“What kind of things?”
“People.”
He recoils. “P . . . p . . . people?”
“Yes, people.” I head for the door, smiling to myself. Poor fucker probably thinks he’s walked into a butchering house. “I’ll be in my office.”
As I pass through the lobby, a smile on my face, I see the local florist renewing the flower arrangement on the ornate, round showpiece of a table that holds court. I stop and admire the simple spray of calla lilies.
“Mr. Ward,” she says, pausing with the tweaking of the tall stems. “It’s a beautiful day.”
I look at the imposing double doors that lead to the circular driveway. “I’ll take your word for it,” I say, returning my attention to her. She’s smiling, all dreamy, and I dazzle her with my knockout beam. She gets herself in a bit of a fluster, returning to the arrangement that looks pretty fucking perfect to me. “They’re beautiful,” I say, reaching for one of the lilies and stroking the velvety white head.
She pauses again, her eyes falling to my fingers. She’s wondering what these hands are capable of. I’ll leave her with that thought. “Have a great day.” I continue to my office.
Sarah is in the summer room when I pass through, talking to a woman I don’t recognize. It’s not unusual, what with new members joining every week. “Hi,” I say as I pass.
“Oh, Jesse, this is Geraldine,” Sarah says, and I stop. “She’s a new member. I’m just showing her around. Geraldine, this is Jesse Ward. He owns The Manor.”
My hand comes up as I take her in. Mid-forties, perhaps. Professional. A lawyer, most likely. She’s got an air of supremacy about her. Uptight. Finds it hard to let herself go. She’s come to the right place. “Welcome to The Manor.” I dazzle her with my signature smile, and I see her throat bulge from her poorly hidden swallow.
She coughs, accepting my hand, and I give it just enough of a squeeze to have her mind race with curiosity. “Thank you.” She smiles coyly as I flex my grip. “I look forward to spending time here.”
I bet she does. “You’ll never want to leave,” I assure her, backing away. “See you around.”
Her head cocks. “You will.” She’s wondering whether I dabble. She’ll soon find out.
I don’t have to look at Sarah to know her lips will be tight. “Let me show you the private suites,” she says, virtually pulling Geraldine away.
I make it to my office and grab a water from the fridge, downing the lot in one fell swoop. My eyes fall to my drinks cabinet. Then to the clock. Back to my drinks cabinet. My jaw clenches. Back to the clock.
My phone ringing is my savior, and I answer as I wander to my desk and slump down in my chair. “Cathy.”
“I’m at your rental. You’re not here.”
“I stayed at The Manor last night.”
“You stay at The Manor most nights. There are only so many times I can clean the bathrooms and floors around here. I may as well be a housekeeper there.”
I laugh. “You don’t want to be a housekeeper here, Cathy, trust me.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t suit you.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I used to ride horses in Ireland, you know. I’d whip that place into shape in no time using one of those floggers of yours.”
I fall apart laughing at my desk, imagining Cathy, my dear, wholesome housekeeper, cracking a whip in the communal room. “I know you would, Cathy. But I need you at my place.”
“What for, boy? You’re hardly ever here for me to cook for. You drop washing off sporadically. Honestly, finding your ski equipment here the other day was the highlight of my week.”
I smile. I knew it would be, hence I dropped it off on my way through. She’s indirectly telling me that I should be at home rather than lording it up here. I’ve tried being at home. Numerous times. It’s torture of the worst degree. I’m not good at being on my own, especially when drink is added to the lonely mix which, inevitably, it always is. That rental has been sitting there for years, mostly unlived in. But it serves as a great crash pad on the odd occasion the boys and I venture into the city on a night out. My new penthouse at Lusso can’t just be a crash pad. Not at ten million fucking quid. “Well, my new place is somewhat larger than the rental. It’ll keep you busy.”
“And will you be living there?”
“Yes,” I reply. You’re a deluded prick, Ward. “I plan on it, yes.” I planned on staying at the rental too, but the rental is cold, sparse, and unhomely. My new place is anything but. I ignore the part of my brain that’s currently telling me Lusso will just be another discarded part on my never-ending pile of attempts to fix myself. The car, the bikes, the apartments miles away from here. They’re all supposed to help me escape. But they don’t. Nothing helps me escape. I glance across to my drinks cabinet again. Well, not really nothing. Another glance at the clock.
“Ooh, I can’t wait to see it,” Cathy chimes. “When do you move in?”
“A week Saturday.”
“Great. I’m off to polish your snowboard.” She hangs up, and my eyes remain fixed on the clock, watching the second hand glide around the face. I roll my shoulders. Stretch my legs under my desk. Swipe a hand through my hair. Run. I should run. I rise from my chair to go change into my running gear just as Sarah strides in.
“Your noon meeting will be here soon.”
My arse falls back down to the seat. “What noon meeting?”
“With the interior designer. I told you yesterday afternoon.” She wanders across to my desk and slaps a file down. “But you had already started on the bottle.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, glaring at her. “I have a drink most days. Is that a crime?” Listen to me, being all defensive. It’s the first sign of guilt. But Sarah and I, we handle our guilt in different ways. She whips the fuck out of men, takes out her anger and frustration on them. Punishes them. Me? I seem quite content punishing myself.
“No crime,” she muses, sashaying out of my office.
“Why can’t you do the meeting?” I call.
“I’ve got memberships to deal with. When your meeting’s done, we need to go over them.” She stops at the door, looking back. “I’ll be in the communal room tonight.”
“And?” I’m not going anywhere near Sarah or her whip. Believe it or not, I do have a conscience, even if I lose it from time to time. I never lose it with Sarah, though. I won’t make that mistake again. I flinch, and by the look on Sarah’s face, she’s read my mind.
“Have a good day, Jesse.” She closes the door, and I clench my fists, trying to breathe through my anger, trying to keep my eyes off the bottles of drink across the room. Having them removed would be the answer. Clearing out my office and apartment of all temptation. But then, the bar is fifty paces from my office. And what would I offer mates to drink if we go back to my apartment?
Excuses.
I reach up and yank my tie loose, feeling suffocated. The last thing I need right now is a meeting. My head’s fuzzy. My body strung. My mood low. Shit, I need a drink.