Yes, yes, I did that. I still can’t believe it but, as I’ve told myself one hundred times, and I will absolutely tell her when I have the chance, I’m acting on pure instinct, and my instinct is telling me to have her, one way or another. Easy or hard, and I have a horrible feeling she’s going to make it hard. But I’m ready. I’m ready to remind her of all the bizarre feelings she had on our first meeting. “I need to be able to get hold of you,” I inform her.

“Patrick should have contacted you.” She sounds cool, calm, and collected. Waste of fucking time. “I’m afraid I’m unable to assist you, but Patrick will be more than happy to help.”

I laugh on the inside. How many times has she talked herself round in circles over this? All weekend, I bet. “Yes, Patrick has been in contact. I’m sure he will be happy to help, but I’m less than happy to accept it.” There. What have you got to say about that, Miss O’Shea?

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She is? She actually sounds a bit aggravated. “Are you?”

“Yes, I am.”

She’s not sorry at all, and I’m not sure I like it. A bit like she doesn’t like my approach? Probably. But if Miss O’Shea insists on being stubborn and refuses to acknowledge or accept that we shared an equal attraction, I’ll willingly convince her she’s making a mistake. “I don’t think you are, Ava. I think you’re avoiding me.”

“Why would I do that?”

Silly woman. She’s asking for it, so I’ll give it to her. Plain and simple. No more fucking around. “Well, because you’re attracted to me.” Bam!

“Excuse me?” She practically coughs over her words, and I smile. She has not one fucking clue what else to say. She doesn’t need a repeat, but I’ll happily oblige.

“I said—”

“Yes, I heard you. I just can’t believe you said it.”

Believe it, lady. And I’m not done. I have plenty more to say, and she is going to listen. I draw breath, ready to let loose on a few more home truths, ready to convince her she’s wasting her time ignoring this attraction. It needs exploring. I know she’s curious. She just needs—

“I apologize for not being available to assist with your work.”

The line goes dead, and I stare at the screen, caught between annoyance and amusement. She hung up on me? She actually hung up on me. How rude. What is she so afraid of? She doesn’t know about The Manor. My past. My issue with drink.

I wince, shying away from those thoughts, because they sure as shit won’t help me here. I quickly tap out a message, spelling it out once more.