‘Too late,’ he whispers, standing and looking over my shoulder. ‘Sorry, this might be a little awkward.’ He’s not sorry at all. This was all part of his plan, the wanker.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I watch Becker slap a huge, insincere smile on his face and hold his hand out. ‘Brent, fancy seeing you here.’ He’s being sarcastic, of course, because he’s just told me that Brent Wilson brings all his women here. God, what was I thinking coming on this date? I’m really not ready to venture into the dating world again. The aftermath of David’s betrayal still stings, and I certainly don’t ever want to be one of many women in a man’s life. I’ve been sidetracked and blinded by my fierce need to poke back at Becker Hunt. And my plan’s failed spectacularly, anyway. I’m wasting my time playing his stupid games.
I’m better than this.
I’m cut short from mentally beating myself up when Brent’s hand appears in my field of vision. ‘Hunt.’ He’s not growling, but he’s pretty damn close. Something tells me these two guys barely manage to rub along for business purposes, because the animosity bouncing between them is almost tangible.
Their handshake is brief, both men clearly trying to put on a show for my benefit. What a waste. I might be dying a thousand deaths, but I know rivalry when it’s being shoved in my face. They despise each other.
‘I hope you’re taking care of my staff.’ The emphasis on my doesn’t escape my date’s notice. Or mine, for that matter.
‘I’m a gentleman, Hunt,’ Brent says on a smile, as if to put it out there subtly that he thinks Becker isn’t. I inwardly laugh. He’s right. ‘Eleanor is a catch. I can see why you’d want to keep her.’
A hint of worry travels across my boss’s face before he forces a smile. ‘She fits in very well.’ He performs a ridiculously over-the-top bow, gesturing towards Brent’s seat for him to take. ‘I’ll leave you to your date.’ He flicks me a smile, before returning his attention to Brent, who’s lowering to his chair, frowning at his dessert.
My lips purse, and I glance to Becker, cringing. He’s backing away, amused. ‘Tastes good,’ he says, cocky as can be, before turning on his expensive brogues and swaggering his way out of the restaurant.
My eyes fix firmly on his tight arse, encased in lovely thigh-hugging grey trousers. His back is covered in a crisp white shirt, but all I see in my mind’s eye is that tattoo. That amazing tattoo. Then I go back to his arse. Oh, that fucking arse. It makes me want to cry. I follow it all the way out, only returning my attention to the table once it’s out of sight.
And then I’m quickly brought back down to earth, where I’m in a restaurant on a date with a man who’s just had half his dessert scoffed by my wayward, infuriating boss. I want to die. Right now. Awkward comes nowhere close. I’m biting the inside of my lip while Brent continues to frown at his half-eaten champagne and Pimm’s thingy. I don’t know what to say, so when my phone bleeps, I jump at the opportunity to distract myself while Brent comes to terms with the fact that Becker Hunt infiltrated his date and his pudding. I open the text.
Stop looking at my arse x
I feel the heat build in my veins, feel the frustration and anger grip me. He can’t bulldoze his way into my private time. I try to stop myself. Really, I do. ‘Twat,’ I seethe at my phone, slamming it on the table in a temper. Eight o’clock start? I snort to myself. He can go swivel. If this is an attempt to ruin my date, hamper my fun because I need an early night for an early start, then he’s sorely mistaken. I swipe up my champagne and down the lot.
‘I assume you’re not referring to me.’ Brent reaches over and tops up my champagne, smiling.
I feel terrible. ‘No, of course not. He really rubs me up the wrong way. I’m so sorry about that.’
‘Don’t be.’ He pushes his mutilated dessert aside, a distasteful look on his face. ‘Becker Hunt rubs up many people the wrong way.’
‘Including you?’
He laughs. ‘How did you guess?’
‘You seemed friendly at The Haven.’ Now seems like a good a time as any to figure out what the deal is between them.