when he’s being a difficult, arrogant cock, rather than a smouldering, tempting cock. I feel like I’ve gained a bit of control. Or am I kidding myself?
I call to make arrangements with the restorer, and I’m surprised when the guy who answers calls me by my name with no introduction. Maybe Becker’s told him about me, like he must have told that Paula, whoever she is. Who is she? I stop my conjecturing right there. That part of his business isn’t my business.
After agreeing on a time for the painting to be collected, I hang up and make my way to a ladder, but the phone on the table rings again and I rush back across the library to answer. I’m working up a sweat, all this to-ing and fro-ing. ‘Hello.’
‘There’s a file labelled (W) 2010–2015,’ Becker mumbles. ‘Third shelf up on the fifth case clockwise from the door. Bring me it.’ He hangs up, leaving me with my mouth agape and the phone dangling limply in my hand.
‘Such a twat,’ I grumble, my earlier coolness drowned out by his expert tosser-like behaviour. I slam the phone down and stomp to the specified shelf, quickly locating the correct file before stomping back to his office. I wish he’d piss off back to South America.
I use the brief time it takes to get there to cool my simmering temper, and I only ring the bell when I’m sure it’s under control.
‘Come in.’
Plastering an over-the-top smile on my face, I push my way into his office. I feel his eyes on me in an instant. Burning eyes. ‘Your file.’ I hold it up on my way to him, clocking another man seated at Becker’s desk, his back to me. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ I greet politely, watching as the man slowly turns to face me.
‘Hello . . . Miss?’
I falter in my stride, a bit taken aback. His grey-flecked hair suggests a middle-aged gent, but his friendly face and warm brown eyes put him nearer the mid-thirties. He’s handsome in an unconventional way, with a prominent Roman nose and very square jaw. ‘Eleanor,’ I exhale my name, placing the file blindly on Becker’s desk and offering my hand.
‘Miss Eleanor?’ He smiles and takes my hand.
‘Eleanor Cole,’ I clarify, letting him do all the shaking.
‘I’m Brent Wilson. So, you’re Becker’s new assistant?’
Assistant? ‘Well, I—’
‘She’s on trial,’ Becker butts in, rounding his desk to meet us on the other side. ‘Her future at the Hunt Corporation is yet to be determined.’
I throw him a shocked look. Is it? Why? Because I’m not giving him what he wants, he might now start making my life a misery to get rid of me? He’s sorely mistaken. I refuse to let him get under my skin. And where are his morals? He knows Mrs Potts is coming to depend on me, even if he hasn’t. It’s no secret that Becker was reluctant to hire outside help. Would he really let his bruised ego get in the way of giving Mrs Potts the respite she needs?
‘Well,’ Brent pipes up, ‘if you don’t want her, Hunt, I’ll gladly take her on.’
It doesn’t matter that this Brent bloke is being a chauvinistic pig, talking about me like I’m not here, or like I’m a piece of meat to bargain over. No, it doesn’t matter because the animosity that’s leaping from Becker’s prowling frame is overriding any need I have to jump all over Brent’s sexist arse. And anyway, he’s quite cute. I open my mouth to thank him for the offer but get cut off yet again when Becker takes my elbow and tugs me away.
‘She’s looking promising,’ he grumbles.
I swing disbelieving eyes up to him, which he totally ignores. ‘I am?’ I can’t help myself. So now I’m promising?
His lovely lips purse as he casts me a brief, cautious glance. ‘You’re dismissed,’ he grunts, physically leading me to the door.
I glance over my shoulder as my feet work fast to keep up with Becker, smiling suggestively at Brent. I can’t even find the decency to be ashamed of myself. I shrug Becker off and straighten myself out. ‘Can I get you anything else, Mr Hunt?’ I ask, cocking my head questioningly.
His jaw ticks wildly as daggers shoot from his fiery eyes. ‘No,’ he whispers. ‘Just the information I requested earlier.’
‘I’ll have it ready by the end of the day.’
‘This sounds a bit cloak-and-dagger.’ Brent laughs.
‘You know the Hunt Corporation,’ Becker says, face straight, his stare fixed on me.