mind. Grabbing the napkin, I dab at my mouth as I reply.
Mine has hit a rocky patch. x
I click send, looking up to see if Brent’s on his way back as I casually sip my champagne. Then I’m coughing all over again, except this time I nearly fall off my chair, too.
My date is nowhere to be seen.
But Becker Hunt is.
And he’s sitting opposite me in Brent Wilson’s chair.
Chapter 10
My back sticks to my seat like superglue. He’s relaxed, holding a tumbler lightly in his grasp, his elbow resting on the arm, and he’s smirking at me.
All casual.
All sexy.
All . . . irritating as hell.
‘Evening,’ he says, his head cocking a little in amusement. He finds my shock funny? I should be used to him appearing out of thin air by now. ‘How’s the date going?’
‘Amazing.’ My one-word, over-exaggerated answer comes out of nowhere. It makes his head cock further, and I fight back the tell-tale burn in my cheeks.
‘Really?’ he muses, taking a sip of his drink and rolling the liquid around his mouth before he swallows. ‘Because it didn’t look like riveting conversation from where I was standing.’
‘Where were you standing?’ I ask, taking a quick peek around the restaurant, conscious of Brent’s return.
‘At the bar.’
I return my eyes to Becker. ‘Why are you here?’
He pouts and waves a hand dismissively through the air. ‘Just wanted to tell you that I need you at work by eight tomorrow morning. I have a meeting with one of the curators at Christie’s at nine. I need the file on the sixteenth-century Spanish tapestry on my desk before I leave.’
My eyes bug. ‘Are you for real?’ The cheeky bastard. ‘Text me. Call me. Don’t stalk me on a date.’
‘I was passing.’
‘Sure you were.’ I laugh, having another peek around the restaurant. ‘How did you know we were here?’
‘He brings all his women here.’
‘Right,’ I spit, frustrated, still scanning the space around me. I’m not naïve. It’s clear that Brent Wilson has enjoyed his fair share of women. How do these two know each other? Maybe I should have asked Brent that.
‘And I’m very real, Eleanor.’
My eyes shoot to Becker, and I damn my skin type for being so pale it gives away even the slightest flush. It’s not slight now, though. I’m burning up with a mixture of anger at his nerve, and lust that I hate not being able to control. I don’t have time to argue with him, although there’s nothing more I’d love to do than tell him where to shove his eight o’clock start. I need him gone before Brent gets back. ‘Fine, I’ll see you then. Goodbye.’
His eyebrows jump up, a smile pulling at the corners of his lovely mouth. ‘Trying to get rid of me?’
I lean forward. ‘Yes,’ I hiss, outraged by the level he’s stooping to. ‘This is my personal time. Go make some woman scream in delight, tiger.’ I regret my words instantly, but it’s too late to retract them.
His face breaks out into a full-blown, blinding smile. ‘Jealous?’
‘No.’ I sit back in my chair, desperate to escape the cocky bastard’s smugness.
A plate is placed in front of me, and I look up to find the waiter with a deadpan face. ‘Your Pimm’s and champagne thingy, madam,’ he says flatly.
Becker lets out a burst of laughter, but I’m too uncomfortable to be bothered by the waiter’s dry wit. ‘Thank you,’ I say, watching as he places another serving in front of Becker, frowning as he does.
‘Sir?’ Becker totally ignores the question in the waiter’s tone, pulling the plate towards him.
‘Cheers, chap.’ He winks across the table at me before taking his spoon. Or Brent’s spoon.
‘Don’t you dare,’ I whisper-hiss as he plunges it into the ball of sorbet. ‘Becker, don’t you—’
It’s too late. He ignores me and wraps his lips around the spoon, keeping his laughing hazel eyes on me. ‘Hmm.’ He licks his lips slowly. ‘Champagne.’
I close my eyes and flop back in my chair, taking a deep breath while resisting the urge to pick up my own spoon and beat him around the head with it. ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’
‘Believe it, princess.’
‘Don’t call me princess.’ I growl, my patience drained. He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. ‘And why the hell do you keep calling me that?’
He smirks. ‘Why, does it grate on you?’
There you go. That’s why he calls me such an annoying pet name. ‘Please, just go.’ I’m zapped of energy to take him on.