“Yes, she will be a dream to work with.” I wince the moment I finish speaking, all kinds of erotic images trampling my mind. Patrick Peterson chuckles, and my patience begins to fray.

“Yes, she is my best, I don’t mind telling you that.”

She’ll be my best too; I have no doubt. “Her work on the Lusso project is phenomenal. It’s why I want her.” Choose your words carefully, Ward.

“I understand,” he says.

Good.

“However, I will be taking over the project as of today.”

No, you fucking won’t. “Excuse me?” I find myself standing all of a sudden, my heart racing.

“We’ll get the drawings together, incorporating Ava’s ideas, of course, and then a proposal across for your consideration.”

I stare across my office, motionless, my head in chaos. She’s bailed? Abandoned the project? You stupid fuck, Ward. I came on stronger than a sex-deprived sex addict at a fucking orgy. But her face. Her composure. Her body language. I didn’t misread any of that, and if I did, I’m more screwed up than I ever thought possible. She’s running scared, because she felt it all too and, unlike me, it deters her rather than draws her in.

I need to remedy this little issue.

“Mr. Ward?” Peterson asks.

“Thanks.” I hang up and head out, bumping into John as I take the steps to the driveway. “Morning,” I say, trying to sound as normal as possible.

“Where are you going now?” He turns on the spot as I pass him, following my path to my DBS.

“Small crisis needs my attention.” I hop in my car, hearing him calling me a stupid motherfucker. “Probably,” I agree, racing away.

I pull onto Bruton Street and slip into a parking space across the road from the offices of Rococo Union, wondering what the fucking hell I’m doing. I won’t need to worry about Sarah scaring Ava off at this rate. Seems I’m prepared to do a damn fine job of that all by myself. I tap the steering wheel, my eyes trained on the windows of the company’s office. Is she even in there? God, would I love to be a fly on the wall of her brain right now. To know what she’s thinking. What she’s feeling. Is her mind circling constantly? Is she repeatedly swaying between the thrill of the chemistry, to the distress of being so utterly caught off guard by it?

I narrow my eyes. Something tells me yes, she is doing both, but clearly the latter is taking poll position, hence her withdrawal. I need to convince her she chose wrong. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m making it my mission objec—

Rap, rap, rap!