This Man Part 37

'Yes, but this one's working.' she declares happily. Honestly, the girl is waif to the point of disappearing and on a different diet every week.

I take a seat next to her, and Tom joins us as Sally hands out a spread sheet of clients invoice statuses before pouring the tea and settling down. I scan the list of invoices a all marked "Paid" or "Not due" and run my finger across the page when I come across the highlighted "Overdue" section. There's one client in the column a just one.

What?

I inwardly cringe. Any hope I had of evading any reference to The Manor and Mr Ward has just been spectacularly dashed. The idiot hasn't paid his initial consultation fee. What's he thinking? I glance up, seeing Patrick running through the same list as me, along with Victoria and Tom, who both look up at me in unison with the same expression. It's an, oh dear look. I sag in my chair, waiting for it.

'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 a apart from the initial briefing sheet a 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 cla.s.s 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 a.r.s.e 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.u.c.king h.e.l.l. 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. d.a.m.n 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 pa.s.ses.

'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 k.n.o.b. I would love 2 c your face. x.x.x 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 s.e.xy 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-s.h.i.+rt. 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 a.s.sessment.' 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 pa.s.sersby, 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-a.s.sured 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 s.h.i.+t. 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.

'What the f.u.c.k are you talking about?' he shouts. 'And watch your mouth!'

'You,' I start accusingly, 'have not paid your bill, and now I'm supposed to be giving you a polite reminder. I was forced to give some spiel about you being away.' Could a full on kiss be considered a polite reminder? Jesse would probably think so.

'Consider me reminded. Now, get your a.r.s.e here.'

Oh, if looks could kill. 'No!' I say incredulously. He really doesn't like being defied. I'm not risking my job security, just so I don't upset Mr Control Freak here.

He looks at me in complete disbelief, dismounting his bike in the most spectacular fas.h.i.+on, his jeans stretching tightly over his magnificent thighs. I s.h.i.+ft on my feet. I'm way too affected by this man.

He glares at me. 'Three,'

I gape. He wouldn't? Not in the middle of Berkeley Square. It would look like I'm being abducted, raped and murdered all at once! Obviously, I know different, but it won't look good to an outsider, and I hate to think what Jesse is capable of if someone tries to pull him off me.

His lips spread into a straight line of displeasure, while he drills holes into me with his hard stare. 'Two,' he grates through gritted teeth.

Think, think, think. I huff. 'Oh, I'm not getting into a row with you in the middle of Berkeley Square. You're a child sometimes!' I pivot and start walking away. I don't know why I'm doing this, he's like an unexploded bomb, but I've got to hold my own here. He's being stupidly unreasonable, and I'm putting my foot down. I feel him close behind me as I stalk towards Bond Street, but I charge on. There's a cute boutique up here. I'll escape in there.

'One!' he yells.

I carry on walking. 'f.u.c.k off! You're being unreasonable and unfair.' I know I'm pus.h.i.+ng my luck now, swearing and disobeying, but I'm that mad!

'MOUTH! What's so unreasonable about wanting to kiss you?'

Good grief. Is he that self-absorbed? 'You know d.a.m.n well what's unreasonable about it. And it's unfair because you're trying to make me feel s.h.i.+tty about it.' I enter the store, leaving him pacing up and down on the pavement, looking through the window every now and then. I knew he wouldn't come in. I'm not oblivious to the fact that he looks raging mad and I have to leave the shop at some point, but I need a few moments alone to collect myself. I start mooching about.

An overdressed, over made up girl approaches me. 'Can I help you?'

'I'm just browsing, thanks.'

'This section is all new season stock,' She runs her arm along a suspended rail of dresses. 'We have some beautiful dresses. Please, just ask if you need another size.' She smiles.

'Thank you.'

I start cruising through the rails, spotting some truly gorgeous dresses a albeit stupid prices, but gorgeous nevertheless. I pick up a fitted, cream silk, sleeveless affair. It's shorter than I usually wear, but lovely.

'You're not wearing that!'

I snap my head up and see Jesse stood in the doorway, looking at the dress like it could spit poison. Oh, how embarra.s.sing! The sales a.s.sistant looks wide eyed at Jesse and back to me. I half smile at her. I'm horrified. Who the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l does he think he is? I throw him my dirtiest look, mouth f.u.c.k off and watch as the proverbial steam fires out of his ears.

I turn to the a.s.sistant. 'Have you anything shorter.' I ask sweetly.

'Ava!' he barks. 'Don't push me.'

I ignore him, keeping my eyes on the a.s.sistant expectantly. The poor girl looks like she could have a panic attack, her gaze flicking, very nervously, from me to Jesse and back again.

'No, I don't think so.' she says quietly.

Okay, now I'm feeling sorry for her. I shouldn't be dragging her into this pathetic disagreement over a dress. 'Okay, I'll take this one.' I smile, handing her the dress.

She looks at me, then at Jesse. 'Urh...is this the correct size for you?'

'It's a ten?' I ask. I can literally feel the shop shaking under his wrath.

'It is, but I would recommend that you try it on, we don't offer refunds.' she advises me.

Well, I was going to risk it not fitting, but at that price, maybe not. She shows me to a changing room, hanging the dress on a fancy hook for me.

'Just call if you require any help.' She smiles, pulling the velvet curtain across, leaving me and the dress alone.

I'm being as pathetic as Jesse by doing this; I'm purposely pus.h.i.+ng him. We're talking about the man who made me sleep in a winter jumper in the middle of spring because another male was in the flat. Is this necessary? I decide it is a he can't behave like this.

I fight my way into the dress, struggling with the zipper where it meets the seam on the bust line. I'm not giving up. I know if I can just get it over that line of st.i.tching, it'll be just fine. I smooth down the front of the dress. It feels lovely.

Pulling the curtain across, I stand back from the floor length mirror to take a good look. Wow! This dress really does it for me. It compliments my olive skin and dark hair perfectly.

'Oh, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!'

I swivel, finding Jesse gripping his hair, pacing up and down. He looks like he's been Taser gunned. He stops, looks at me, opens his mouth, snaps it shut and starts with the pacing again. I'm quite amused.

He stops stalking and looks at me, all wide eyed and traumatised. 'You're not...you...you can't...Ava...baby...oh, I can't look at you!' He walks out adjusting his groin, muttering some c.r.a.p about an intolerable female and heart attacks. Then I'm alone with the dress again.

The a.s.sistant approaches with caution. 'The dress looks incredible.' she says quietly, looking over her shoulder for Jesse's whereabouts.

'Thank you, I'll take it.' The dress is easier to remove than it is to get on. I hand it over to the a.s.sistant and get myself dressed.

When I exit the changing rooms, Jesse is inspecting some very high heels. The look of mystification on his beautiful face makes me melt slightly, but then he spots me, shoves them back and scowls at me. And I remember...I'm furious with him. I get my purse from my bag and hand my credit card over. Five hundred quid for a dress? It is way too extravagant, but I'm being defiant. And I called him a child? This is ridiculous. Where did he get the idea that he has the right to call the shots of my wardrobe choice?

The a.s.sistant begins wrapping the dress in all sorts of fancy tissue paper. I want to tell her to shove it in a bag and be done with it, before Jesse resorts to ripping it apart. But I fear the poor girl might lose her job if she did something as common as that. So, I resign myself to shutting up and waiting patiently while she does her thing.

After an age of wrapping, folding, tucking in and punching in my pin number, the a.s.sistant hands me the bag. 'Enjoy the dress, Madam. It really did look lovely on you.' She flicks a cautious glace at Jesse.

'Thank you,' I smile. Now, how to get out of the store? I turn, finding Jesse filling the doorway, still scowling and still brooding. I walk with purpose, I don't really feel, and stop in front of him. I'm really c.r.a.pping myself, but I won't let him see that. 'Excuse me.'

He looks at me, then at the bag. 'You've just wasted hundreds of pounds. You're not wearing that dress.' he says emphatically.

'Excuse me, please.' I accentuate the please. His lips press into a straight line as he s.h.i.+fts his tall, lean body to the side, leaving a gap for me to pa.s.s.

Stepping out onto the street, I head towards the office. I've only had forty minutes, but I'm not spending the rest of my lunch break arguing over touching in public and my wardrobe choice. Today started so well...when I was complying.

I feel his hot breath on my neck. 'Zero,'

I yelp as I'm yanked into an alleyway and shoved up against a wall. His lips smash to mine, his hips grinding against my lower stomach, his raging arousal evident beneath the b.u.t.ton fly of his jeans. He's turned on by getting cranky over a dress? I suppose it's better than being tortured. I try and resist the invasion of his tongue...a little. Ah...it's no good. I'm instantly consumed by him and the need to have him all over me. I link my arms around his neck, accepting him willingly, absorbing his intrusion and meeting his tongue, stroke for stroke.

'I'm not going to let you wear that dress.' he moans into my mouth.

'You can't tell me what I can and can't wear.'

'Stop me.' he challenges.

'It's just a dress.'

'It's not just a dress on you, Ava. You're not wearing it.' He pushes his groin into my lower stomach, a clear demonstration of what the dress does to him, and I know he's thinking other men will have the same reaction.

Crazy man.

I exhale wearily. Buying the dress is one thing. Putting it on and making it to the pub, is another challenge entirely. I'm twenty six years old, and he said himself I have great legs. I decide I'm not going to get anywhere with this. Not now, anyway. I do, however, intend to discuss, in full detail, his illusions that he has control over my wardrobe. In fact, we need to talk about his unreasonableness full stop a but not now. I only have twenty minutes left of my lunch break, and I highly expect that conversation to take considerably longer.

'Thank you for the cake.' I say as he kisses every inch of my face.

'You're welcome. Did you eat it?'

'Yes, it was delicious.' I kiss the corner of his mouth, rubbing my cheek up his stubble. A low rumble escapes his lips as I hum in his ear and nuzzle into his neck, inhaling his lovely fresh water scent. I just want to crawl inside him. 'I'm not supposed to be spending any more time on you until you've settled your bill.' I hold onto him, squeezing a little tighter as he nibbles at my ear lobe.

'I'll trample anyone who tries to stop me.' He licks up the edge of my ear, triggering a s.h.i.+ver to ride through me.

I've no doubt he will. The man is crazy beyond crazy. Why is he like this? 'Why are you so unreasonable?'

He pulls back and looks at me, surprise at my question evident on his stunning, stubbled face. His frown line jumps into position. 'I don't know. Can I ask you the same question?'

My mouth falls open. Me? This man is crazy delusional. His list of misdemeanours goes on and on. I shake my head on a frown. 'I'd better get back to the office.'

He sighs. 'I'll walk you.'

'Half way, I can't be seen to be entertaining clients for lunch without Patrick knowing, especially ones in debt,' I grumble. 'Pay your bill!'

He rolls his eyes. 'G.o.d forbid Patrick should find out that you're having your brain f.u.c.ked out by a non-paying client.' A small smirk breaks the corners of his mouth as I gasp in shock at his crude summary of our relations.h.i.+p. 'Shall we?' He waves his arm in the direction of the alley entrance on a smirk. f.u.c.ked? Well, we had, I suppose. But hearing the statement from him hits a nerve.

We walk towards my office, and the silence is uncomfortable a for me, anyway. I'm totally wounded by his statement. Is that how he sees me? Like a little play thing he gets to f.u.c.k and control? I wilt on the inside and, yet again, contemplate the agony that I'm setting myself up for. The man throws off so many mixed signals; my poor ego can't keep up.