This Man Confessed(67)

“You bastard,” I spit out, trying desperately to compose myself. I stoop and grab my bag before pushing the door open and clinking on my frustrated heels through the foyer.

“Good morning, Ava.” Clive’s fresh, happy tone irritates me.

I just about manage a low grunt as I pass, walking out into the sunshine and putting my sunglasses on, immediately loving the fact that my present isn’t here, but my Mini is. He’ll have to let me out, and he’d better. I jump in and start her up, and there’s an immediate tap on my window. “Yes?” I ask as the glass pane lowers.

“I’ll take you to work.” It’s that tone.

I do the window back up. “No, thank you.” I reverse out of the space before pulling my phone from my bag and dialing Lusso. “Morning, Clive.” My greeting is a million miles away from the grunt that I’ve just given the old boy.

“Ava?”

“Could you open the gates?”

“Of course. I’ll do it now.”

“Thank you, Clive.” A smug, private smile breaks the corners of my lips, and I chuck my phone on the passengers’ seat as the gates start to open. I don’t hang around. I drive straight out of the car park, catching Jesse’s arms waving around above his head before he stalks back into the foyer.





I fall through the office doors a whole half an hour late. I’m still slightly sweaty, I’m even more out of breath, and my frustration is obvious, especially when I throw my bag across my desk and it takes my pen pot with it, the loud clatter attracting the attention of my work colleagues.

“Feeling better?” Tom asks, his inquisitive gaze running the length of my clammy form.

“Yes!” I bark, wrenching my bag to the floor and collapsing into my chair. I take a few calming breaths and turn my swivel chair, finding three sets of raised eyebrows. “What?”

“You look terrible,” Victoria pipes up. “Maybe you should’ve stayed off work.”

“I can pick you a Starbucks up,” Sally offers sweetly.

I soften my scowling face at the expressions all pointed at me, which have now turned from curious to concerned. I forgot that I was supposedly ill yesterday. “Thanks, Sal. That would be lovely.”

She walks over to her desk and pulls some money from the petty cash tin. “Anyone else?”

Tom and Victoria both shout their orders at Sal, who barely holds back to hear them before leaving the office promptly. I turn my computer on and load up my e-mail account. Tom and Victoria are standing at the end of my desk in a blink of an eye.

“You look pasty,” Tom observes, twirling a pen in his fingers, his turquoise shirt and yellow tie playing havoc with my tired eyes.

“Really pale, Ava. Are you sure you’re okay?” Victoria sounds and looks more concerned than Tom, who just looks damn right suspicious.

I start flicking through my e-mail, highlighting and deleting the mass of junk. “I’m fine. Where’s Patrick?” It’s only now I’ve noticed my boss hasn’t come to investigate the noise.

“Personal meetings,” they chant in unison, and I look up on a frown.

“Wasn’t he in private meetings yesterday?”

“He’ll be in tomorrow,” Tom tells me as he strolls off to his desk, Victoria following.

The office door opens and a woman with a basket draped over her arm walks in. “Ava Ward?” She looks at Tom, and then follows his pointed pen over to me.

“Hi,” I say as she makes it to my desk and rests her hamper on the edge. “Can I help you?”

She pulls the gingham towel from the top of the carrier and my eyes naturally follow her hand into it. “Breakfast.” She smiles, placing a paper bag in front of me, and then reaches back in and pulls out a takeaway coffee cup. “My coffee wasn’t good enough, so he had me pick one up from Starbucks. Cappuccino, extra shot, no chocolate or sugar. Enjoy.” And with that she turns and walks out.

I sigh and push the bag to the side. I’m not in the least bit hungry, but I’m dying for some coffee. I take a sip and immediately screw my face up at the bitter taste. “Ewww.”

“All right?” Tom frowns across the office at me.

“Fine.” I stand and take myself into the kitchen, removing the lid from my coffee and tipping sugar into the cup before giving it a good stir and taking another sip. I hum in sweet satisfaction.

“Coffee for Ava!” Sally walks into the kitchen, waving a Starbucks cup at me. “Oh?” A look of complete confusion invades her face as she watches me gulping down the hot, sweet liquid.

I exhale happily. “Delivered, courtesy of my husband.”