When we’re done, Sal gets up and heads to the kitchen to make coffee, while I pull myself up and head for Patrick’s office. I knock on the door and poke my head around. He’s sitting at his desk, a little red-faced, combing his hair. “Are you okay, Patrick?” I ask, biting my lip furiously to contain my grin.
“I’m fine,” he huffs. “I think Irene might see this as a sign to lose some weight.” He grins a little, making me feel a whole lot better about laughing at him. “I’m glad I’ve made your day, flower.”
“I’m sorry, but you must have heard the creaks every time you sat there.”
“Yes, I did. Stupid cheap tat!”
“I’m sure,” I agree on a serious face. There was nothing cheap about my desk. “Would you like a coffee?”
“No,” he grumbles. “I need to go home and change.”
“Okay.” I slip out of his office and return to my pile of wood, rummaging around the lose parts until I find my bag. I locate my phone, clear the missed call from Jesse, then dial my doctor.
“Is he okay?” Tom asks on a chuckle, Victoria joining him.
“He’s fine, but keep a straight face when he leaves to go and change out of his burst shirt.” I grin.
“He popped his buttons?” Victoria laughs, flopping back in her chair.
Tom looks over at Victoria and joins her laughter. “Oh, flipping heck!”
I manage to hold my giggles and slip into the stationary cupboard when my call connects, and after getting past the guard dog of a receptionist, I finally get an appointment for four o’clock.
The day passes swiftly, with only a few missed calls from my Lord. The calls were expected, but what wasn’t expected was his lack of persistence. He didn’t call the office, he didn’t stop by, and he didn’t ring off the hook. I’m not sure if I should be satisfied that he seems to accept my request for space, or worried that he’s uncharacteristically giving it to me. I miss him, but I need to override this. I need to stick to my guns and the only way I can ensure that happens is if I don’t see or speak to him. It’s frightening what he can do to me when I’m determined to hold my own.
I collect my bag and get up from my makeshift desk, which happens to be a paste table. “I’m off. See you tomorrow,” I say as I pass all three of my colleagues. “I’ve cleared it with Patrick.”
A chorus of good-byes ring out as I shut the door behind me and make my way to the tube, “Angel” sounding from my bag the whole way there. So much for his lack of persistence.
As I’m approaching the station, I jump on a shocked gasp when a tall, lean, green-eyed wall lands in front of me. My hand flies up to my chest, resting on my heart as I breathe heavily. Then I get mighty irritated. “What are you doing?” I ask shortly.
“You wouldn’t answer your phone.” He points to my bag. “Maybe you didn’t hear it.”
I look up at him and find an accusing stare. He knows damn well I could hear it. “You were following me.” I can be accusing too.
“Where are you going?” He steps in closer, but I move back. I can’t let him touch me. And shit, where am I going?
“A client,”’ I blurt out.
“I’ll take you.”
“I told you. I need space, Jesse.” I’m aware of fellow pedestrians stepping around us, some moaning, some throwing filthy glares, but I’m not concerned and neither is Jesse. He’s just staring at me, looking shockingly spectacular in a gray suit and blue shirt.
“How much space and for how long? I married you on Saturday and you left me on Sunday.” He reaches forward and grasps my upper arm before sliding his touch downward until he’s holding my hand. As always, my hairs stand up on end and a shiver reverberates through me. I watch him just stare at our joined hands, his fingers weaving through mine slowly. “I’m struggling, Ava.” He looks up at me and lands me with a green-glazed stare. “Without you, I’m really struggling.”
My heart breaks for him, and I clench my eyes shut, desperately fighting my natural instinct to step into him and hold him. If he’s not getting his way with fuckings of various degrees or a Jesse-style countdown, then he’s breaking me down with heart-wrenching words.
“I really need to go.” I turn, fully expecting to be held back, but he releases my hand and I’m walking away, shocked and actually quite worried.
“Baby, please. I’ll do anything. Please, don’t leave me.” His pleading voice halts me dead in my tracks, pain slicing through me. “Let me at least drive you. I don’t want you on the train. Just ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking.”