This Man Confessed(52)

He nods thoughtfully. “Do you want to swim or stay with me?”

“What are you going to do?” I ask, eyeing up the piles of paperwork on his desk. I’ve never seen it so messy, and I know why. No Sarah. But I’m not feeling in the slightest bit guilty about it, even if it means Jesse’s desk looks like a bomb’s gone off on it.

He looks at the paperwork, too, and sighs. “This is what I’ll be doing.” He flicks through one of the piles.

“Why don’t you employ someone else?”

“Ava, it’s not that straightforward in this line of work. You have to know someone, trust them. I can’t just call the job center and ask them to send along someone who can type.”

Okay, now I am feeling a little guilty. He’s right. We’re talking about people of high society, people with high-powered jobs. Jesse has told me that they delve into the history of these people to determine their financial status and medical history, including any criminal convictions. I suppose there is a confidentiality issue. “I could help,” I offer reluctantly, even though I wouldn’t have the first idea where to start, but his overwhelmed expression as he scans the masses of paper on his desk is really nudging the guilt.

His eyes fly up. “You would?”

I shrug and grab the first piece of paper I can lay my hands on. “An hour here and there, I suppose.” I scan the text in my hands. It’s a bank statement. At least I think it is. The figures look more like international telephone numbers. I glance up at him. He’s grinning.

“We’re very rich, Mrs. Ward.”

“Fucking hell!”

“Ava…”

“I’m sorry, but…” I try to focus on all of the digits but lose my place. “This sort of stuff shouldn’t be lying on your desk, Jesse.” It has his account numbers on it and everything. “Wait…Did Sarah look after your finances?”

“Yes,” he says quietly.

I bristle. I don’t trust the woman. “Do you have any idea where your money is? How much there is?” I place the paper back on his desk.

“Yes, look.” He takes the piece and points at it. “I have this much and it’s in this bank.”

“You have just one account? What about business accounts, savings, pensions?”

He looks a little alarmed, and almost irritated. “I don’t know.”

I gape at him. “She did everything? All of your accounts?” I don’t like that thought at all.

“Not anymore,” he grumbles, throwing the paper back down. “But you’ll help?” He’s smiling again.

How can I not? This man is stinking rich and has no idea where and how any of his money is stored. “Yes, I’ll help.” I grab a pile and start sifting through, but then I have a very worrying moment of realization. My head snaps up, finding a contented face staring straight at me. “I said I’d help; that’s all. A few hours here and there, Jesse.”

He visibly sags at my words. “But it’s the perfect solution.”

“For you! The perfect solution for you! I have a career. I am not giving it up to come here every day and file paperwork!” The cheeky swine. He wants me to replace Sarah as his office girl. Not a chance. “And anyway”—I dump the pile back on the desk and stand—“I don’t know how to lash a whip, so I think I’m a little underqualified.” I don’t know why I said that. It was unnecessary and really quite spiteful.

He’s shocked. He’s sitting far back in his chair with a mixture of disbelief and anger on his face. “That was a little childish, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

John joins us again and breaks the uncomfortable silence. “They’ll be an hour.” He slips his phone back in his pocket. “Before I forget, we’ve had a further three memberships cancelled.”

Jesse’s eyebrows raise in curiosity. “Three?”

“Three,” John confirms as he walks toward the door. “All female,” he adds, leaving the office.

I watch as Jesse’s elbows hit his desk and his face falls straight into his palms. I feel rotten. I make my way around his desk and push him back in his chair before sitting on his desk in front of him. He watches me as he chews that lip. “I’ll sort all of this out,” I indicate the paperwork everywhere. “But you need to get someone on this. It’s a full-time job.”

“I know.” He clasps my ankles and pulls them up so my feet are sitting on his knees. “Go for a swim. I’ll make a start on this, okay?”