‘Yes,’ he answers simply, stunning me further. ‘I couldn’t resist seeing you turn him down.’ His face twists dangerously.
Good. His plan backfired. What was he trying to prove, anyway? ‘Well, sorry you’re disappointed.’
‘I’m not disappointed, because you’re not going. I know you’re only trying to get a rise out of me, but it won’t work. You’ve had this.’ He indicates down his front, pointing out the perfection of it all. ‘Why would you want anything else?’
The arrogant bastard. And I’m not getting a rise out of him? Sure. ‘Excuse me. I need to call someone to confirm a date.’ I make to move and get intercepted before my feet leave the ground.
‘Whoa.’ He laughs, but there’s a nervous edge to it. It fills me with all kinds of smug satisfaction. ‘Don’t be spiteful.’
‘I’m not.’ I move to the left, knowing damn well he’ll do the same. He always does. It’s like he’s wired to my brain, knows every move I’m going to make. It’s not a good thing. I look up and give him a rebellious stare. ‘You’re in my way.’
Becker’s hackles rise, his boots bringing him a step towards me. ‘And?’
His aggravation makes me smile. ‘You okay?’ I ask, watching him bubble with annoyance.
‘Never better.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes, absolutely.’ He waves a hand indifferently in the air but fails to rid his face of the tight scowl.
‘That’s good then.’
‘You’re not going for lunch with him!’
I burst into a fit of giggles. ‘I’m not getting a rise out of you?’
‘You fucking infuriate me.’
‘Join the club, boss,’ I snipe, poking him in the shoulder. ‘I’d rather be trapped in a tomb with a million rats than go on a date with Brent Wilson, but don’t you ever put me in that situation ever again.’
He settles immediately, pouting. ‘Sorry,’ he more or less grunts.
‘And I don’t just mean the possessive bullshit, either. You shouldn’t have tossed me in with the lions. I could have dropped you in it about the car or the sculpture. I wasn’t prepared.’
Becker rolls his eyes condescendingly, walking over to the fridge. I know what he’s doing. He opens the door and closes it quickly, facing me with an apple poised at his mouth. ‘Wilson knows who scratched his car.’ He takes a big bite, making a long, drawn-out affair of munching his way through. My stomach clenches. The nerves of my core tingle. I just can’t stop them, and I’m not under any illusion that every muscle in my body solidifying will rein them in. Becker catches my sudden stiffness, his glimmering eyes dropping to my crotch. I furiously fight to ignore him. ‘You handled yourself just fine,’ he says on a secret smile.
Did he hear my rambling? ‘I need to get on.’
He finishes chewing and swallows, heading for the door. ‘Yes, are you actually going to do some work today?’
I scowl at his back as I follow him to his office, taking a seat opposite his desk. ‘Have you heard from the police?’
He falters as he lowers to his chair. ‘No.’
I deflate. There’s nothing like a bit of urgency. ‘Well, I suppose I should be grateful it wasn’t worse.’
Becker removes his glasses and starts cleaning the lenses with the bottom of his T-shirt. ‘I’ve made arrangements for a locksmith to fit some extra security.’
‘Oh,’ I murmur. That’s very good of him. ‘Like what?’
‘Better window locks, for a start.’ He gives me an accusing look, like it’s my fault the window locks aren’t up to scratch. Replacing his glasses, he then takes a pen and starts making a few notes on a pad. ‘Now, let’s get on with this list of things to do,’ he says, all businesslike, getting up and wandering over to the replica of the Shepherd Gate Clock, looking up at the hands. ‘I need the Cashwell file so I can go over it before my meeting next week.’
I cross one leg over the other, and with a lack of a mobile to make notes on, I grab a pad and rest it on my knee, starting to scribble.
‘Have the Constable ready in the viewing room at two fifteen on Thursday. Lord Demontford wants it.’ He reaches up to the clock face and glides his finger across the thick black rim. ‘This needs cleaning. Make arrangements.’
My hand works quickly, writing down his instructions. ‘Oh,’ I say, something coming to me. ‘Paula called.’
‘She did?’
‘Yes, asked how you got on at Countryscape. She sounded surprised when I