I go to pull my trousers on, thinking I could really do with a shower after Becker’s had his way with me and emptied himself all over my back. But I haven’t time. I shudder on a little grimace as I root through my bag for a tissue and reach around my back to wipe the remnants of him away.
I pull on my trousers, followed by my bra and jumper. Then I reach into my bag again and spray myself stupid with perfume. When I’m done, Becker’s still on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. ‘Becker?’
He looks at me, and I see true worry in those angel eyes. ‘I’m going to try my hardest not to break your heart, princess.’ He pushes himself to his feet and rests his palm over his heart. I smile at his sweet gesture. ‘I swear, I don’t want to hurt you.’
I nod and approach him, reaching up on my tiptoes and coiling my arms around his neck. He returns my embrace, holding the back of my head and pushing me into his shoulder. ‘I’ll see you later,’ I say quietly.
He squeezes me hard before abruptly letting me, like he’s ripping a plaster off, rather than peeling it away and prolonging the pain. ‘How long will you be?’
‘A couple of hours, I suppose.’ Depends how long it takes Lucy to convince me I’m not mad . . . if she can.
He gives me a strained smile, his dimple deep. ‘Okay.’
‘Okay,’ I mimic, returning his smile and head quickly for the courtyard before I can convince myself to stay.
He looks truly lost, and I hate it.
I make it to Lucy’s in record time and find her holding a glass of wine out to me when she answers the door. My hello is a quick raise of my glass in thanks and then a long glug of the sweet stuff. I follow it up with a satisfied gasp.
‘This doesn’t bode well.’ She watches me drop to the couch. ‘That bad?’
‘Yes . . . no . . .’ My head drops back. ‘I don’t know what’s happening, Lucy.’
‘Catch up, Eleanor. You’ve fallen in love.’
I don’t feel like I’ve fallen. I feel like I’ve crashed-landed. He’s bamboozled me. Knocked me on my unexpected arse. Consumed me with the passion he injects into everything he does, even testing my patience. ‘I love my job. I would with or without Becker in the equation.’
‘But he is in the equation,’ she points out, joining me on the couch.
I nod in silent agreement. ‘I need to see where this could take me, Lucy. If I walk away now, I’ll never know. He’s special. Funny. Exciting. So passionate and energetic.’ I leave out immoral, cunning, and an arse-spanker. I can tell myself I can walk away until I’m blue in the face, but I’d be lying. I can’t. Not until I really need to, and I’m not there yet. It’s that simple. I’m in now. I can’t turn back time.
Her hand takes mine, squeezing in reassurance. ‘I’ll be here. Whatever happens, I’ll be here for you.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m so grateful for her crazy arse.
‘Welcome.’ She drops my hand. ‘Besides, I’m counting on you doing the same for me.’
‘Oh? What’s happened?’
She grimaces at her glass. ‘Nothing, but you know when you get the feeling that it might?’
I almost laugh. Has she listened to a word I’ve said? ‘Um . . . yeah.’
She doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm, dipping a finger into her wine and flicking it in my face. ‘Printer-room girl’s been sniffing around.’
‘Oh . . .’ I deflate on Lucy’s behalf.
‘Dirty slapper,’ she mutters, giving her wine a filthy look before downing the rest. Glancing up at me, she catches my doubtful face before I can hide it.
‘Why is she a dirty slapper?’ I don’t need to remind Lucy the dirty slapper wasn’t in the printing room alone, but just in case she’s forgotten, my subtle question serves as a good reminder. I half-smile and fall back on the couch when Lucy looks at me, outraged.
‘I’ve been on four dates with Mark. I think I’ve earned the right to label any woman he’s slept with before me a slapper.’
‘Okay,’ I relent, grinning. ‘And how did you feel when you caught her on the prowl?’
Lucy’s hackles rise, and I know she is in trouble herself. ‘Like I wanted to hold her face on the copy machine, smash the lid down, take a copy, and then deface it with warts and a moustache.’
A sharp shot of