“Fair enough.” Patrick shifts on my desk, and I will him to at least be still if he insists on torturing the poor thing. “And anything to report on your other clients? The Kents, Miss. Quinn…Mr. Ward.” He chuckles at his own little joke, and although I’m in turmoil with my new husband, I’m grateful for Patrick’s acceptance of mine and Jesse’s relationship. If there will even be a relationship after the next few days.
“All great. The Kents are in full swing, Miss Quinn’s work starts tomorrow, and Mr. Ward would like me to commission the beds as soon as possible.”
Patrick laughs. “Ava, flower, you don’t have to call your husband Mr. Ward.”
“Habit,” I grumble. I could think of a lot of things I could call him at the moment.
“You mean those lovely lattice style beds?”
“Yes.” I pull out the design from my drawer and present it to Patrick.
“Stunning,” he says simply. “Bet these will cost a few quid.”
Stunning? Yes. Expensive? Ridiculously. But Patrick doesn’t realize the benefits of these beds in a place like The Manor. To my big cuddly bear of a boss, The Manor is still just a lovely country retreat. “He can afford it.” I shrug and take the design back when he hands it to me.
I’m happily filing the drawing away when the sharp cracking of splintering wood rings out through the quiet of our office, and I watch in shock as Patrick crashes to the floor with a look of alarm on his face.
“Bloody hell!” he shouts, rolling around among the many pieces of broken wood and stationary that graced my desk, including my flat computer screen. A rip roaring giggle is bubbling in my throat, and it’s taking every modicum of power to hold it back. This is just too funny.
I lose the battle. A burst of laughter flies from my mouth. “I’m sorry!” I chuckle, regaining control of my twitching body. “Here.” I put my hand out to him and he reaches up to take it, his stretch straining his shirt buttons. It flies open, scattering buttons all over the office floor and revealing Patrick’s potbelly. This does me no favors, and my earlier laughter returns full force.
“Drat!” he curses, keeping a tight hold of my hand. “Double drat!”
“Oh God!” I cry, bending over to stop myself from peeing my knickers. “Patrick, are you okay?” I know he is. He wouldn’t be rolling around and cursing if he was seriously injured.
“No, I’m bloody not. Will you control yourself and help me out?” He tugs at my hand.
“I’m sorry!” It’s no good. I’m crying, mascara probably pouring down my cheeks. I throw all of my strength into heaving Patrick up from the floor, making quick work so I can get to the toilet. And I do just that when I’ve finally got him to his feet. “Excuse me!” I laugh, running to the ladies’, passing a shocked-looking Sal as I fly past the stationary cupboard.
When I’ve sorted myself out and composed my jerking body, I walk back into the office to find Tom and Victoria have arrived and Sal’s on her knees collecting up a million paperclips.
“What happened?” Victoria whispers.
“My desk finally gave in.” I smile, and try my hardest to keep the giggling fit from returning again. If I start, I won’t stop.
“I missed it!” Tom cries incredulously. “Damn it.” He hangs his man-bag on the back of his chair. “Darling! How is the bride?”
“Fine,” I answer.
“Oh yes!” Victoria pipes up. “When I get married, it’ll be just like your wedding, except perhaps not at a se…”
I dart warning eyes to my ditsy work colleague, and she acknowledges her near error by snapping her mouth shut.
I kneel down to help Sal. “It was beautiful, Ava,” she muses dreamily. “You’re so lucky.”
Sal’s sweet words only enhance my gloom—until my phone starts singing “Angel” from my bag. I glance across at it, sitting amid the chaos of broken-up desk. I can’t speak to him. I’m a little surprised that it’s taken him until now to call me, and even more surprised he wasn’t so persistent last night. These signs are all an indication of one thing and one thing alone. He knows he’s pushed the boundaries. I can’t even imagine what he’s doing with himself, besides running continuous laps of the Royal Parks.
Sal looks at me expectantly, but I just smile and continue picking up paperclips and popping them in a pot. It’s only now I wonder why out of all the things we could be clearing up, we’re collecting the smallest things of all. “I’ll call him back,” I say to Sal, while thinking how therapeutic this actually is.