“Oh, for the love of fucking God.” I laugh, my head falling back. “Coral, how many times have I got to go over this with you?” I drop my serious eyes to hers. “I fucked you. In case you didn’t notice, that happens a lot around here.” I wave a hand in the air, deranged. “People fuck.” I take a step forward, my jaw ready to snap. “And if you’ve read too much into it, that’s your problem, not mine.” I’m done with this fucking circus. I shouldn’t even be here, and just the fact I am, dealing with her bullshit fantasy world, is only escalating my bad mood. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so fucking hard to be reasonable and compassionate. No more. “I’m not interested in you.” It’s not a slap in the face, but it’s close. “Now get the fuck out of my Manor and do not come back. Understand?”

“Understand,” she says through gritted teeth, dipping to slip her shoes on. Then she exits without another word, leaving me heaving in the middle of my office, feeling no less harassed now she’s gone. “Fuck!” I yell, bracing my hands on the edge of the drinks cabinet and working hard to cool myself down. Obstacles. At every fucking turn, there’s an obstacle waiting for me to fail. And why the fuck is the drinks cabinet still here? Stocked? My gaze lifts to a bottle of vodka. “Fuck you,” I spit, pushing myself off the wood and stalking to the door. I need a shower. A fresh suit.

I need her.

I also need to run.

I go up to my private suite and change into some shorts.

And I run. I run until I can no longer feel my legs and my head is full of nothing but racing-hot blood.

But, of course, as soon as I stopped running, the unwanted tension came right back. Someone needs to call the fucking shrink, because I feel like a need a sedative. I shower, change, and land at my desk. I order flowers for Ava, relaying exactly what I want written on the card, and pay extra to have them delivered before eleven, which is when she’ll be leaving her office to come see me. That brings a little smile to my face. Then I tackle something that’s been bothering me since I saw Ava get into that shit heap, bone-shaking van. I spend a few hours trawling the Internet, but after coming up with nothing, I call a local dealership, tell them what I’m looking for, and express my thanks when the salesman ensures me he’ll find something suitable. “Make sure it’s pink,” I say before hanging up.