up with Becker. ‘I don’t like him,’ I declare, feeling Becker’s warm palm slide onto my lower back.
‘Me too,’ Becker mutters, directing me to the right when we reach the end of the corridor.
We breach the area where Shelley is sitting, prim as can be, and Becker slaps the hugest smile on his face, knocking her back on her swivel chair. I bet he has payback planned after my BAFTA award-worthy performance in Simon Timms’s office before the tables turned. I inwardly groan. This is going to be torturous. But I can be possessive, too. Bring it on, maverick. Problem is, I genuinely believe that Becker is unaware of his knockout charm. I think it’s natural to him. I think he fails to realise the extent of his appeal after a lifetime of charming the knickers off women. I, on the other hand, threw every effort into my flirting routine.
‘Becker,’ Shelley sings as we approach, turning away from her desk to give an obvious flash of her long, bare legs. ‘Can I get you a coffee? Tea? Water?’
‘I’m good,’ Becker replies, coming to a stop, prompting me to do the same. I may as well not be here. Shelley is completely blanking me, and I notice, again, that she hasn’t asked me if I’d like a drink. No, her full attention is on Becker, and it only becomes more acute when my boss places a palm on the edge of her desk and leans in towards her. She smiles demurely. I have to physically restrain myself from muscling my way between them and declaring Becker’s status to this female. ‘I need a favour,’ Becker says, all low and raspy.
It not only piques Shelley’s interest, it also piques mine. ‘Of course,’ she says, shamelessly crossing one leg over the over and leaning back. I grit my teeth and nearly crack them with the force of my bite when Becker gives a knowing, sideways smile. ‘Anything for you, Becker,’ she purrs.
‘Any other interest in the 1965 Ferrari?’
She returns his knowing smile before turning to her computer and tapping a few buttons. ‘This is breaking client confidentiality.’
‘But it’s for me,’ Becker says quietly. Suggestively.
Oh my days, I want to poke the disgraceful philander in the eye. I’m about to step in, to take a leaf out of Becker’s book, when it occurs to me that Becker is fishing for information – information that Shelley can give to him. Me staking a claim could hamper that. For fuck’s sake. So, begrudgingly, I hold my tongue for a few moments while she continues to tap and glance up to Becker every now and then.
‘There,’ she says quietly. ‘Bill Temple and Larry Stein have commission bids.’
‘How much?’
‘Highest is 110K.’
‘Larry?’ Becker questions.
‘Good guess.’
‘American,’ he muses thoughtfully, like that’s a significant point.
‘Speaking of Americans,’ Shelley says, scanning the screen.
Becker visibly stiffens. ‘Don’t say it.’
‘Brent Wilson.’
‘Motherfucker.’ He smashes his fist down on Shelley’s desk, making me jump. I don’t think I need to intercept the flirting now, because Becker’s mood has just taken a nosedive. He’s no longer smiling coyly. Now he’s practically growling at the mere mention of Brent’s name. ‘Block him,’ Becker orders harshly.
Shelley flashes him a shocked look. ‘You know I can’t do that,’ she protests, shaking her head to reinforce her words.
‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
I shoot him a look and Shelley visibly straightens up in her chair. Is he for real? Has he forgotten I’m here? ‘How will you make it worth her while?’ I ask, more than pissed off.
He looks down at me, his mouth snapping shut. ‘It was a figure of speech.’
‘It wasn’t last time,’ Shelley pipes up, and my eyes are back on her in a heartbeat. She looks smug. I’m totally dumbfounded, yet I can’t blame her since she doesn’t know Becker’s status.
‘And what did you get last time?’ I ask.
‘Eleanor,’ Becker pipes up, warning me. I don’t care. I want to know, even if I’m pretty certain already, and I know it’s going to eat me alive.
I hold my finger to my lips to halt him, then deliver a calm, ‘Shhhh,’ tilting my head to the side when his mouth drops open. ‘Well?’
‘Nothing.’ Becker takes my arm, and I shrug him off, glaring at him.
‘Dinner,’ Shelley interjects, pulling my attention to her. She looks pleased with herself. I want to slap her. ‘To start,’ she adds.
The bitch. ‘I’m sure your boss will appreciate this news,’ I say, totally unruffled. ‘Feeding Becker confidential information in return for . .