This Man Confessed(56)

“I’m not!”

He grins and hits me with a full-on, hot, melt-worthy kiss. A long one—one of those kisses that bashes all of the obstinacy right out of me. “Hmmm, you taste delicious, baby. What time are you finishing work?”

I’m released and, as ever, breathless. “Six.”

“Come straight to The Manor and bring your files so we can finalize the orders for the new rooms.” He pushes another button, lowering the driver’s window, before shutting the door and leaning in. He looks so smug. “I love you.”

“I know,” I mutter, turning the key in the ignition.

“Have you spoken to Patrick yet?” he asks, halting my strop and reminding me that I have yet to fulfill his request.

“Move my car!” I snap, not knowing what else to say.

“I’ll take that as a no. You’ll speak to him today.” It’s not a question.

“Move my car,” I repeat touchily.

“Anything you want, lady.” His eyes are giving me a thorough warning, but I ignore it.

“Where the hell am I going to park this thing?”

He starts laughing and strolls off to move my car before jumping in his DBS and screeching out of the car park.





After driving around the nearest car park for an age, I finally find two spaces to straddle. Bursting through the office door, the first thing I see is a bunch of calla lilies spread on my desk and as I get nearer, a little box.

“Darling!” Tom’s croon doesn’t distract me from the small box.

“Morning,” I greet, taking a seat and picking it up. “You okay?”

“Chirpy chirpy. You?” Tom sounds curious now and that does have my eyes dragging away from the box as I remember the last time I saw him.

“I’m good.” I brush it off and watch as his face spreads into a cheeky grin.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. God, that man can do a sexy brood!” He starts fanning his face with a coffee coaster. “Hot!”

I scoff and turn my attention back to the box. What’s he bought me now? “Who delivered this?” I ask, holding the box up.

“Flower girl.” Tom shrugs and returns to his computer, leaving me to unwrap the neatly covered gift box. I sigh when I open it up and come face to face with a graphite and gold Rolex. It’s the women’s equivalent to Jesse’s and stunning, but more responsibility.

“Wow!” Sally gushes as she catches sight of the contents. “Wow, wow, wow! That’s beautiful!”

I smile at her enthusiasm and take it from the box, slipping it over my wrist. It really is. “I know,” I say quietly. “Thanks, Sal.” I move the flowers from my desk and slip the box into my bag.

“Would you like a coffee, Ava?” Sal heads for the kitchen.

“Please. Where are Patrick and Victoria?”

“Patrick has a personal meeting and Victoria is on a site visit.”

“Oh, okay.”

After putting my flowers in water, I get stuck into my work, preparing my file to take to Ruth Quinn’s, and then printing off all of the details for the obscenely expensive beds that Jesse wants made for The Manor.

At ten o’clock, I abruptly come over all queasy and disappear into the toilet to try and throw up, but it’s just not happening. I slump on the toilet, feeling hot, bothered, and tearful. I need to chase up my hospital appointment. Suddenly a little determined, probably because of how crap I feel, I exit the toilets to do exactly that, but I’m soon halted midresolute march when the main office comes into view and I clock someone sitting in one of the tub chairs opposite my desk.

Sarah.

I don’t feel ill anymore. I feel angry. What the fucking hell is she doing here?

“Ava?”

I bristle further at her voice. “Sarah,” I say flatly. She’s looking rather understated, her hair softer than usual and her boobs tucked neatly behind a substantial cropped jacket, the short dresses sidelined for a respectful knee-length matching skirt. “Why are you here?” I ask.

“I was hoping we could talk.” She shifts in the chair uncomfortably, her usual cocky demeanor nowhere in sight.

“Talk?” I ask cautiously. “About what?” I’ve got nothing to say to this woman.

She glances around the office, as do I. Tom is looking curiously across at the strange woman who’s sitting at my desk. “Perhaps I could buy you a coffee?” she asks, returning her eyes to mine.

While I should be telling her where to go, curiosity is getting the better of me. I walk over to my desk and grab my bag. “I have half an hour,” I say curtly, leaving her behind and walking out of my office. My heart is pumping too fast for my liking. I thought I’d seen the back of this whip-wielding witch, and now that I’ve clapped eyes on her again, all of the torment and drama she’s caused is fresh and clear in my mind. All I can see are lash marks on Jesse, his tortured face, and my pitiful body draped over him. She has a nerve.