Jesse has disappeared before my eyes and I’m sitting in the bathroom, still on the unit, wondering what on earth is going on. I quickly jump down and run into the walk-in wardrobe, grabbing the first shirt that I can find, before sprinting over to the chest to retrieve some knickers, while shoving my arms in the sleeves of Jesse’s shirt and buttoning it on my way. I’m halfway down the stairs when the front door comes into view, and I see Jesse in just his white boxers removing Cathy from the doorway, where she’s doing a good job of keeping whoever is on the other side out.
“I thought it was Clive.” She wheezes, clearly exhausted from her battle.
“Cathy, I’ll deal with it.” He places her to the side and gives her arm a reassuring rub as she straightens her apron and hair.
“Who the hell does she think she is?” she spits nastily. I’ve never seen Cathy cross before.
“Cathy,” Jesse placates her gently. “Please, go and sort out some breakfast for Ava.” He’s whispering as he effortlessly holds the door shut, like he doesn’t want me to hear him, but the persistent banging from the other side is letting him down.
I look on as Cathy marches off, hissing and spitting to herself, and then my eyes fall on Jesse as I reach the bottom of the stairs. He’s spotted me, and the wary look all over his face instantly has me on edge. “What’s going on?” I ask.
“Nothing, baby.” He tries to smile but fails miserably. He’s all jittery. It doesn’t sit well. “Cathy’s making your breakfast. Go.”
“I’m not hungry,” I reply flatly, staring him down.
“Ava, you didn’t eat last night. Go and have some breakfast.” His tone is altering to impatient by the second and all the while, the banging continues.
I can’t believe he honestly thinks that his demand for me to eat is going to pull me away from the mystery behind the door. “I said I’m not hungry.” I stand firm, my eyes burning red rings of furious fire into his greens.
The door jolts, and Jesse lets out a frustrated growl, his jaw ticking wildly as he looks up to the heavens for strength. I would like to think that it’s the tenacious idiot hammering on the penthouse door who’s causing his mounting anger, but I know it’s me. “Ava, why the fuck can’t you do what you’re told?” His head drops, and I know instantly he means business. “Go. And. Get. Your. Breakfast.” He speaks each word slowly and concisely, but I mean business, too.
“No.” I steam forward, not in the least bit bothered by my half-naked body, and grasp the door handle. I pull, for what use it is, which is none at all. “Jesse, let go of the fucking door!”
“Watch your—”
“Fuck off!” I snap, yanking at the door like a deranged, hormone-pumped pregnant woman.
“Ava!” He holds it in place as I fight pointlessly to pull it open. I’ll never win, but I’m not backing down. No way.
But then we both freeze in place when a voice interrupts our spitting match, and it’s neither of ours. If I was a little cranky before, I’ve just been catapulted into the realms of psychotic. There will be no need for him to open this door because at any moment I’m going to be flying around this apartment like the Tasmanian Devil himself, and I’ll smash it down.
I look up at him with clenched teeth. He visibly sags. “What the hell is she doing here?” I use his lapse in concentration and his defeated hold to my advantage and pull the door open, coming face to face with Coral. “What the hell are you doing here?” I hiss, looking her up and down in utter contempt. Her hair is tied up today, her short black bob giving her a pathetic excuse for a ponytail—such a bitchy thought, but it’s going to be the first of many, I can feel it. And they might not just be thoughts.
She blanks me completely and looks straight at my bare-chested god. Why the hell didn’t he put some jeans and a T-shirt on? “I need to speak to you.” She sounds determined. “Alone,” she adds, flicking an impertinent look at me. Her fortitude will be of zero help. She’ll have to rip him from my dying hands before I leave them alone.
“You’ve got more chance of having tea with the Queen,” I snarl. My fury is building by the second, and I absolutely cannot control it. “What do you want?” I feel Jesse’s hand rest lightly on the small of my shirt-covered back. It’s a silent demand to calm myself down. It’ll never work. The more I look at this impudent hussy, the angrier I’m getting, if that’s possible. I feel like a pressure cooker set to explode. “I asked you a question.”