telling me to zip it. Of course, I don’t. ‘Who would do such a mindless thing?’ Just give me the lethal injection and be done with it.
‘I wondered the same thing.’ Brent’s distrustful eyes watch me, waiting for me to cut to the chase and spill the beans. I feel like I virtually have already.
‘Vandals,’ Becker breathes, sliding his hands into his pockets and sighing. ‘It’s enough to make you want to kill.’
‘Indeed,’ Brent says quietly, locking stares with Becker. Good God, the animosity in this room is potent. Enough to make you want to kill? Jesus. ‘Eleanor.’ Brent turns back to me. ‘About that lunch.’
What?
My eyes go round and all saliva dries from my mouth. What on earth? I tilt my head with a lack of words coming to me as Brent looks down at his watch.
‘I have a spare couple of hours before I head back across town to The Staton.’ What’s his game? He must know Becker and I are . . . involved? If he doesn’t, then he’s quite dim, and if he does, then it’s clearly of no consequence. I’m not sure which irritates me most, and that sass and fire I was looking for suddenly finds me. But Becker speaks up before I can unleash it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Becker says, all casual and unperturbed. ‘Hunt Corporation employee contracts state no client–employee socialising.’
‘I’m not a client,’ Brent retorts, a glimmer of a cunning smile on his face.
Becker’s teeth clench, and he virtually snarls, but he doesn’t counter because he can’t. Brent really isn’t a client. He’s the enemy.
I look back and forth between the two men, my anger growing. They may as well have one of my arms each and be playing tug of fucking war with me. Boys!
‘Thank you for the offer, Brent,’ I say on a sweet smile, getting a sharp poke in my back, courtesy of my boss. I ignore it and step out of his reach. He’s being so possessive, and I’m not taking much pleasure from it. What the hell am I involved in? Then my bottom rubs on the material of my trousers, making me wince. Becker. I’m involved with Becker Hunt, his filthy fucking, and his filthy business dealings.
He’s bristling like a bear with a sore head next to me, and Brent is loving every second of it. Does he really think I want to date him? The prick. But at the same time, I’m furious with Becker for putting me in this situation.
‘But it’s a no.’ I turn and walk away, hearing Becker chuckle. Oh, he’s pushing my buttons. I stop and turn. ‘Not today, anyway. Maybe tomorrow?’ I raise my eyebrows, and Brent smiles, victorious. Becker, however, looks like his head might pop off with shock. Take that, Hunt. Two can play your game.
‘Tomorrow,’ Brent says on a huge smile that I’m dying to slap away.
I grit my teeth. ‘Fabulous.’ I slam the door behind me, and march to the kitchen. Mr H is gone, and I ignore the stab of guilt I feel for being grateful I’m alone. I need to pull myself together.
I spend five minutes pacing the kitchen, trying to cool off, at the same time playing over my senseless rambling about Brent’s car, worrying whether I’ve planted any seeds of suspicion in his head. Maybe I have where his car is concerned, but I couldn’t have possibly given any reason for him to believe the sculpture is a fake.
I pull my jumper away from my chest, coming over all sweaty. Bloody hell, I can feel myself going into meltdown. I wasn’t told deception would be part of my job. Or willpower to resist my boss. I’m crap at both.
Winston looks up at me, his doggy brain probably wondering what has got into me. Yesterday, I’m sure he would’ve come to comfort me, but he simply watches me from his basket today, sleepily. He even pokes his nose out a little, trying to get a whiff of me without having to drag himself from his bed to find out if I’m still sleeping with the enemy. ‘I still smell of him,’ I snap.
‘Who are you talking to?’
I whirl around and there’s Becker regarding me with slight concern.
I’m talking to myself, marching doggedly around the big kitchen, pulling at my clothes to try and relieve the claustrophobic feeling and anger. ‘You’ve got a nerve, Hunt,’ I yell, and he laughs, but it is 100 per cent sarcastic.
‘So do you.’ His face deadpans quickly, all amusement