“Why are you so unreasonable?” she asks, and I frown, visions of the cream dress invading my mind. The very unreasonable cream dress.

“Can I ask you the same question?”

She looks at me tiredly, shaking her head. “I’d better get back to the office.”

“I’ll walk you,” I say, resigning myself to not getting an answer. But I want one later when we’ll be having a very frank conversation about her stubbornness.

“Halfway. I can’t be seen to be entertaining clients for lunch without Patrick knowing, especially ones in debt. Pay your bill.”

Oh for the love of God. How long does she plan on hiding our relationship from her boss? Perhaps as long as you plan on hiding your secrets from her. I grimace. “God forbid Patrick should find out that you’re having your brain fucked out by a non-paying client.”

Her gasp of shock makes me smile. She loves me fucking her stupid. I plan on fucking her very stupid later. I feel out the small of her back and lead her on, reaching for her hand, but she denies me, pulling it away. She just can’t help but be difficult. I grunt and make another play for it.

And miss again.

She walks on, focused forward, silent. Is she moody? I leave it a few moments, knowing she’s waiting for me to try and claim her again, and when I see she’s relaxed a little, I swoop in and win her hand, and I make sure I keep hold of it. Better. Much better.

Just before her office, I stop us and walk us to a wall, needing to see her. This was not how I planned on spending her lunch break. “Why are you sulking?”

“No reason,” she replies quickly and quietly, her hand twiddling her hair wildly.

I pull it away. “Tell me the truth,” I order, but she remains mute, refusing to look at me. “Answer me, Ava.”

She doesn’t, and I start to get impatient. “Is this over a dress?” I ask. “Because you’d better get used to that. My eyes only, Ava.”

She muscles her way past me. “What do you care?” she asks, wrestling her bag onto her shoulder. “After all, you’re just fucking me.” She disappears through the door, and I blink rapidly, standing motionless on the pavement, unable to unravel my confusion. I’m just fucking her?

What planet is she on? Does she think I behave like this with the women I’ve just fucked? She’ll put me in an early grave, way earlier than alcohol at this rate. So she wants me to spell it out? I’m certain I have already, but for the avoidance of doubt . . .