I start pushing my way back to gain enough space to swing out. “I thought it was you,” she calls, holding the top of the door, smiling at me like I didn’t send her packing the other night with a few home truths. She starts to wander over, and I seriously dislike the cocky swagger she’s got going on. “I thought you should know,” she says, the triumph in her voice heightening my worry. She knows she has my attention, because her smile’s just widened. She thought I should know what? I don’t want to ask. I pull my helmet back off, waiting for her to hit me with whatever it is that’s going to fuck up my day and my mood. “Mikael has hired a designer for his new project.” She pouts. “I think you might know her.”

Dread. It’s like a pile of bricks falling onto me. I don’t have the capacity to wonder how the hell Freja knows about Ava. All I can think is . . . hell to the fuck, no. Ava is definitely not working with Mikael Van Der Haus. The smarmy fuck. He had little to do with the development of Lusso, his partner overseeing the works. Now? Now he’s met Ava? I bet he’ll insist on more briefing sessions than necessary. More calls. Perhaps a few dinner meetings. Lunch meetings. Fuck, no. “Do you want to keep playing at The Manor, Freja?” I ask, going into immediate damage control. Her fading smile gives me my answer. “You’ll keep your mouth shut, or I will give your husband everything he needs to wipe the floor with you in court, do you hear me? I don’t give a fuck if my Manor is brought up.”

Her face is a picture. Didn’t she think this through? I push my helmet on roughly, pumped up on anger, and zoom off fast, cursing. Why can’t the world just fuck off?

26

Freja’s made me late. Jesus, hell hath no fury. I see Ava up ahead, walking to the end of the road. It could be me, but she looks a little heavy-footed. Annoyed?

I whizz past and pull up at the curb, slipping off my helmet and resting it on my lap, and I watch as she leans against a wall, her attention on her mobile phone. She looks up, sees me, and smiles. My beautiful girl. My fingers tingle at the thought of touching her.

Pushing herself off the wall, she struts over, her eyes getting their own fill of me. The satisfaction never gets old. “Good afternoon, lady.”

“You’re a menace.”

Truth. A menace who’s head over heels. “Did I scare you?”

“Yes,” she huffs, motioning to my bike. “That thing needs a noise risk assessment.”