I hear the sounds of his heavy steps leaving. Leaving me to deal with the mess I’ve created. Fuck my life. An hour ago, I was on cloud nine. “John,” I call, and he stops but doesn’t turn around. “Miss O’Shea will be here tomorrow at noon.”

“Miss O’Shea?” He spins around faster than his big body should allow, his lips straight. “Have you taken the poor, oblivious young woman to bed yet?”

I start shifting on my feet, dropping my eyes to my shoes. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

His groan is epic, and he stalks back toward me, forcing me to back up until he’s got me pinned to the wall by his deadly glare. I remain where I am out of respect. And because, despite his strange way of showing it, he cares. And he’s always right. “It has everything to do with it.” He throws his arm out to my office door. “In there is a woman who is head over heels in love with you after you merely fucked her. No emotions or feelings. Yet she loves you. And your infamous Manor.” His other arm shoots out, pointing away from my office. “Out there, somewhere in London, is a young woman, Miss O’Shea, who knows fuck all about you. You’re giving her a side of you no woman has ever seen before. A softer side. A committed side. A side that cares, even if it’s driving you fucking crazy. And me, by the way. It’s driving me fucking crazy too, because you’re not thinking straight, you stupid motherfucker.” He takes in air as my eyes increasingly widen. “That woman out there? She’s falling in love with you, Jesse. Like every other fucking woman you’ve had. Except probably harder. Probably faster. And that”—he jabs me in the chest hard—“is plain fucking cruel when she doesn’t know who the fuck you are.”

“You think she’s falling for me?”