His Inspiration by Ava Lore Read Free Book Online Page A

there was anyone in the world who would
understand getting swept off her feet and off to some other place by a rich,
magnetic man, it would be Felicia. So... someone else was calling me.
    I didn't want to answer it. Whoever it was could wait. I kicked
my purse under the table and shrugged out of my coat. The corset kept me
sitting straight, and I suddenly realized how far my breasts were pushed out
toward Malcolm. And he knew it. His eyes glittered at me, dancing mischievously
in the candlelight.
    Dominic rattled off more rapid French as he poured out small
glasses of liqueur. Malcolm tossed his back immediately and I... well, I let
mine sit after taking a whiff and feeling my stomach turn. I really needed
something to eat first.
    My phone rang again. I gritted my teeth, then gave Malcolm a
bright smile. “Just a second,” I said. “I have to turn that off.”
    He smiled back at me. “Very well.”
    I ducked under the table, the tightness of the corset making me
wheeze as I grabbed my purse and ripped it open, fishing the offending piece of
technology from its terrifying depths.
    A number I'd never seen before flashed on the screen. New York
area code.
    I hesitated. What if it was an emergency? What if something had
happened to Felicia and someone was trying to get a hold of me? What if
something had happened to Felicia and Anton together? Felicia and Anton and
Arthur, and the whole company...?
    Well, okay, the more I thought about it the less likely it
seemed that everyone I personally knew would have been consumed by the same
disaster, except of course it had happened before. Many times. I hadn't seen
the news lately...
    “I have to take this,” I said, suddenly feeling more sick than
drunk.
    Malcolm frowned at me. “Is everything all right?” he asked.
    “Haha!” I said. “Probably! Is there a bathroom here?”
    Wordlessly, concern lighting his eyes, he pointed to the back of
the restaurant, and I shuffled past him, my heels clacking loudly on the wood
floor. I barely made it to the water closet before voicemail picked up. I
answered the call. “Hello!” I chirped. “Sadie MacElroy speaking.”
    “Where the hell is Mr. Ward?” Don's angry voice surged across
the Atlantic, pissed beyond belief. “I know he must be awake by now.”
    This. Fucking. Guy, I thought. Two could be righteously
angry! “How'd you get my number?” I demanded.
    “That's not important. I need to talk to Mr. Ward as soon as
possible.”
    My buzz was thoroughly wrecked at this point and my stomach
pitched and roiled, basted in acidic wine. I needed to eat something.
Preferably a piece of bread. “I'll tell him you called,” I said.
    “Oh, will you? Think you can remember to do that this time?”
    I hated this guy. “I remembered,” I said. “I just didn't do it.”
    A sound of frustration came over the line, and I smiled. I mean,
I'm not usually vindictive and unprofessional like that, but I was drunk, I
really needed to eat something, and he was just a shithead.
    He changed tactics. “I apologize, Miss MacElroy,” he said after
an audible sigh. “It has been a long and very trying few days. Mr. Ward must come back to New York. It is very important.”
    “You're not going to give me a hint about what's so goddamn
important?” I said. I obviously didn't have any right to that information, but
if it was a business deal or something I was certain it could wait until the
end of our meal.
    There was a silence. “Okay. Fine. He's wanted for questioning by
the FBI.”
    I nearly dropped the phone in shock. “What?”
    “Yeah. You'd better get his ass back to New York, or he's going
to be arrested.”
    I licked my lips. “I have no reason to trust what you're saying.
You've been nothing but a shitlord to me since the world hello. You
better tell me right now what you need him for or you're just going to have to
call him yourself.”
    “Does he have his phone on him?”
    “No.” I wasn't sure, but I wasn't going to give him