Brent replies thoughtfully. I can feel his eyes on me, too, as I bow my head and hold my boss’s eyes as I pass him, brushing his jacket sleeve. It wasn’t intentional. He hisses, but I manage to control my reaction to the jolt of electricity that attacks me from our contact. Or was that simply angry vibes emanating from him? Regardless, it’s stolen my breath, and I fight to get it back as I leave his office.
‘Wait.’
I pull to a sharp halt and turn, finding Brent coming towards me. My eyes flit between him and Becker standing motionless and wide-eyed by the door, a frown creeping its way on to my forehead. ‘Yes?’ I say.
‘Please, allow me to take you for dinner sometime,’ Brent says softly, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out a card. He holds it out to me, and my hand lifts slowly to take it. But he doesn’t let go. ‘Call me?’
Our arms remain suspended between our bodies, while Becker bristles at the side, probably giddy with annoyance that there is absolutely nothing he can say to dismiss Brent’s offer. This is my personal life, and he has no control over that. ‘I’d love to.’ I sound confident and gracious, though on the inside I’m wondering why I accepted so easily. I don’t know this guy, and I’m supposed to be sworn off men.
Becker has now moved from bristling to physical twitching. I can feel it. Sense it.
‘Excellent,’ Brent says. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
He finally releases the card, and I back away, glancing at Becker as I do. He’s swallowing repeatedly, his eyes darting around his office until they eventually land on mine. The world stops rotating on its axis, but my head spins wildly to make up for it.
‘Goodbye,’ I say quietly, continuing to back away, unable to rip my stare from the vacant expression on Becker’s face. He twitches slightly, and I can see with perfect clarity that he’s suddenly back in the room. Where was he? He looks to Brent, then to me, before he snaps to life, grabbing the door and practically slamming it in my face.
I stand on the other side for a few moments, bringing the card to my mouth and chewing the corner thoughtfully.
Is my boss jealous? This revelation wreaks havoc on my increasingly knotted mind.
Chapter 8
It’s the end of my first month at the Hunt Corporation, yet I feel like I’ve been here for years. I’ve spent endless days immersed in the library, losing myself in the abundance of books that grace the shelves, and I’ve familiarised myself with the unique filing system.
I’ve answered Becker Hunt’s every demand, and he’s certainly been demanding, from finding files to making calls; from providing information, to cross-referencing a few pieces. His orders are always short, snappy, and curt, and he’s hardly looked at me since Brent asked me to dinner last week. His abruptness, and the fact he’s obviously avoiding me, has suited me just fine. Immunity is easier with minimal contact.
Now I’m curled up on one of the leather chesterfields in The Haven’s library after giving myself a few minutes respite. It’s been non-stop this week.
Mrs Potts pokes her head around the door, her violet bomb of a hairstyle glowing vividly. ‘It’s gone six, Eleanor.’ She smiles at the pile of books stacked next to me on the couch.
‘It has?’ I ask, glancing down at my watch.
‘Time melts away at The Haven, dear.’ She smiles warmly. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’
‘Okay,’ I say as she slips out. I unravel my body from the couch, feeling a little stiff, but a quick stretch of my arms above my head soon sorts me out, before I put the books in their rightful places.
My phone rings, and I answer as I make my way to the kitchen. ‘Hello?’
‘Eleanor?’
I pull to a stop, not recognising the voice. ‘Yes?’
‘Brent Wilson.’
‘Oh, Brent.’ I cringe. I never called him about that dinner. To be honest, I threw his card in my bag and didn’t think much more about it. Someone else stole my thoughts for the rest of that day, and I’ve spent most of my time battling to keep Becker Hunt in a safe part of my brain. Like the professional part. Besides, I’m off men. A few more emails from my ex begging to see me reminded me of that. ‘Hi,’ I squeak.
‘I thought I’d see if you’re available for dinner this evening?’
‘Well, I’m . . .’ I grapple with myself to