‘Ava, you need to contact Mr Ward and give him a nudge. What’s the current position?’ Patrick asks.
Oh....dear. I’ve completed no client forms – apart from the initial briefing sheet – I’ve sent no quotations, I’ve not established my role in the project, whether it be to design or design and manage. I’ve done nothing. Well, I have, but nothing you can class as work related. I’ve not even submitted an invoice request for the second so called meeting that had me running away without my bra. That’s a point…where is that bra?
Oh, I’ve spent a few hours sketching a design, sat on my arse in the extension on a Sunday, but I can hardly put a bill in for that. I don’t work on Sundays, and Patrick only has to look at my diary to see no appointment with Mr Ward. The only things I’ve established, concerning Mr Ward, are not of a professional capacity.
Oh, f**king hell. I clear my throat. ‘I’m compiling the consultation breakdown and quotation as we speak.’
He looks up at me, frowning in disapproval. ‘Your first meeting was nearly two weeks ago and you’ve had a second since. What’s taking so long, Ava?’
I break into a cold sweat. A list of my fee structure is a simple task to complete, according to individual contracts, and usually done before the second meeting. I have absolutely no excuse. I can feel Tom and Victoria staring at me.
‘He’s been away.’ I blurt. ‘He asked me to hold off with any correspondence.’
‘When I spoke to him last Monday, he was very keen to get cracking.’ Patrick counters as he checks his diary. Damn him for making notes on everything!
I shrug. ‘I think it was a last minute business thing. I’ll give him a call.’
‘You do that. And I don’t want you spending any more time on it until he’s coughed up. Now, what’s the current status with Mr Van Der Haus?’
I exhale in relief, launching into an enthusiastic update on The Life Building, glad to be off the subject of The Lord of the Manor. I’m going to kill him!
I walk out of Patrick’s office and Tom nudges my shoulder, giggling as he passes.
‘Don’t!’ I warn.
‘That could have been worse, Ava.’ Victoria comments. She’s right. It could have been a disaster.
I leave the office and walk down the street to where Jesse dropped me off this morning. As I approach Berkeley Square, I’m scared half out of my skin by some prat on a motorbike screeching past me. I compose my racing heart and carry on, coming to a stop and leaning against a wall. I pull my phone out of my bag to check my messages. There are two from Kate.
I need some help. Can u pop home & untie me plz?
I gape at my phone, quickly looking at the message details and noting it was sent at eleven. Is she still there? I open the next.
Don’t panic! Sam’s being a knob. I would love 2 c your face. Xxx
Oh yes, Sam the comedian. But a small part of me wonders if there’s an element of truth in his joke. Jesse wasn’t at all surprised when I mentioned it to him. Fun, Kate said. Hmmm. I bet.
I look at the time. It’s five past one. Okay, he’s late and I’m offended. How long should I wait? I ponder how desperate I am by standing here and glance up to be confronted with the handsome face I love so much. He’s straddling the screeching motorbike that I want to smash into a million pieces. I feel my lips curve into a semi grin as I push myself away from the wall and walk over to him. He’s just beyond sexy on that death trap.
‘Good afternoon, lady.’ He sits on the bike with his helmet resting between his thighs, wearing no leather, just jeans and a white t-shirt. I can’t help but think how irresponsible it is. He looks delicious, though.
‘You’re a menace.’ I scorn, coming to a stop in front of him.
‘Did I scare you?’ He secures his helmet on the handle bars of his bike.
‘Yes. That thing needs a noise risk assessment.’ I complain.
‘This thing is a Ducati 1098. Watch your mouth.’ He slips his arms around my waist and yanks me onto his lap. ‘Kiss me.’ he breathes. He claims my lips, making a dramatic display of possessing my mouth for all to see. I hear jeers and taunts from passersby, but I don’t care. I wrap my arms around his neck and let him have me. It’s only been a few hours, but I’ve missed him.
Suddenly, it occurs to me that we’re a hundred yards from my office and Patrick could breeze out at any moment. If he sees me cavorting with Mr Ward, he’ll jump to the obvious conclusion: I’m giving special treatment at the expense of his profitability. After that meeting, I’m already skating on wafer thin ice.
I wriggle to free myself, but he just increases his hold on me, pressing his lips harder to mine. My attempted escape becomes fraught and desperate the tighter he holds me. Placing my hands into his chest, I push against him, and he eventually frees my lips, but not my body.
He narrows fierce eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Let me go.’ I strain against him.
‘Hey. Let’s get one thing straight, lady. You don’t dictate when and where I kiss you, or for how long.’ He’s deadly serious.
Self-assured control freak!
I use all my strength to free myself, failing miserably. I’m out of breath. ‘Jesse, if Patrick sees me with you, I’m in all kinds of shit. Let me go!’ To my utter shock, he releases me, and I scramble onto the pavement to straighten myself out. When I look up, I’m met with the filthiest scowl I’ve ever encountered. He’s proper glaring at me. It makes me mad. And what’s all that about kisses where ever, however and for as long as he pleases? That’s taking his controlling tendencies to a whole new level.