7. Ava
Chapter 7
Ava
“What do you mean you don’t have a passport?”
Jet’s dark gaze bores into mine like an interrogation as I stand in the hallway, dressed in a pencil skirt and blouse that belongs to Margaret’s daughter. After the reality sunk in about what I agreed to, I realized I hadn’t packed anything suitable to wear. I was supposed to be working in the pool house, not trailing Jet Grant around London while he chases some guy around.
“Exactly as it sounds. I don’t have one.”
“Did you lose it?” Jet frowns.
“No, it expired.”
He sighs, rubbing at his temples like I’m the biggest blot on an otherwise perfectly white sheet of paper.
“Fine. Fetch your old one. It’ll make the process faster.”
He lifts his eyes to mine when I don’t move.
“It ran out ten years ago. I threw it away. ”
The disbelief on his face would be priceless, and something I’d take delight in, if my stomach wasn’t in painful knots at the way this conversation is skating so close to memories I’d prefer not to think about right now.
“You haven’t left the country in ten years?” he balks like I’ve told him the world is about to ban all drinking glasses so that everyone has to drink straight from the carton now or die of thirst.
When I say nothing, he shakes his head, blowing out a breath. “Marvelous,” he mutters, pulling his phone out of his navy suit pants and tapping out a message.
“Do I need it, just for one meeting?”
“It won’t be just one. There will be several. Like my father said, Callaghan is a snake. But I understand if one is all you can squeeze in.”
Boredom creeps into his tone. He’s giving me an easy out. He wants us working together as much as I do.
Like a punch in the nose.
“I can work on my laptop in the car if I need to catch up. And I prefer working in the evenings anyway.” I shrug, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being the one who backs out. Besides, I still haven’t managed to write more than one page since coming here. Writer’s block sucks. “I’ll come for as many meetings as it takes to get what you need from him,” I add, and he grimaces.
“Fine,” he grits.
“Can’t you use my driver’s license? ”
“No.” His gaze is set on his phone, his lips pressed into a firm line as he continues to type on it.
He’s being difficult on purpose. Surely, I can have a company ID issued with my license. It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere unescorted. I doubt Jet will let me out of his sight, probably worried I’ll act like an uncivilized delinquent as he so kindly called me.
“Why not? It has my photo. I’ve got a library card, too.”
He pockets his phone. “You can’t leave the country with a library card.”
A tide of nausea curls up my windpipe and wrings the air from it, until I feel like I’m choking.
“Leave the country?” I must have misheard him. “Jet?” I press when he doesn’t respond.
I will my pulse to slow down. It’s beating so loud he’ll probably hear it and get excited thinking I’m having a heart attack.
Maybe I am.
“That a problem?” His gaze narrows on me like a predator, sensing weakness.
“Of course not.” I fidget with my skirt, wiping my sweaty palms on it.
“Then let’s stop wasting time.” He strides to the front door, holding it open for me. “Callaghan left London a day earlier than expected. We’ll have to go to him.”
I force myself to relax. “Where is he? Are we getting the Euro-tunnel, or a ferry?”
“New York. ”
“New York?” I freeze in the doorway and gawk at him. “As in, East Coast of America?”
“Where else?”
My heart rattles against its cage.
“You’re making us late.” He looks down his nose at me until I move. He closes the door and I stumble in my heels as I try to keep up with the long strides he takes across the driveway toward a sleek black town car.
A driver opens the rear door as we approach, and I give him a bewildered smile, before sliding into the leather interior. Jet climbs in beside me and the door is shut behind him.
“Where are we going?”
I perch on the edge of my seat as the driver climbs in and starts the engine.
“Fasten your belt,” Jet instructs.
“I can’t go to New York. I don’t have a passport,” I say, so close to the edge of my seat that one small move of the car and I’ll end up on my ass in the footwell.
“Fasten your belt,” he repeats.
My heart hammers as I stare at him. New York?
A fresh masculine aftershave mixed with mint assaults me as Jet leans over me, making me fall back into the seat. His left cheek is so close I can see every single one of his thick, dark eyelashes. He clears his throat, the vibration rolling through me as he pulls my seat belt over my chest and clicks it, before moving back to his own seat .
“You told me yesterday that your meeting was in London,” I say as he signals the driver to go.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
He pulls a laptop out from a compartment by his seat and opens it.
“I said I was meeting Callaghan today. I didn’t say where. Although, plans change in business. We don’t all get to work from someone else’s pool house every day.”
My blood boils at the way his face remains calm, like insinuating I’m abusing his father’s hospitality is just small talk and not rude and insulting.
Arrogant jerk.
“So, Callaghan’s in New York?”
“Yes.” He begins typing on his laptop.
“And you’re going there to meet him?”
“No.”
Thank god. I exhale and sink back into the seat. It must be a video meeting. My mind must have been playing tricks on me earlier when I thought Jet said we were leaving the country. That’ll teach me for staying up late trying to write.
“ We’re going there to meet him.”
I swing to face him so fast my brain rattles.
“But I don’t have a passport.”
“An inconvenience, I must say.” He scowls at me like I planned the entire thing to piss him off. “If you can’t handle lending me your expertise for these meetings, Ava, just say it and save us both the time. It makes no difference to me.” His focus returns to his laptop screen.
I gnaw my bottom lip as I stare down at my skirt, running my palms over it.
“Make your mind up. Your walk back to the house is getting longer.” He sighs, sounding bored as the car pulls onto the road.
His eyes slide to mine, and I swear the cold bastard’s lips curl up as I pull in a shaky breath that echoes around the interior.
I settle into the seat, clasping my hands in my lap to hide their trembling.
“I prefer not to talk on car journeys, don’t you?” I turn toward the window and stare out.
“Something we can both agree on,” he murmurs.
For the rest of the drive, the car is silent except for the tapping of the keys on his laptop. Each one is like a nail being hammered into my skin, making me wince.
But I don’t have a passport.
So Jet can be as much of a jerk as he likes because I’m not going anywhere.
“The car will be here when you’re done.”
Jet’s words pull me to my senses, and I turn away from the window for the first time since we left Rochwell house.
“Excuse me?”
“The car will be here when you’re done,” he repeats, closing his laptop.
“I heard you the first time.”
“Then why are you still here?”
His blue eyes connect with mine as my door is opened by his driver.
I lean closer to him so I can look out of his window and up at the building we’ve pulled up in front of. I can feel the heat of his disapproving eyes on my face as I realize where we are.
“The passport office?” I swallow around the thick lump in my throat.
“They’re expecting you for your interview.”
“Interview?” I reach for my blouse and undo the top button. It’s stifling with the door open and London’s city air flowing into the car.
“It starts in five minutes.”
I gather up my purse when he doesn’t say anything else. Maybe I can run and he won’t notice. Or I can tell him the passport printer ran out of ink.
I take a deep breath and climb out, thanking the driver as I walk toward the building, staring up at it.
I glance back at the car. Jet’s watching me with dark eyes. He flicks his fingers at me in a shooing motion. Asshole . His eyes narrow like he heard me, and I look away.
At least this way, I can escape being confined in a vehicle with him. I continue walking toward the building. My legs threaten to buckle.
I take a deep breath and stride through the doors.
Thirty minutes later, I join him with my shiny new passport burning a hole inside my purse.
Jet barely glances at me as I thank his driver for opening the door and slide inside.
“Did you get it?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I side eye him. He’s reading something on his phone screen.
“The signs in there said the fastest appointment you can get is in two days. And that you need your old passport to get an immediate replacement.”
I keep staring at him, and when he finally looks up, he lifts a single, dark brow.
“That was a statement, not a question. If you have a question, Ava, then ask it. ”
“Did you… how did…?”
“You can get a lot of things when you know the right people.” He looks back at his phone.
I refuse to ask what exactly that means. But I expect it’s exactly as it sounds—when you’re a billionaire, you can get anything you want.
Jet Grant’s probably never been told ‘no’ his entire life.
“So where are we going now? Has Callaghan’s schedule changed?”
“No. He’s still in New York,” Jet tsks as he brings his phone up to his ear.
“Hayden?” he barks. “Talk to me.”
He curses, then nods, before murmuring some sounds of agreement. He ends the call and tosses his phone onto the seat.
“Fucking brilliant.”
He pushes his thumb and finger into his eye sockets, tension radiating from him in waves.
“We need to make this quick,” he says to the driver. “Take us to Knightsbridge. Harrods will have what we need.”
“This whole day has been insane.”
I walk around the side of the house with my laptop cradled in my free arm as I hold my phone in front of me and talk to Liv on video call.
“Are you really going to go?” Her eyes widen as I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes.
“I don’t know.”
I nod a greeting at David, who’s across the lawn, sitting on a ride-on mower. He waves back before I turn the corner. Liv was supposed to be coming to visit this weekend, but that might be on hold now.
It depends how long we’re in New York.
If I get on the plane.
“Why don’t you tell him?”
I jerk my head. “No. It’s none of his damn business.”
“Ava,” Liv insists, “he’ll understand.”
I snort. This is Jet. I’m pretty sure he only understands how to act like a pretentious pig. He didn’t even let me choose my own luggage when we went to the store after my passport interview. I wanted this nice red suitcase with wheels. It would have saved him money, instead of the extortionate price he paid for the silver suitcase and matching carry-on he selected. But I guess he cared little for the cost judging by the way he didn’t look at the tags before handing over his black Amex to the sales assistant.
“I’ve got sleeping tablets. I’ll have a couple before take-off.”
The false confidence in my voice doesn’t fool Liv, she’s known me too long.
“I’m not saying you can’t. In fact, I think it’s amazing. You’ll finally be able to visit your mum.”
“Yeah.” My response comes out choked as I juggle my laptop so I can open the old, wooden back door. Margaret’s just polished the main hallway, and I’d hate to leave a mark on it.
“What time’s your flight?”
“Eight.”
I don’t have to look at my watch to know that I have approximately forty minutes to pack and be ready to leave. Jet was adamant we leave on time. He stormed off the minute we stepped inside the house earlier, and the only evidence of him since was the whipping sound of his skipping rope coming from outside.
“Will you call me at the airport? I’ll be here if you need anything, okay?”
I manage a weak smile and lean back against the door. “Thank you.”
“You can do this.”
I tip my head back and blow out a breath .
“The idea of it is making me feel sick if I’m honest. But I told Jet I would, so—”
“So you want to keep your word?”
“No! I want to show the asshole I’m not a freeloader. He thinks I’m incapable of doing anything. He’s so far up his own ass, Liv. Honestly, wait until you meet him. You’ll see what I mean.”
“You make him sound delightful.”
“Jet’s as delightful as a yeast infection on a hot day.”
“Eww.”
Peals of laughter echo down the phone, and I grin, feeling a little better about the mess I’m in.
“He’s got a stick so far up his ass you could fly a flag out of his mouth.”
Liv’s cackles grow louder.
“And he accused Magnus of screwing me. He’s son of the fucking year,” I say as I push away from the door and walk down the hallway.
The hairs on the back of my neck prick up as I reach the old wooden staircase, the feeling of being watched overwhelming.
My throat goes dry as I lock eyes with him, sitting halfway up.
“I’ll call you back, Liv.” I end the call.
His eyes are bloodshot and he’s in his workout shorts, his shoulders slumped forward like he’s lost the will to move. The skipping rope is coiled around one of his hands, turning his knuckles white.
“Don’t stop on my account.” His lips flatten into a grim line .
My eyes drop down his naked chest, over the scattering of hair there, and then lower to the dark trail leading beneath his waistband. The outline of a dick as thick as my wrist presses against the thin fabric of his shorts as he stands. He’s all man in the most intense way.
Somehow, it makes me dislike him even more.
He walks down the steps, stopping in front of me. Beads of sweat pepper his collarbone and run down his chest. The heat from his body overtakes the hallway as he stares down at me.
“Your luggage has been put in your room. I suggest you pack. We leave in thirty-six minutes.”
He walks away, leaving me with the sight of his broad, muscular back, shining in sweat, and a firm ass that would make every man want to immediately take up skipping.
I head up the old staircase to get to my room—Jet’s room.
I place my phone and laptop on the bed before going into the dressing area. My new luggage is here, just like he said. I open it and come across a champagne-colored object. It’s made of the smoothest silk I’ve ever felt. I hold it up, studying the zip on the side, and the delicate embroidered seams in gold-colored thread.
A lingerie bag.
I didn’t see these when Jet paid for the luggage. But he must have bought them today because they have a Harrods tag on .
I walk over to the drawers, sliding the top one open, and lift out the pale pink panties with the gold waterlilies on. My lucky pair.
Tracing the delicate fabric, I take a deep breath and start filling the first silk bag.
New York, here I come.