Her frown throws me, I have to admit. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Anything in particular I should allow for?”

  “A big bed and lots of wall hangings.”

  “What sorts of wall hangings?”

  “Big, wooden ones. Oh, and the lighting needs to suit.”

  “Suit what?”

  “Well, the brief, of course.” What’s amiss here? She seems confused.

  “Yes, of course.” She looks at the ceiling. “Do all of the rooms have those?” she asks, looking back at me for an answer.

  “Yes, they’re essential.” When they’re reinforced.

  “Are there any particular colors I should work to or against?”

  “No, knock yourself out.”

  She glances up, startled. “Excuse me?”

  “Go for it,” I say around a smile. I couldn’t give a fuck what colors she chooses.

  “You mentioned a big bed. Any particular type?”

  Big enough for me to tie you up. Big enough for us to roll around in. “No, just very big.”

  “What about soft furnishings?”

  “Yes, lots.” I’ve had enough of dancing around this obvious chemistry. I’m being suggestive at every turn and she’s sidestepping it all. I need something she can’t sidestep. Something unmissable. “I like your dress.” On my floor.

  “Thanks.” She’s off, virtually sprinting away. “I have everything I need. I’ll get some designs together.”

  I stand like a plum for a few moments, my brain playing catch-up. Everything she needs? I go after her, because I definitely don’t have everything I need.

  By the time I make it to the top of the stairs, she’s halfway down. Fuck, the woman moves fast. I shoot down after her, just reaching the bottom as she whirls around.

  She’s a hot mess. I’m there myself but concealing it far better than she is.

  “I look forward to hearing from you, Ava.” I offer my hand, and she takes it, if cautiously. The tingles are instant. And addictive. Jesus, give me more of that.

  “You have a lovely hotel.”

  I withdraw. Hotel? What is she talk . . .

  Realization slams into me like a hurricane. What the fuck? She doesn’t know. Fuck me, she doesn’t know what this place is. What we do. Is she that oblivious? That innocent? I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried, because it’s clearly not my establishment making her all awkward, but simply me. “I have a lovely hotel,” I whisper, staring at her as the tingles ride through me at an epic rate. My heart kicks, like it’s telling me it’s still there. Always has been. Unfeeling, uncaring, but always there. Just dimly beating to keep me in this miserable life.

  She yanks her hand free on a sharp inhale of shaky breath.

  “It really was nice to meet you, Ava.”

  “You too.”

  I look around the lobby, thoughtful. Well, this certainly changes things. Should I tell her? My answer comes quickly. She can hardly cope with me, let alone my manor and all that happens here. She’ll run farther and faster. I’ll never see her again, and I really want to see her again. Feel all of these feelings. Smile and mean it. Talk because it’s pleasurable. Observe her, even if she’s simply working.

  I spot the spray of callas the florist arranged earlier, stepping forward and pulling one free, inspecting it. If Ava O’Shea was a flower, she’d be this one. “Understated elegance,” I say quietly as I hold it out to her, staring into eyes I’m pretty sure I could drown in.

  I can’t describe the euphoria I feel when she accepts it. “Thank you.”

  My hands go straight into my pockets where they’re safe. “You’re more than welcome.” My eyes fall to her lips. How many men have kissed those lips? Admired them? Wanted to shove their cock past them?

  I scorn myself for my depravity.

  “There you are.” Sarah’s shrill voice has my hackles rising, but I refuse to take my eyes off Ava. She kisses my cheek, pissing me off further. “Are you ready?”

  I say nothing, unable to get my eyes under control. They’re greedy for every little bit of Ava O’Shea they can get.

  Sarah drapes herself all over me. I know what she’s doing. She’s not the only woman around here with the balls to do it either. “And you are?” she asks.

  “Just leaving. Goodbye.” Ava retreats swiftly, turning and dashing away.

  “Well,” Sarah muses, her tone full of sarcasm, “it all makes sense now.”

  I ignore her and wander out of the doors, standing at the top of the steps, watching Miss O’Shea hurry to her car. I pull my phone out, knowing what I’m about to do is so far across the line but, again, I’m fucked if I can stop myself. I open the camera and take a picture of her. It’s as if an instinct I never knew I had needs to capture this moment, needs it documented, because I’m pretty sure I’ll wake up in the morning and feel like I’ve dreamt it all. Something just switched inside of me. Something significant. I’m scared of it. Intrigued by it.

  But I’m damaged goods, and she is not only too young for me, but too good.

  She deserves more than a hedonistic, alcohol dependent fuck-up.

  And yet I’m not sure I’m strong enough to stay away from her.

  3

  I walk back to my office in a bit of a daze, wishing I could relive every second of the past hour on repeat. The darkness feels like it’s swiftly closing in again. I close the door and stare at the couch where she sat. Approaching, I collect the glass she drank from, seeing her nude lipstick on the rim. “Ava O’Shea,” I say quietly, heading for my chair and lowering into it. I set the glass in the center and study it for a while, my mind mush. Then I get my phone from my pocket and pull up the photo. The photo of her literally running away from me. The thought is as depressing as fuck, and I cast my eyes across to the drinks cabinet. I feel nothing. No pull. No temptation. Drink is an escape. It makes me forget, and right now, I have something I really don’t want to forget.

  I pull up my contacts and dial Chris Clements, my estate agent. He answers on the first ring. “Mr. Ward,” he says, thrilled to hear from the man who’s earned him a heap of commission.

  “Chris, how are you?”

  “All good, my friend. All good.”

  Friend? Ten million bought me a penthouse, it didn’t buy Chris a friend. “I want to see Lusso again,” I tell him, and I immediately sense his worry.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is fine.” I smile as I reach for the glass and start turning it slowly on the spot. “Don’t worry, I’m not pulling out. I want to show my housekeeper around.”

  “Name your time.”

  “I was thinking Sunday.”

  “Not a problem.”

  I nod, happy. “I’ll confirm a time once I’ve spoken to her.”

  “Just let me know.”

  “Thanks, Chris.” I hang up and rake a hand through my hair. It’s the weekend. What will she be doing? Where will she be going? Who with? I fall into a daydream and walk my way through my meeting with Miss O’Shea, analyzing every look, every word, every move. Could I have played it differently? Absolutely, yes. Was I capable of playing it differently? Categorically, no.

  I could change my approach now. But the question is, will I get the chance?

  The deep ache inside gives me my answer. So does another quick look at the picture of her running away.

  I swipe up my keys and head out, passing John as I stalk through the summer room. “Everything okay?” he asks my back.

  No. “Fine,” I call, passing the bar. “I won’t be around tonight.”

  “What?” John blurts after me, uncharacteristically shocked.

  “What?” Sarah asks, appearing before me, looking as if she’s stumbled across alien activity.

  “What?” Sam and Drew say in unison, pausing on their way up the stairs.

  I reach the door and turn, finding a peanut gallery of surprise. I smile my signature smile, if only to reassure them I’ve not been possessed. Although, there’s definitely something weird hijacking me. “I’m sure you’ll survive without me.” I wink at the boys, slip on my Ray-Bans, and break free of The Manor, taking the steps fast and jumping into my Aston. I rev the engine hard and pull off, kicking up the gravel behind me. My phone is ringing before I make it to the gates.

  “What’s going on?” Sarah asks. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m staying at my own place for a few nights.”

  “Why?”

  Good fucking question. “Sarah, let me breathe, will you?” I say as diplomatically as I can. If she’s not trying to make me surrender to her fucking whip, she’s suffocating me with her egocentric smothering. I’m not sure which is worse, to be honest. But, as I remind myself repeatedly, along with John, she needs to fuss over me. She needs that and her whip like I need alcohol and sex, and God help anyone who tries to take my escape away. “I’ll be back,” I assure her. “I have a few things to do.” I pull onto the main road and put my foot down, heading toward the city.

  “Like what?” she asks, quite rightly. She’s not stupid. She takes care of most of my affairs. It’s something else she needs, another form of containing me. But, again, I have to let her have it. The alternative isn’t an option. She also saw my face, my persona, in the entrance hall of The Manor, probably even watched me give a woman a flower. And now I’ve gone AWOL. She’ll be having me sectioned.

  “I’m moving a week tomorrow. I have a few things I need to set up in the city, and Cathy wants to see the new place. I may as well stay at my rental.”

  “Right,” she replies, very quietly. Suspiciously.

  “I’m reachable on my phone if you need me.”

  “We were supposed to go over the memberships.”

  “I’m sure you’ve got it covered.” I cut the call and turn the stereo on, cocking my elbow on the window and focusing on the road as Massive Attack’s Angel fills the car and my mind wanders to unknown places. Ava—my angel—is definitely from above . . . although I know they’ll be no love on the horizon.

  On Sunday at one thirty, I pull up outside the Tesco local to Cathy’s little terrace in Hampstead. I park on the double yellow lines to wait for her, tapping the wheel. I feel fresh. Awake. Alert. Fuck me, I haven’t had a drink for two days, and that is fucking monumental. I can’t even explain why. Or how I resisted. It was there, the same liquor that usually temps me back into debauchment daily, sitting bold as brass on the sideboard in my rental. I don’t think I looked at it once. Weird. Very weird. I spent hours trawling the Internet for anything I could find on Ava O’Shea. That might have kept me distracted. And the morning and evening runs. And the dozens of times I went to call her but decided against it. Because, of course, it’s the weekend and she’d have an excuse to either not take my call or answer and brush me off because she doesn’t work on weekends. Because I’m a client. At least, I am for now.

  I spot Cathy emerging from the supermarket weighed down with bags. “What the heck is she playing at?” I jump out of my car and jog across the road. Her beam could split her face when she clocks me.

  “Jesse, my boy.”

  I claim the bags from her hands and let her smother my face. “Hey.”

  She squeezes my cheeks. “You look well,” she says, taking a step back to assess me. “Really well. What’s happened?”

  I cock my arm out for her to link so I can walk her back across the road. Cathy knows my story. Knows everything about me. Every dirty detail. I managed to keep her in the dark for two years, not bad, all things considered, but eight years ago it all went to shit. It was my birthday. My thirtieth. Our thirtieth. I’m surprised I didn’t kill myself with the amount of alcohol I drank that night. Poor Cathy found me in the morning. Called John, who called Sarah, who both turned up and said way too much in front of my sweet, wholesome housekeeper. I never expected to see Cathy again after that. “Nothing has happened,” I say, spotting a traffic warden taking a picture of my car on the lines. “I’ll put these in the boot.” I leave her on the pavement as I pop the boot and drop her shopping in.

  “You can’t park here, sir,” the warden says, starting to tap at his device.

  I roll my eyes and guide Cathy to the passenger door. “I’m helping an old lady with her shopping.”

  I get a whack on my bicep for my trouble. “Less of the old, boy,” she snaps, and the warden laughs. “Give him a ticket,” she orders. “I’m perfectly capable of walking to the nearest car park, he’s just being lazy.”

  I laugh under my breath and help her into the seat, hearing the warden laugh harder when she starts batting my helping hands away. “You in?”

  “Yes, I’m in,” she declares, and I close the door, turning to face the warden, holding out my hand for the ticket.

  He shakes his head. “Go on, before I change my mind.”

  I smile and give him a friendly smack on his shoulder. “Good man.”

  I land in my seat and pull off a lot slower than usual. “Listen, this new place. It’s rather large,” I tell her, not wanting Cathy to be too overwhelmed by the size of my new penthouse.

  “I don’t understand it,” she muses. “There’s just you. Why do you need such a gigantic home?” She looks across to me. “Or do you have something to tell me?”

  “Like what?”

  “You know I live in hope that you’ll settle down, Jesse. You can’t carry on the way you do forever.”

  I face the road, feeling ashamed. She’s right. I’ll end up dead. But sometimes death seems like a much better option than navigating this unknown world. Especially without Jake. “Maybe one day,” I muse, knowing deep down I’m deluded. There’s not a woman on this planet who could take me and my demons on. Or, more to the point, would want to. This chilled Jesse, the one everyone sees, the laid-back guy? He’s a shell. An act. Because acting like I’m fine is so much easier than admitting I’m fucked up. That I need help. Although I know waking up with a hangover each morning pretty much spells that out to everyone I know.

  We make it to Lusso in good time, Cathy chatting the whole way. “Oh lord, oh my,” she sings as the gates slowly open. “This is a bit fancy, isn’t it?”

  I laugh and pull into one of my allocated spaces. The car park is full of vans, tradesmen all working their nuts off to get completed on time. I round the car and open the door for Cathy, helping her, and she doesn’t fight me. The Aston is low, and Cathy isn’t a spring chicken anymore. She links arms with me, and I lead her in, past the concierge desk to the elevator where Chris is waiting.

  “Mr. Ward,” he says, extending his hand. I shake it and make the introductions.

  “Cathy, this is Chris, the estate agent. Chris, Cathy, my housekeeper.”

  “Or penthouse keeper now,” she says, and I laugh as Chris taps in a code to call the elevator. We board and yet another code is entered before we’re carried to the penthouse.

  “I’m sure Mr. Ward will give you the codes once he’s changed them after he’s moved in,” Chris says, and I hear him and Cathy exchange a few words and laughter, but my mind is off again. She’s been in this elevator. I’m beginning to regret not taking up Chris’s offer to oversee the interior taking shape. I may have encountered Miss Ava O’Shea much sooner than Friday.

  Cathy’s oohing and aahing continues when we get to the door, and once Chris has let us in, her awe notches up a few more levels. “Well, I’m very glad I didn’t buy any perishables,” she says. “My God, this tour will take a whole day!”

  “Why don’t you take a look around?” I suggest, smiling. I don’t need to offer twice. She’s off, poking in and out of rooms.

  I wander into the kitchen, gazing around. I’ve neglected to appreciate just how amazing a job Ava O’Shea has done. There’s not a detail she’s missed, even down to dressing the place.

  “Looking forward to moving in?” Chris asks, joining me.

  “Yeah,” I reply, for the first time actually picturing myself living here. Being here every night. Can I do that?

  “So the launch on Friday evening,” Chris says. “The developers wanted to showcase it before signing off. You know, get investors interested in their upcoming projects. It’s also a good opportunity for all the contractors and companies who have worked on the project to network.”

  “Yes, Sarah mentioned it.” I pull up, thinking. A launch. Showcasing. Networking. She’ll be here.

  “You should come.”

  Chris reads my mind, and I turn a smile onto him. “You know, I think I will.” I back up into the open-plan lounge, looking up the back-lit staircase. The detail she’s put into this. It’s incredible.

  “Actually,” Chris says, pulling my attention back to him. He smiles, and I know what’s coming. I laugh under my breath and head out the bifold doors onto the terrace. The jacuzzi, the limestone slabs, the sun loungers. All this would be wasted if I didn’t stay here. The view over the docks. I didn’t give that the time of day either. It’s stunning. I feel like my eyes are open for the first time in as long as I can remember.

  Chris follows me out, joining me to take in the view. “I noticed you’re . . . well . . .” He can’t locate his words, and I find it highly amusing.

  “You been looking into me?’ I ask, slipping my hands into my pockets.

  He chuckles. It’s awkward as fuck. “We have to check the financial stability of anyone who offers on our properties, of course.”

  “Of course,” I murmur. Come on, Chris. Spit it out.

  “Well, anyway, it came to my attention that you own . . . run . . . have . . .”

  This is getting embarrassing. I cast my eyes over to him. “The Manor,” I say. “It’s called The Manor.”

  “Yes. The Manor. And what would one do to become a member of The Manor?”

  “One gets endorsed.”

  “How?”

  “By other members who can vouch for them.”

  “Oh. I don’t know any other members.” He frowns at the view, and I smile.