I come around to the sound of my mobile squawking, and I pat around my arse, feeling it vibrating against me. I hold it up. Frown at the number. “Hello?” I answer groggily, swinging my legs off the couch and rising on a halfhearted stretch.

“Mr. Ward, it’s Victor from the Volkswagen dealership. I think I may have found just what you’re looking for.”

“What am I looking for?” I ask, my brain still asleep.

“A pink van?’ he says on a question, following it up with a chuckle.

Fuck. The van. “Yes, a pink van,” I confirm, looking at the window. It’s daylight. What the fuck? I glance at my watch and balk, then swing around when the door to my office opens. Sarah stutters to a stop when she sees me, understandable confusion in her eyes. “Email me the details.” I hang up and show the ceiling my palms. “What day is it?” I ask, disorientated.

“Wednesday. Have you been there all night?”

Shit, I must have conked out. I’ve never slept so long. I shake my head clear, trying to get a grasp of where I should be and what I should be doing.

“Coffee?” Sarah asks, obviously seeing my muddle.

Yes, coffee. “Please.” I drop to my arse, my head in my hands, willing myself to wake up.

“And then perhaps a shower?”

“Please,” I say again, just as the big guy strides in.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Morning.” My arms go into the air, my stretch now epic, and I yawn like a lion. Fucking hell, that felt good. I stand and face my audience with a smile. I get to see Ava today. I’ll take her to dinner. Devour her for dessert. “What’s on the agenda?”

There’s no hiding their bewildered expressions. “The pool guy will be here at ten to fit a new seal.”

“Do I need to be here?” I ask.

“No.”

“Good.” I get on my way, passing between the middle of them. “I’m going for a run.”

“What about your coffee?” Sarah calls, tailing me.

“I’ll have one when I’m back.” My phone dings and I find an email from the dealership. The images of the pink van that greet me when I open the attachment make me blink back the vividness. It’s fucking hideous. And perfect. I call him straight back. “I’ll take it,” I say, rounding the corner to the stairs. “I’ll have the money transferred within the hour. Can you deliver it today?”

“No problem.”

“Excellent. I’ll email you a note that I want delivered with it, along with the address and other information you’ll need. Good doing business with you.” I hang up and take the stairs three at a time.

“Deliver what today?” Sarah calls after me.

“I need you to transfer forty grand to the bank details I’m forwarding to you.”

“What for?”