This Man Confessed(71)

“Tow truck,” he replies with absolutely no shame or further explanation.

I reach forward and pick up a few pieces of paper, anything to stop myself from countering his ridiculous claim of not being unreasonable, or shouting at him for stealing my car.

“How was your day?” he asks.

I try to prevent the slight tensing of my body. “Productive. Shall we make a start?”

He groans but releases me. “Suppose so.”

Over the next hour, we sort through endless papers, bills, contracts, and invoices. I’ve collated them all in date order, stacked them in neat piles, and secured them with elastic bands. Jesse slumps in his office chair and starts fiddling with his computer, and I watch as I finish binding the final pile of papers. He’s guiding his mouse around, his frown a perfect line on his brow. Curious, I get up to go and see what he’s so rapt with, and as I walk around his desk, he flicks his eyes quickly to me, and then hastily shuts his screen down.

“Dinner?” He stands.

I give him suspicious eyes and lean past him, turning the screen back on. It’s as I thought: baby paraphernalia everywhere. I turn my face to his with a questioning look, but I can’t possibly be cranky with him, especially when he shrugs sheepishly and starts biting at his bottom lip.

“Just doing a bit of research.” He actually looks down and starts scuffing his shoes on the office carpet. I melt at his feet. I could hug him. So I do. Tightly.

“I know you’re excited, but could we hold off telling people?”

“I want to shout about it,” he complains. “Tell everyone.”

“I know, but I’m only a few weeks. Women usually wait until their first scan, at least.”

“When’s the first scan? I’ll pay. We’ll get one tomorrow.”

I laugh and pull away. “It’s far too early for a scan, and anyway, the hospital will do it.”

He looks at me like I’ve just grown another head. “You are not having my baby in an NHS hospital!”

“I—”

“No, Ava. This is not up for discussion. End of.” It’s that tone—the one I know for absolutely sure never to challenge. “Never, no way.” He shakes his head. He’s horrified at the thought, clearly.

“What do you think they’ll do?”

“I don’t know, but I’m not giving them the chance.” He takes my hand and starts leading me from his office.

“You pay your taxes and so do I. It’s a privilege to have the National Health Service. You should be grateful.”

“I am. It’s wonderful, but we won’t be utilizing it. End of.”

“Neurotic,” I mutter, looking up at him on a grin.

My grin is returned, even though I can see he’s trying to remain serious. “-ish.” he replies. “I like your dress.” His eyes wander down the front of my nude structured pencil dress, as do mine.

“Thank you.”

“I want to show you something. Come on.” He opens the door and places his hand on the small of my back to guide me.

“What?” I ask, letting my body be gently pushed from his office.

I shiver when I feel his mouth at my ear. “You’ll see.”

I’m curious, and I’m also feeling a little breathless. From just a few whispered words and his hand on my body, I’m mentally begging for him. Pregnancy might be responsible, or it could just be him. No, it’s the latter, for sure, but combined I could be in a whole heap of sexual trouble.

We pass the members of The Manor in the summer room, Jesse nodding, me smiling, and make our way up the stairs until we’re walking down the corridor to the extension.

He opens the door to the very last room, the one I fled from, the one I sat on my arse sketching drafts in, and the one in which I received my warning from Sarah. I don’t particularly like this room, but as I’m pushed through and the whole area comes into view, I gasp.

It’s no longer an empty shell of raw plaster and a rough wooden floor. It’s now a palatial space, garnished in sumptuous materials, all in black and gold. I gingerly wander in, gazing around, drinking in the stunning space. The huge bed that I sketched has come to life and dominates the room, dressed in pale gold satin. The windows are adorned with heavy gold drapes of the same material, and the floor is soft and squidgy under my heels. I trail my eyes across the walls, finding the paper I picked on one wall and the three remaining walls painted in a dull gold to match the bedding and curtains. It’s almost an exact replica of my rough drawing.

I turn to face Jesse. “You did this?”

He shuts the door quietly. “I gave someone your drawing and told them to create it. Is it close?”