‘What does she do?’ Ava lets me take her hand, seeming a bit overwhelmed by the place already.
‘Sports therapy.’ I nod to one of the girls on reception who quickly lets us through the turnstiles. ‘And that one over there is a health food store.’
‘It’s like health heaven,’ she says, smiling awkwardly when the girls on reception all wave hello. ‘And I work here?’
‘You sound disappointed.’ When we arrive at the juice bar, I spot Drew through the glass window that overlooks the pool area. He’s at the top of the diving board giving Georgia instructions.
‘Well, I’ve always dreamed of owning my own design company,’ Ava says.
‘You gave up work to have the twins.’ It was way before the twins came, but how Ava came to leave her employment at Rococo Union isn’t something I’m going into. I often wonder whether that prick Mikael still owns it, or if he sold it off as soon as my wife quit. ‘When the kids started school full-time, you decided you wanted to have an input here.’
A doubtful look lands on me. ‘I decided, or you made me?’
‘You decided,’ I confirm, and order her favourite power shake. ‘In your words, I’m crap at organising financial stuff and you weren’t about to let someone else do it.’
‘So you pay me?’ She accepts the shake, eyeing it suspiciously.
‘Handsomely,’ I reply, my voice suggestive and low.
She tosses me a playful filthy look. ‘Very funny.’
‘You’re a director, Ava. Like I said, we own it.’
I can tell she’s happy about that, her lovely lips taking the straw and sipping thoughtfully as she gazes around the bar, where laptops clutter tables and people chat post-workout. ‘Hmmm, this is lush.’
‘Glad your taste hasn’t changed,’ I say, motioning her to the stairs that lead to the gym floor.
Her face is suddenly bright and chirpy as she flanks me, her lips stuck to the straw. ‘That would have been a bit of a shock for you, wouldn’t it?’
‘What would?’
‘Well, if I came around and didn’t fancy you.’ She titters as we take the stairs, amused.
‘So you fancy me?’ I say, sounding casual and unaffected.
‘You’re all right, I suppose.’
The nerve. I nudge her and she chuckles, coming to a stop at the top of the stairs when the gym floor comes into view. ‘Wow.’ Turning slowly on the spot, she takes in the vast space. It could take her a while. A Bodypump class is happening on the grid across the way, a team of serious weight trainers are lifting in the corner, a group of women are speed cycling at the far back. And then the glass-fronted studios are all full, one class or another happening in each. All the endorphins bouncing around the place are sinking into my skin, and I wish I could hit the treadmill. Exercise has always been a blessing to me, a perfect way to alleviate stress. And now, when I’m the most stressed I’ve ever been, I haven’t had the opportunity to expel it.
Many people pass us, clients and staff, all saying hello, smiling, clearly pleased to see us. But Ava doesn’t recognise any of them. She just smiles awkwardly, becoming increasingly uncomfortable by the second.
‘I’m here every day?’ she asks, her tone not cluing me in on whether that pleases her or daunts her. I’m hoping it pleases her, and then maybe she’ll lose that silly idea of working elsewhere.
‘Yes, with me.’
She seizes my hand without prompt, clinging to it harshly. ‘It’s very loud.’
Shit, she’s right. It’s banging, nothing unusual, but Ava’s head is delicate. I pull her on, keen to get us away from the pumping gym floor to somewhere quieter. ‘Here.’ Opening the door to her office, I usher her in and shut out the noise. That’s better. She probably couldn’t hear herself think.
She wanders in quietly, taking in the space that she frequents daily, my eager eyes looking for some recognition on her face. She finds the picture frame on the desk and lifts it, smiling down at the photograph of us all. It’s just another piece of evidence that this is real, that she’s not about to wake up at any moment and discover she’s been trapped in a dream. ‘Your office is very nice,’ she says, setting the frame down.
My office? ‘This isn’t my office, Ava,’ I say, taking my usual spot on the couch by the window. ‘This is your office.’
Her eyes widen a fraction, going on another little journey around the space. ‘Mine?’ she questions, obviously thrown.
Reclining, I smile at her wonder. ‘Yours.’
I watch as she pulls her chair out from her desk and sits down, tugging open a few drawers. She takes something out and flashes it to me on a grin. Setting the red nail polish on the top, she sits back, and I smile, thinking she looks as sexy as ever when she’s behind that desk. ‘I feel very important.’
‘You are.’ I kick my ankle up onto my knee and rest my elbow on the back of the couch.
‘So where’s your office?’
‘I’m sitting on it.’
Her smile is given through a frown. ‘You work from that couch?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what work do you do from there?’ She kicks her feet up onto the desk, while I kick mine up onto the couch, lying back, arms behind my head, all comfy. I wish she could see what I see when I’m in here. I see us on every available surface. Me between her legs. God, how many times have I taken her on that desk?
‘The only work I get done while I’m in here is admiring my wife. It’s a very important part of my day.’
‘Slacking on the job? The boss isn’t setting a very good example.’
I’m thoroughly amused by her words. ‘Ava, everyone around here knows that it is you who’s boss. Not me.’
‘That’s absurd.’ She picks up a pen and starts to fiddle with it, weaving it through her fingers in feigned concentration. ‘You’re a control freak. I can’t image you let me take the reins in your fancy health club.’
‘I’m only a control freak when it comes to you. And it’s our health club.’
She nods, thoughtful, gazing around. ‘So while I’m slaving away, you just lie there looking pretty, do you?’
I lift my head a little, eyebrows high. ‘You think I look pretty?’ I’m playing it all cool, but inside I want to jump up and rock out to a bit of JT. She’s being rather open with her attraction today. Almost blatant. Almost suggestive.
It’s no wonder she has a headache: her eye-rolls are constant and impressive. ‘How do I concentrate with you loitering around?’ She goes into another drawer and pulls out a few files, frowning at them. Then a calculator that she sets to the side. And, finally, a nail file. She looks delighted with her find as she takes it to her nails.
‘I leave you to work.’ Fuck, what was I thinking bringing us in here? All my intentions to make her take it easy are forgotten. Lost. She’s sitting there in her pretty little sundress and flip-flops, her hair a mess of loose waves, her face make-up-free, and she looks fucking edible. And that desk is calling. I throw my legs off the couch, get up, and stride towards her.
The side-to-side motion of the file slows as I near, her eyes lifting up my tall frame to my face. ‘You’re not lying down now.’ She points the file at me, as if I might have missed the fact that I’ve got myself to my feet. ‘Does that mean you’re going to do some work?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I sit on the edge of her desk, my gaze never wavering from hers. ‘I’m going to do some work all right.’
Breath hitching. Body subtly fidgeting. Eyes filing with hunger. Nipples hardening against the material of her dress. My eyes drop to her crotch, my head tilting. She’s wet, too. I can smell it from here.
‘Behave,’ she all but squeaks, going back to filing her nails, doing a terrible job of feigning coolness.
She’s on fire. I can practically see the flames on her skin. And all of these reactions have the usual effect on me. She has her usual effect on me. This woman makes my veins burn. Makes my eyes sting just looking at her. Makes my heart surge with adoration.