a smile on my face, I see the local florist renewing the flower arrangement on the ornate, round showpiece of a table that holds court. I stop and admire the simple spray of calla lilies.
“Mr. Ward,” she says, pausing with the tweaking of the tall stems. “It’s a beautiful day.”
I look at the imposing double doors that lead to the circular driveway. “I’ll take your word for it,” I say, returning my attention to her. She’s smiling, all dreamy, and I dazzle her with my knockout beam. She gets herself in a bit of a fluster, returning to the arrangement that looks pretty fucking perfect to me. “They’re beautiful,” I say, reaching for one of the lilies and stroking the velvety white head.
She pauses again, her eyes falling to my fingers. She’s wondering what these hands are capable of. I’ll leave her with that thought. “Have a great day.” I continue to my office.
Sarah is in the summer room when I pass through, talking to a woman I don’t recognize. It’s not unusual, what with new members joining every week. “Hi,” I say as I pass.
“Oh, Jesse, this is Geraldine,” Sarah says, and I stop. “She’s a new member. I’m just showing her around. Geraldine, this is Jesse Ward. He owns The Manor.”
My hand comes up as I take her in. Mid-forties, perhaps. Professional. A lawyer, most likely. She’s got an air of supremacy about her. Uptight. Finds it hard to let herself go. She’s come to the right place. “Welcome to The Manor.” I dazzle her with my signature smile, and I see her throat bulge from her poorly hidden swallow.
She coughs, accepting my hand, and I give it just enough of a squeeze to have her mind race with curiosity. “Thank you.” She smiles coyly as I flex my grip. “I look forward to spending time here.”
I bet she does. “You’ll never want to leave,” I assure her, backing away. “See you around.”
Her head cocks. “You will.” She’s wondering whether I dabble. She’ll soon find out.
I don’t have to look at Sarah to know her lips will be tight. “Let me show you the private suites,” she says, virtually pulling Geraldine away.
I make it to my office and grab a water from the fridge, downing the lot in one fell swoop. My eyes fall to my drinks cabinet. Then to the clock. Back to my drinks cabinet. My jaw clenches. Back to the clock.
My phone ringing is my savior, and I answer as I wander to my desk and slump down in my chair. “Cathy.”
“I’m at your rental. You’re not here.”
“I stayed at The Manor last night.”
“You stay at The Manor most nights. There are only so many times I can clean the bathrooms and floors around here. I may as well be a housekeeper there.”