need,’ he muses, heading around the front. ‘More want.’ He takes the sheeting at the edge and whips it off, revealing a very shiny silver car. It’s gleaming, sparkling with flickers of twinkling lights as the bright lighting from the garage ceiling competes with the paintwork. ‘Wow,’ I say, looking to Becker, who’s smiling at it fondly.
‘Meet Gloria,’ he says proudly, discarding the sheet and running a palm carefully down the side.
‘Gloria?’ I say on a small laugh.
He looks at me, offended. ‘Yes, the only woman in my life.’
The penny drops. ‘Gloria,’ I say slowly, shaking my head, ignoring the elation that washes over me because of Becker’s announcement.
‘She’s the perfect woman,’ he begins, and my eyes roll. ‘She’s beautiful, she doesn’t answer back, and she does exactly what I tell her to.’
He never ceases to amaze me. ‘She’s also old,’ I point out unreasonably. I only know this because Becker is currently taking the soft top down manually. Everything else looks brand-spanking new.
‘She’s a 1966 Aston Martin DB5, the queen of the classic cars, and I’m in love with her.’ He huffs and puffs as he fights with the mechanical roof. ‘Don’t be jealous, princess. Just be happy for me.’
I scoff at the absurdity of his comment, an over-the-top, totally dramatic scoff. ‘She also has no feelings, so it makes sense you get along.’
Making his way around to my side, he gives me that adorable lopsided grin as he opens the door and swoops his arm out in a gesture for me to get in. ‘My lady.’
Slipping in and pulling on my belt, I watch him walk around to the driver’s side, wondering how the rest of the day might pan out.
‘Just remember,’ he says, sliding into the black leather seat and inserting the key into the ignition, ‘you’re at work today.’
That answers my question. I’m at work, therefore I should be professional. There’s a problem, though. I can be professional, but I struggle to maintain that professionalism when Becker pushes at the boundary lines. We’re always either in the grey or hovering very close to the edge of it. ‘And so are you,’ I politely remind him. He needs to remember that detail too.
‘Have no fear, princess,’ he teases, pressing a button that starts to lower a platform from the ceiling. ‘When I’m focused on something precious and priceless, there’s nothing else on my mind.’ The hissing of hydraulics almost drowns him out. Almost. I wish it had, because now I’m furious with myself for silently wishing he was incapable of thinking of anything else but me. I’m pathetic. If I wasn’t on my way to Countryscape, I might bail and decide this is a terrible idea. I’m not sure I appreciate friendly, playful Becker. It makes controlling my urges more tricky.
Once the ramp has lowered, Becker pulls slowly forward, and then presses another button that has us rising steadily. The cold air of the derelict factory unit hits me, and it’s only now that it occurs to me that we’re in an open-top car. In November. The low winter sun has been present in recent days, but with clear skies comes lower temperatures. It’s bloody freezing. Is he mad? I shiver and pull in my coat, gazing around as we rise to the factory floor. It’s going to get colder when we roll out of here, and colder still when we’re sailing down an open road. The pretentious Ferrari is suddenly very appealing. ‘It’s a bit chilly,’ I mumble to myself, pulling on my new gloves.
The car jolts, indicating the end of the climb from the garage, and Becker turns to me. ‘Come here,’ he says, reaching over and taking my scarf. My head recoils instinctively in response to his move, not that he notices. Or if he does, he ignores it. He calmly folds and smooths the material of my scarf under my close observation until he has a large triangle. Then he drapes it over my head, sheltering my hair and my ears, before tying a bow under my chin with the loose ends. I smile as he concentrates on tucking some misbehaving locks of my red hair into the edges, a frown jumping on to his forehead when they refuse to remain where he’s put them. ‘Even your hair’s irritating,’ he mutters, his eyes meeting mine and holding them for longer than is acceptable for an employer–employee relationship. ‘Perfect,’ he says quietly, nodding decisively. We both seem to find reality at the same time,