.?’ I can’t say it. ‘How sad, Shelley. You have to bargain for sex.’
Her smug look plummets as I swivel on my heels and walk gracefully, and with the utmost dignity, towards the elevator. I want to rip everything in sight to shreds. I hear Shelley’s angry whispers from behind me as I push the call button and enter the lift.
‘She won’t say anything,’ Becker snaps, dismissing Shelley’s panic. In my spite, I want to march straight back to Timms’s office and prove him wrong. The wanker.
‘Don’t count on it,’ I call as the doors close. And as soon as I’m out of sight and the lift is moving, I yell, kicking the wall of the elevator before falling against it.
All of these women. This unexpected possessiveness coursing through me. It could be destructive. I need to channel it. My damn mind is racing with thoughts of how that dinner progressed. Did he give her a good fuck from behind? Spank her arse? I slap the ball of my palm into my forehead and massage the thought away before it gets the better of me. Becker can fuck right off if he thinks I’m subjecting myself to this shit every time we go out on business.
The doors open, and I engage my leg muscles to step out, but my foot only lifts an inch from the floor before I see him. His stance is wide, his hands in his trouser pockets, and he’s standing slap-bang in the middle of the elevator opening, blocking my path. He looks solemn behind his glasses. How the heck did he make it down here so quickly?
I don’t entertain him. Instead, I pass him and head for the revolving doors, ignoring the curious look from the receptionist. I’m a little surprised that Becker hasn’t intercepted me, but not so surprised when I enter the turning doors and they jar to a halt. I breathe in some patience, then turn to confront him. He’s in the next section of the revolving doors, maybe because he deems it safe having a sheet of glass between us. He’d be right.
His sleepy eyes behind his glasses have a soppy edge to them, and his bottom lip is protruding, so much so there’s a risk of him tripping over it should he move forward. He looks sorry as he holds onto the metal handle, stopping me from pushing the door around.
‘Are you mad with me?’ he asks lamely.
‘Not at all,’ I quip on a sarcastic laugh. ‘I love the fact that you’ve probably fucked every woman in London. Fills me with joy.’
‘I haven’t fucked every woman in London.’
‘How many, then?’ I have no idea why I’m asking this. I really don’t want to know. Besides, I’ve seen the endless photographs on the internet.
His shoulders jump up on a guilty shrug. ‘A few.’
‘A few hundred? A few thousand?’ I feel nauseous and jealous, the thought of another woman feeling him, touching him, seeing him naked, sending me positively insane. I thought I only had to worry about the threat of his love affair with his treasure. But seeing him in action, seeing these women fall all over themselves for him, I’m now feeling threatened for other reasons.
Arghhhhh!
‘I don’t know how to do this, Eleanor.’ Becker dodges my question smartly, and I’m grateful. Guessing numbers is one thing. Having confirmation is another.
‘And I’m not sure if I can show you,’ I retort shortly, and his face drops, hurt invading it. I feel guilty, damn me. My fingers come to my temples and press into my skin, trying to push the stress away. ‘Please stop flirting.’
He frowns, like that’s an unreasonable request. It tells me that I was right with my assumption. It’s natural for him to behave like that around women. ‘You mean like you just did in Simon Timms’s office?’ he questions in surprise.
Yeah. I asked for that. ‘I was proving a point.’
‘Which was?’
I snap my mouth shut and think. I have no answer, and his raised eyebrow and expectant look tells me he’s aware of that. I’ve been as bad as him today, shame on me. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ I huff, taking the door handle and pushing my weight into it. It doesn’t budge.
‘I don’t like it when you’re mad with me.’ Becker pushes his bottom lip out again, enhancing his sorry face.
‘Pick up your lip,’ I order shortly, trying to push the door again. It goes nowhere, but Becker’s lip does. He juts it out even