This Man Confessed (40 page)

“Oh, sorry! I was miles away. Yes, please do.” She jumps up. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I’ve not even offered you a cup of tea. Or maybe wine. We could have a cheeky lunchtime wine.”

“No, honestly. I don’t drink.”

“Why?”

Her abrupt question increases my unease. “Not in the week. I don’t drink in the week.”

“I see. Yes, we can all get a bit carried away.” She smiles, but it goes nowhere near her blue eyes. “How’s your husband?”

I can’t help the sharp inhale of breath. Not when she’s linked alcohol, getting carried away, and my husband all in two close sentences. “He’s good.” I start to pack my things away, keen to leave. She may have innocently touched a nerve, but she’s still gazing longingly at me, and it’s becoming unbearable. “I’ll get those quotes and call you.”

I make to stand a bit too hastily and catch my heel on the leg of the chair, causing me to stumble slightly. She’s on me in a second, holding my arm to steady me. “Ava, are you okay?”

“Yes, fine.” I collect myself, trying my hardest not to appear uneasy, but now she has ahold of me and she’s not letting go. In fact, she’s trailing her hand up my arm. I tense from top to toe as it makes it to my cheek and strokes me gently.

“So beautiful,” she whispers.

I should move back, but I’m too shocked and my lack of recoil is allowing her to caress my cheek to her heart’s content. “I should go,” I say quietly, finally letting some sensibility filter into my brain. I step back and her hand falls away, a shimmer of embarrassment washing over her face.

She laughs and looks away. “Yes, perhaps you should.”

I hurry down the hall to the front door and swing it open. John spots me rushing down the path and jumps out of his Range Rover. “Ava, girl?” he questions as he runs a quick all over scan of me, checking I’m physically okay. Once he’s satisfied himself that I am, he looks past me and slowly reaches up to remove his sunglasses. I slow my escape and turn to see what’s caught his interest, seeing the front door to Ruth’s home close as I do.

“What’s up, John?” I ask, feeling better now that I’m away from my friendly client, who now just seems creepy.

“Nothing, girl. Get in the car.” His glasses are replaced and he nods at me, so I climb in and wait for him to join me. He slides in and turns to face me. “What’s got you in a state?”

I sag and pull my seatbelt on, feeling a little stupid. “I think I have a female admirer.”

I expect a laugh or at least a shocked gasp, but I get nothing, just a nod of acknowledgment and a face that turns away from me. “Something else to send the motherfucker crazy,” John rumbles dryly. “What’s her name?”

“Ruth Quinn. She’s strange.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Back to the office?”

“Please, John.” I throw my bag between my feet, dislodging the envelope that I tucked neatly in there earlier. It pokes out, reminding me of its presence, and I reach down, curiosity getting the better of me.

“What’s that?” John asks, nodding at the brown A4 envelope that I’m holding.

“I’m not sure.” I sound as apprehensive as I feel. “A courier delivered it.” I’m being totally honest because if this turns out to be another warning, then I’ll be telling Jesse anyway, so it’s of no consequence if John knows, too. I peel the seal and pull out a piece of card and as soon as I clock the cut out letters, I lose my breath.

“What is it?” John asks, his voice laced with concern.

I can’t speak. As I stare down at the message, assembled with various newspaper and magazine cuttings, my casual disregard of my previous warning seems quite reckless.

“It’s another warning,” I manage to splutter through my racing breath. I feel sick.

“Another?”

“Yes, I had one with some half-dead flowers. I just chucked it in the bin and put it down to a jilted ex-sexual conquest.” I open the window to get some needed fresh air.

“What does it say?” John keeps flicking his sunglass-covered eyes over to the piece of card that I’ve dropped in my lap. I read the message to him.

A frustrated curse shoots into the air. “What did the other one say? Was it like that one?”

I try and collect my scattered thoughts and attempt to recall the exact wording of the other message. “Something along the lines of me not knowing him. They said they did.” I shake my head in frustration. “I can’t remember. The other was handwritten.” I’m furious with myself for getting rid of it when I should have been sensible and told Jesse. He’s got Steve investigating the car incident and my drugging and, stupidly, I kept something from him that could’ve assisted in dealing with this. It may have sent him off the deep end initially, but the long-term benefits to him knowing far outweigh the meltdown that would be guaranteed—the meltdown he’s going to have very soon because now he
will
know, and I’m going to be facing a seriously pissed-off male. I’ve been so stupid.

“Okay, girl.” He doesn’t say I’ve been foolish, but I know he’s thinking it.

“I thought it was Coral,” I say quietly.

“Even after the dressing down that you gave her this morning?” He’s restraining a small smile, I can tell.

“No, I thought it was Coral before. Not now.”

“Do you want to tell him, or should I?” John asks seriously. I know what he means. No further elaboration is required and when he looks at me and nods at my pleading face, I know he understands. “I’ll tell him, girl.”

“Can you try to calm him down, too?”

“If we were talking about anything else, I’d say yes. But this is you. I’m not promising anything.”

I sigh, but I appreciate his frankness. “Thank you. Are you going back to The Manor?”

“No, girl. I’ll call him. You just get done at work, and I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Okay,” I agree, feeling anxious, stupid, and way too vulnerable.

The office is still uncomfortably silent when John drops me off. No one acknowledges me when I pass through and Sally doesn’t offer me a coffee, so I dump my bag and head through to the kitchen to make one myself.

I’m just tipping my third sugar into the mug when my shoulders rise and tense at the sound of my beloved husband’s ringtone. If I could get away with it, I’d ignore him, but he’ll be calling the landline and failing that, charging into the office. Abandoning my coffee, I take deep breaths of courage as I go in search of my phone. This isn’t going to be a call that I can take in the openness of my office, so I hurry to the conference room and close the door behind me before connecting myself to what will be a raging mass of angry male.

“Please don’t shout at me!” I blurt down the line, immediately holding the phone away from my ear once I’ve made my plea.

I was right. “What the fucking hell were you thinking?” he yells. “You stupid, stupid woman!”

My eyes close, and I quietly accept his rant, keeping my phone at a safe distance.

He’s breathing erratically between scorns. “I’ve been pulling my fucking hair out, trying to work with Steve and figure this shit out, and all along you had a handwritten threat?” I hear a door slam. “And you tore it up? Evidence, Ava. Fucking evidence!”

“I’m sorry!” I’m close to tears.

“Fuck!” Silence falls after his curse, and I can see a clear mental image of him slumped in his office chair, rubbing a furious circle on his temple with his fingertips. “Tell me you’re not leaving that office this afternoon.”

“I have a meeting with Patrick. I’ll speak to him about Mikael.” I’m trying to tell him what I know he wants to hear.

“This isn’t the work of Mikael, Ava,” he says more calmly than I know he’s feeling. “Steve confirmed that Mikael has been back and forth to London over the last few weeks, but completely legit. He couldn’t have drugged you and he couldn’t have been driving my car because both of those times he was in Denmark.”

“What about the man in the CCTV footage?” I ask tentatively.

“I don’t know, Ava.” He sighs. “My car was found yesterday. Steve’s looking into it. The tracker’s been deactivated.”

I rest my tired arse down on one of the plush chairs surrounding the conference table. “Should I come to The Manor after work?” I ask.

“No, John will take you home as soon as you’ve spoken to Patrick. I’ll meet you there. Given this new information I’ve
just
found out, I’ve got Steve swinging by.” His sarcasm doesn’t go unnoticed and neither does the edge of anger. I don’t point out that my working day may not be over after I’ve spoken to Patrick because it will serve no purpose other than instigating further growling down the phone. I really do need to play by his rules this time. “Don’t leave that office, and once John’s taken you home, you stay put. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” I whisper.

“Good girl. I’ll speak with Steve, but I’m out of here the second I’m done.”

“I love you,” I blurt out urgently, like I won’t ever get to tell him again.

He sighs. “I know you do, baby. We’ll have a bath when I’m home. Deal?”

“Deal,” I agree, his soft words and promise of tub-time making me feel a little better.

He hangs up, but I don’t take my phone from my ear. I know he’s gone, but I hold it there for a few moments anyway, maybe hoping that I’m mistaken and his deep husk will install some further reassurance.

It’s only when the door to the conference room swings open and Patrick appears that I finally pull my mobile away and accept he’s gone.

“There you are.” He doesn’t look impressed as he stands holding the door open. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” I go to rise, but he waves me back down.

“No, stay there. We’re having the meeting in here.” He shouts through to the others and one by one, they filter in, all puzzled and all deadly quiet. Something is going down; everyone can obviously sense it.

There are no trays of tea brought in by Sal and there are no fresh cream cakes to dive into. Patrick looks tired and harassed, whereas we all look majorly confused by this sudden change in meeting etiquette. What happen to the relaxed affair, where we all huddle around our boss’s desk and stuff our faces with cake while Patrick brings himself up to date on client progress?

“Right.” He sits his big body down in a chair at the head of the table and undoes his suit jacket to prevent the pull over his rounded stomach. “I’ve not been here much lately, and I’m sure you’re all wondering why.”

We all murmur our acknowledgment.

“Well, there is a perfectly good reason,” he continues. “And I’m now in a position to disclose it. It has been tough keeping you all in the dark. You all know I value each and every one of you, but things needed to be ironed out and finalized.” His hands rest on his stomach and he relaxes back in his chair. My eyes travel from Tom to Victoria to Sal, and back again a few times, trying to gauge their reaction to the news of news, but they are all just staring blankly at Patrick. “I’m retiring.” He sighs. “I’ve had it.”

There is a collective hum of relieved breaths coming from everyone, except me. If he’s retiring, then what happens to Rococo Union? Have none of them thought of that yet?

“You’ve all still got your jobs. I’ve made sure of that.” More collective sighs. “But I can’t do it anymore. The rat race of London is wearing me out, so Irene and I are moving up to the Lake District.”

My first thought is…Patrick full time with Irene? What is he thinking? And my second thought is…who am I going to be working for? I don’t have to wait long to find out. The door opens and Mikael walks in.

M
eet the new owner of Rococo Union!” Patrick sings.

Tom and Victoria swoon a little, but Sally is definitely with me in the shock department. We’re both visibly choking on thin air, but while I know damn well why I am, I have no clue what’s gotten into Sal.

“Of course, you already know him in some capacity,” Patrick continues. “Mr. Van Der Haus and I have been thrashing out a deal over the last few weeks, and we’ve finally settled on mutually agreeable terms.”

“And I can’t wait to get stuck in.” Mikael smiles, ignoring the other members of staff and keeping his blues right on me.

I predict that the hum of agreement comes from only three people in this room. I don’t agree and it doesn’t look like Sal does, either. There will be nothing coming from my mouth because my throat has closed up. I watch him round the table and shake hands with Patrick before formally introducing himself to my colleagues. When he makes it to Sal, he barely looks at her and she burns bright red and looks down to the floor.

She’s been seeing Mikael!

My mouth gapes as I watch her fidget. That is how he knows I’m married. That is how he knows I’m pregnant and that I’m pregnant with twins. That is how he knows everything!

The room is suddenly filled with Massive Attack’s “Angel” and everyone looks at me, sitting in the chair like a statue, holding my phone limply in my hand.

“Would you like to take that?” Mikael asks on a smile, which I don’t reciprocate. Then the office door bursts open and John steams in, panting and doing a quick assessment of the scene that he’s just barged in on. Now I can safely say that my career at Rococo Union is over.

John steps forward, with no regard for the people all looking wide-eyed at him, and grabs my phone from my lifeless hand, answering it quickly. “She’s fine.”

My stunned brain gets up to speed with what’s happening as I watch John pace the conference room. Everyone is watching him, but no one is questioning him. He must have seen Mikael enter the office and called Jesse. I almost want to yell at the big guy, but the latest stroke Mikael has pulled is the nail in the coffin for me and my employment at Rococo Union—that and the huge, mean mafia type stomping around the conference room.

Mikael doesn’t need an interior design company. This is ridiculous, and crossing the line of obsessive…a bit like my husband did.

John looks at me and nods, me nodding back because speech still hasn’t found me. Then he hands me the phone, and I look at him in horror. I can’t have what I know will be a heated conversation with Jesse here and now. I push myself back farther into the chair, but John gives me a look to suggest that I’m not going to get away with it. Jesse wants to talk to me, and I know I’m going to get nowhere refusing.

Nervously taking the phone, I stand up and leave the room. “Jesse?”

“What the
fuck
is he doing there?” He’s rampant, probably yanking chunks of hair from his head.

“He’s bought the company.” I say the words quietly and calmly.

He’s hyperventilating down the phone. “Get your bag, get John, and leave. Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” I confirm quickly, knowing I have no other option.

“Do it now while I’m on the phone.”

“Okay.” I let my phone leave my ear and reenter the office, getting six sets of eyes pointed straight at me. The tension in the air is heavy as I pick my bag up and look at John, who nods again.

“Ava?” Patrick’s familiar, concerned voice pulls my eyes to my boss, or ex-boss.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. I can’t work for Rococo Union anymore.”

“Why ever not? Exciting things will be happening. Mikael has assured me that you’ll be made a profit-sharing director. I made it part of the deal, flower.” He’s standing now and approaching me with a wrinkled brow. “It’s an amazing opportunity for you.”

I smile and glance at Mikael. He seems to be speechless himself now. “I’m sorry. I should’ve said that I can’t work for Mikael.” Now all eyes are on the Dane. “Mikael has been actively pursuing me for some time. He won’t take no for an answer.” I swing my bag onto my shoulder. “Sal, he’s been using you to keep tabs on me. I’m sorry.”

She’s hiding her face, but I can see that she’s crying. I feel terrible for her.

“Are you so desperate that you’d destroy someone as sweet as Sally?” I ask Mikael. “Are you so desperate to get revenge on a man that you’ll buy the company his wife works for?”

“Revenge on that womanizer is just an advantage. I’ve wanted you from day one.” He confirms Jesse’s suspicions in that one sentence. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“He does deserve me, and he has me. He’ll always have me. We’ve fought off bigger issues than you, Mikael. Nothing you can tell me will ever sway me from my decision to be with him.” My body might be shaking, but my voice is steady and firm. “I have nothing more to say to you.” I turn to leave, but stop briefly at the door. “I’m sorry, Patrick,” I say, but my boss is too stunned to speak.

John follows me, his giant hand set firmly on my back. I feel sad, but strangely resolute.

“Ava.”

The light Danish accent that I used to find quite sexy now just makes my skin crawl. John tries to push me on, but a stupid sense of curiosity has me fighting against the big guy’s strength and turning toward Mikael.

“He fucked other women when he was with you, Ava. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“He does deserve me!” I scream the words in his face, and he steps back, shocked.

John’s hand moves to my arm, but I shrug him off. “Ava, girl?”

“No! No one gets to pass judgment on him, except me! He’s mine!” I scream. I’ve forgiven him, and given the chance, I could probably forget. “You’re blinded by resentment.”

“It’s more about you.” The Dane flicks a cautious glance at my bodyguard.

I laugh and shake my head. “No, it’s not. I’m married and preg—”

“And I still want you.”

My mouth snaps shut, and John lets out a warning growl. “The girl is taken.” He tries to maneuver me onward, but I’m fixed in place.

“Did you drug me?” I ask, but the horrified look that instantly invades his pale face tells me what I need to know.

“Ava, I would never hurt you. I’ve bought this company for you.”

I shake my head on a disbelieving laugh. “You’re consumed with the need for vengeance. You don’t even know me. We’ve shared no intimacy, connection, or special moments. What’s wrong with you?”

“I know a good thing when I see it, and I’m prepared to fight for it.”

“You’ll be fighting in vain,” I say calmly. “And even if you succeed in your attempts to break us—which you never will—you couldn’t have me afterward.”

His skin gathers on his forehead when he frowns. “Why?”

“Because without him, I’m dead.” I turn and leave my workplace, knowing I’ll never return. I’m a little sad, but knowing what’s waiting for me past this point in my life puts the biggest smile on my face.

When I’m settled safely in John’s Range Rover and we’ve pulled away from the curb, I register my phone in my hand and remember that he’s on the other end of the line. I don’t want to hear him, I want to see him. “Jesse?”

It’s silent for a while, but I know he’s there. His presence travels through the line and kisses my skin. “I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. “He’s right, but I’m too selfish to give you up to someone who does. We’ll never be broken and you’ll never be without me, so you’ll be living forever, baby.”

Tears stab at my eyes and I think of how grateful I am that he is such a selfish man. “Deal,” I whisper.

“I’ll see you in the bath.”

“Deal,” I repeat because I know I’ll never manage more than one word without coughing all over them. He hangs up and I lose myself in thought as I watch London fly by the window.

“Let’s get you in, girl.” John parks and jumps out, leaving me to unbuckle and join him at the front of his car.

“You don’t have to escort me in,” I say, but he pulls a face that suggests he does. “Jesse’s told you to sweep the penthouse, hasn’t he?”

“Just a little check, that’s all, girl.” He takes my elbow and leads me into the foyer of Lusso.

I’m surprised to see Casey here, but he’s not in uniform. “Hi, Casey,” I call as I’m led past, not being given a moment to converse, or maybe warn him that he’s going to be facing the wrath of Jesse very soon. I do notice how smart he looks in his suit, though, and I definitely spot the look of alarm on his face at the sight of the big guy escorting me. John punches the code in and stands back to let me enter the elevator before he joins me. He taps the code in again.

“You know the code?” I ask, hoping to God he doesn’t know the significance of the code.

He smiles down at me, and I can’t work out if it’s a knowing look or not. “The motherfucker was sensible this time, but you’d think he would be a little bit more creative.”

I cough a little, thinking just how creative Jesse can be when he reaches that zero. Wonderfully creative, in fact. Mind-blowingly creative. I need to run that bath, but as the doors of the elevator open, I uncharitably remember that it’s early and Cathy is more than likely still faffing around the penthouse.

Letting us in, I immediately head to the kitchen and dump my bag on the island, but I find no Cathy, so I set off upstairs in search of her, set on relieving her for the rest of the day.

“Ava, girl.” John’s thundering footsteps come after me. “Let me check.”

“John, really?” I stop and let him pass.

“Peace of mind,” he rumbles. “Quit with the complaining.”

I let him open and close doors while I prop myself up against the glass bannister, arms folded across my chest, patiently waiting. There is no way I should be whining about this, given our surprise visitor this morning.

“All clear,” he grunts once he’s done.

I watch him stomp off downstairs. “No Cathy?” I ask his back.

“No Cathy,” he confirms, heading for the penthouse phone system, but his mobile starts ringing before he makes it to the landline. “Yes?” he grunts, detouring into the kitchen. “We’re here now. Cathy’s already left, but I’ll stay until you arrive.” His voice is getting quieter as the distance between us grows, but I know he’s talking to Jesse. “Blue door, needs painting,” John says on a purposed hush. I can still hear perfectly, though. That’s the disadvantage to having such a low, rumbling voice. He may sound menacing, but he can’t whisper for shit. “Lansdowne Crescent. I can’t be sure. I only got a glimpse, but if it’s not her, then she has a doppelgänger.”

I’m walking toward John’s voice. His attempt to keep this from my earshot, coupled with the mention of Ruth Quinn’s address and the fact that John obviously recognizes her, makes me need to see his face to gauge his expression. I know it’s not going to be good, not when he’s talking to Jesse, which means Jesse knows Ruth Quinn. My blood is running colder the nearer I get to John’s low, hushed tone.

“There’s no one there?” John’s pacing the kitchen at the far end. “Ruth Quinn. I already told you. I know my eyesight isn’t as good as it used to be, but I’d put my life on it. You need to call the police, not go looking for her, you crazy motherfucker.”

My blood is ice and my body frozen in place as I watch John turn slowly and register my presence. He might be black, but he has definitely just paled. “Who is she?” I ask him.

His huge chest expands and he reaches up to take his glasses off. I wish he had left them on because the rare sight of his eyes has just confirmed my fears. They are worried, and the big guy doesn’t do worried. “Jesse, you need to get your arse back here. Leave it for the police to deal with,” John’s says, and I hear Jesse’s angry yell down the phone.

“Who is she?” I grate, my breathing starting to accelerate. I’m anxious and panicking, but I don’t know what about.

John sighs, defeated, yet he still doesn’t answer, instead turning his back on me. “It’s too late. She’s standing right here. You’d better come home.”

I hear an angry yell, and I think I catch the sound of something hitting something, like a fist on a front door—a worn, blue front door. I can feel my patience fraying. My lack of knowledge in something I should know about is reheating my frozen veins fast.

John hands me the phone, and I don’t delay swiping it from his hand. “Who is she?” I remain calm and clear, but if I don’t get an answer, then I’ll be raging very quickly. And it’ll be the blood-pressure-raising kind of furious.

He’s heaving down the phone, his purposeful, thumping footsteps evident in the background. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean?” I’m shouting. He didn’t answer, not satisfactorily. He knows who Ruth Quinn is.

“I’m on my way home. We’ll talk.”

“No, tell me!”

“Ava, I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure it’s her.” The screeching of tires makes me wince. “I’ll explain when I can sit you down.”

“I’m not going to like this, am I?” I don’t know why I’m asking. Even the big guy looks all concerned by what’s transpiring.

“Baby, please, I need to see you.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” I remind him quietly, resting myself on a barstool. “What else could you possibly have to tell me, Jesse?”

“I’ll be home soon.”

“Will it make me run?”

“I’ll be home soon,” he repeats and hangs up, leaving me with John’s phone suspended limply by my cheek and a stomach churning with trepidation. The penthouse phone screeches, making me jump, and John thumps his heavy feet across the kitchen, now with his glasses back in place. I won’t waste my breath trying to extract any information from him.

He returns to the kitchen, looking too fraught for such a menacing man. Now I’m
really
worried. “I’m needed downstairs. You’ll lock the door behind me and you won’t answer it unless I call you to say it’s me. Where’s your phone?”

“What’s happening?” I stand, starting to shake.

“Where’s your phone?” he presses, taking his own from my trembling hand.

“In my bag. John, tell me.”

He tips the contents of my bag out and quickly locates my mobile. He sits it neatly on the island and picks me up, placing me gently on the stool. “Ava, now isn’t the time to argue with me. There’s someone the concierge is suspicious of and I’m just going to check it out. It’s probably nothing.”