Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
“My pills,” she mutters, slamming her bag down on a quiet curse. My hands still on my cheeks, my whole big body tense. Guilty. Keep your mouth shut, Ward. She didn’t notice that yesterday? Does that mean she didn’t take a pill yesterday?
“Again?” I ask, dragging my hands down my face. I need to sew my fucking mouth shut. Ava glances up, her cheeks turning pink. She’s embarrassed. I need to get out of here sharpish before I clue her in on my guilt. “I’ll see you later.” I quickly kiss her cheek and make a speedy departure, reaching up and wiping my brow.
I take the stairs, looking back over my shoulder, hoping my unusually keen escape hasn’t made me look as guilty as I am. Jesus Christ, I’ve tried to trap her. But is it trapping if she wants to be here? Listen to me. I’m disgraceful—I’m fully aware of that, and yet . . . I can’t stop myself. This . . . compulsion. God, if anyone could only hear my thought process. The justifications. Problem is, time isn’t on my side, and not only because I’m considerably older than the object of my affections. There are so many ghosts chasing me, and I know deep down they can’t stay ghosts forever. Not to mention the fact that I’m actually quite worried I’ve pickled my reproductive system with too many years of binge drinking. Stealing her pills is fucking pointless if I’m infertile. I flinch. Infertile. She’ll eventually want kids, and I may not be able to give them to her. And she’ll leave.
I stare at the bin in the corner of the elevator. I could get them out. Pretend I found them . . . somewhere.
Could.
But . . .
16
I leave the pills where they are and exit the elevator, marching to Clive’s desk, getting his attention with a slap of my good palm on the marble. “Mr. Ward.” He smiles, probably because he knows he’s about to earn another nice tip.
“The CCTV we talked about,” I say, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a note. “I’d like to see it.” I slide the twenty across to him, keeping the tips of my fingers on the edge.
“Not a problem, sir.”
Of course it’s not. I release the note and lean over the desk as Clive huffs and tuts his way around the screen. “Technology,” he mutters, clicking, scrolling, frowning. “Simple, they said.”
I roll my eyes and glance down at my watch, keeping check of the time passing. The last thing I need is Ava strutting out the elevator and finding me mid-bribe of our concierge.
“Simple.” He laughs. “Whatever happened to good old-fashioned watchmen?”
I glance at the elevator, getting twitchier, and am about ready to seize the controls and help him along when he sings, “Aha. Here we are.”
Thank God. Leaning over the desk, I squint, trying to focus on the figure by the pedestrian gate. “You can’t zoom in?” I ask, getting my face closer.
“I suppose there’s some fancy gadget on here that’ll give us a close-up.”
But it might take until next year for him to find it. I look at the elevator again, listening. Fuck it. “Let me,” I say, rounding his desk and hijacking the controls. “Watch and learn, Clive.” I click a few buttons and zoom in on the gates, squinting, feeling Clive bend and get close too.
“It’s a bit grainy, huh?”
“Yeah,” I agree, biting my lip. Tall. Slim. Blond hair. Freja Van Der Haus. I think. Definitely not Coral. I exhale, straightening, looking over my shoulder to the elevator. “Remember our deal?” I ask Clive as he removes his hat and tucks the twenty inside.
“Remember,” he confirms as I head out. “I also have a message for you from maintenance.” He starts scratching around on his desk. “Something about the door.”
“Talk to Ava,” I shout back. “She’s the lady of the house.” I break out into the sunshine and slip on my shades, pulling my phone from my pocket to call the florist but falter when I see John. My surprise is real. I half expected him to quit his job and our friendship. “All right?” I call, pushing my key fob to open my Aston.
He looks over his glasses at me, his face deadpan. I’ll take it as a yes, since he’s not growled or threatened to pummel me. He hasn’t even called me a motherfucker. It could be a great day. “I’m fine.”
“Why don’t you look it?”
“Sarah’s got one of your keys.”
My shoulders drop. “How?”
“Because when I gave one to Sam, she took one too and I wasn’t about to wrestle her for it.”
She’s a fucking pain in my arse. “So how many people have a key to my home?”
“Including Cathy?” John asks. “Seven.”
For fuck’s sake. “I’ll see you later.”
“And how old are you today when she asks me?”