Beneath This Man (This Man, #2)(48)

‘Too long.’ He laughs, and it’s a deep, rumbling belly sound that has him developing a few more chins as his neck retracts. I wonder how old he is. It’s like the bloody mystery of ages. He’s got to be late forties.

‘I bet you see some sights at The Manor.’ I muse. John’s role is all the more clearer, now I know the place isn’t a hotel or the mafia’s HQ. I wouldn’t want to be messing with the mountain of a man sat next to me, drumming his hands on the steering wheel. He even makes that look menacing.

‘It’s all in my job description.’ he says casually.

Ah, which reminds me. ‘Why were the police there?’ I ask.

John turns an almost threatening face onto me, and I wither slightly. ‘Just some idiot playing games. No need for you to worry, girl.’ He turns his attention back to the road.

I wasn’t particularly worried, but I am now. John has just spun off the exact same minimal explanation that Jesse did, and the fact that he has told me not to worry is even more worrying. What’s going on?

Information. I need some damn information.

I’m dropped off at my office, and John nods his farewell.



‘Morning, Ava!’ Sally says cheerfully.

Oh yes. I forgot our Sal has transformed. She has on the same top as yesterday but in a different colour. Today’s top is red. I like sparkling Sally. I hope she doesn’t get crapped all over. ‘Hi Sal, Are you okay?’

‘Yes, thank you for asking, I’m very good. Can I get you a coffee?’

‘Please.’

‘Coming up!’ She flashes me a lovely smile and skips to the kitchen. I notice she has nail colour on. This is new too, and it’s not beige or clear. It’s fire cracker red! This must be in preparation for her date.

I load my computer up, crack on with some estimates and prepare a heap of invoice requests for Sally. I open my email and see my inbox flooded with new emails, mostly junk, so I start to plough through them.

At ten thirty, I hear the office door open. When I look up, I’m not at all surprised to see a fan of calla lilies spread across the arm of Lusso girl. I knew he wouldn’t take any notice of my request. She rolls her eyes, and I give her an apologetic shrug. After exchanging flowers and signatures, I retrieve the card.



Looking forward to your retribution f*ck?

Your God.

X



I smile and send him a text. I promised myself no contact after he distracted me this morning, but that plan has already been tossed out the window, what with Molly mops and Big John. And anyway, I really am looking forward to my retribution f*ck.



Yes I am and yes u are. Your Ax



I knuckle down. With the office empty except for Sal, I have the perfect opportunity to get lots done. I run across the road at lunchtime to grab a bagel and eat it at my desk. My phone declares a text when I land back in my chair.



I particularly like your sign off. Don’t forget it. You always will be. See you at home about 7…ish Jx



I’m well and truly on Central Jesse Cloud Nine. I decide to give Kate a call while I’m taking a few minutes out for lunch.

‘Well, hello!’ she sings down the phone in greeting.

What is she so happy about? Oh God. She’s not been to The Manor again, has she? I won’t ask. I really don’t want to know. ‘Hey, you okay?’

‘It’s all good in the hood! How’s my favourite boyfriend to a friend?’ She laughs.

‘He’s fine.’ I answer dryly. She only loves him so much because he bought her Margo Junior.

‘Listen, I’m on my way to Brighton to drop a cake off in Margo Junior. Do you want to do lunch on Thursday? I’m a bit hectic tomorrow. I’ve got stacks to catch up on.’

‘Being distracted, are we?’

‘Fun!’ she snaps. ‘Do you want to do lunch or not?’

‘All right!’ I blurt. Her oversensitivity on this matter is making me super suspicious. ‘Thursday, one o’clock at Baroque.’ I confirm.

‘Perfect!’ She hangs up.

Blimey, I think I just hit a nerve. Fun my arse! She’s skirting around this and brushing it off far too hastily. I want to know what’s going on, but I’m making it a point not to ask in future. What’s she up to?

I hear the door of the office open and look up to see Tom arriving. ‘Tom, we need to have a word about your attire!’

He looks down at his emerald green dress shirt with bright pink tie. Colour clash in Tom’s world is highly offensive. ‘Fabulous, isn’t it?’ He strokes his tie.

No, it’s not. It’s highly unpleasant, in fact. I know that if I was looking for an interior designer and Tom turned up on my doorstep, I would shut the door in his face. ‘Where’s Victoria?’ I ask.

‘Appointment in Kensington.’ He throws his man-bag on his desk and takes his glasses off to clean them on the tail of his shirt.

‘Did you find out what happened?’ I press.

‘No!’ He slumps into his chair. ‘She moped and sulked all day.’ He leans forward and scans the office. ‘Hey, what do you make of our Sal?’

Oh, he’s noticed. It’s hard not to. ‘She had a date.’ I whisper loudly.

He puts his glasses back on in a dramatic gesture that suggests he needs to see my face given the news. It’s ridiculous. They’re a fashion statement and Tom’s attempt to appear professional. Professional? He should lose the shirt and tie combo. It’s making me squint.