For the love of God. Where does she find her control because I need some? Part of me admires her. She wants something desperately, I just know it, yet, rightly, she’s denying it because she knows it’s bad for her. She’s fighting her want. I should take a leaf out of her book. I have the same toxic relationship with vodka. “It’s Jesse,” I mutter. “You make me feel old when you call me Mr. Ward.” How old does she think I am? I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but at this moment in time, I’m a desperate man. I need to get her in the same room as me. Where she can’t escape. Where she’s forced to face this madness and fucking well deal with it. “Ava, if it makes you feel better, you can deal with John.” I should have perhaps run that past the big man first. “What would be the next stage?”

“I would need to measure the rooms and draw up some schemes.”

I’m surprised how quickly she answers, but I certainly won’t question it. “Perfect. I can get John to take you around the rooms. He can hold your tape measure.” Because we both know if I show you around, it won’t be your tape measure I’ll want to hold. “Tomorrow?”

There’s a slight pause. I don’t like it. “I can’t do tomorrow or Wednesday. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Fuck me, Thursday feels like years away. “Do you do evenings?”

“I can do tomorrow evening,” she says quickly. That was another rather hasty reply. Has she adopted the same approach as me? Go on instinct? I smile. “Seven-ish?” she asks.

“Perfect.” It’s not perfect, The Manor will be busy, but if that’s all she’s giving me, then I’ll have to work with it. “I would say that I’ll look forward to it, but I can’t look forward to it because I won’t be seeing you.” I start my car and pull out of the parking space, returning to The Manor a happy man. A very happy man. She backed down. I’m making progress. If she truly weren’t interested, she would not be entertaining this. “I’ll let John know to expect you at seven.”

“Ish,” she adds.

“Ish,” I murmur. “Thank you, Ava.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Ward. Goodbye.”

I roll my eyes at her continued efforts to keep it business. We’re way past that now, and deep down, she knows it.

I think.

I fucking hope.

5

On Tuesday morning before I head to The Manor, I make an impromptu stop off at Harrods to visit Zoe. She’s delighted to see me, as always. “Have you been on holiday?” she asks as we walk through to the men’s department.

“I was skiing a few weeks ago,” I answer, browsing the rows of suits.