atmosphere is thick with awkward vibes on the drive home. At least, it is for me. Brent seems oblivious as he rambles on about . . . I don’t know what. All I seem to be able to focus on is the image of Becker as we drove away.
‘At the risk of it sounding cheesy, can I come up for coffee?’
Brent’s question makes every muscle in my body tense. I should have anticipated this when I accepted his ride. Of course there’s an ulterior motive. And why the hell is he being so indifferent to the fact that he just whisked me away like a knight in shining armour from a man who he knows, a rival? They didn’t even acknowledge each other. Nothing. I believe Brent is up one point to Becker.
I smile as I unclip my belt and open the door. I have no intention of seeing him again, just like I have no intention of seeing Becker. It shouldn’t be difficult. I’m not contactable now, after Becker had fisticuffs with my phone. Plus, I was crafty – or wise – and asked Brent to drop me off around the corner from my flat, therefore eliminating the chances of him turning up when he can’t contact me on my number.
Both of them, gone.
‘No coffee,’ I say assertively. But I’ll happily give you a slap. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
He smiles and starts to inch forward. Oh shit. He’s moving in for a kiss? How thick is this man’s skin?
I dive out of the car urgently and clumsily. ‘Goodnight,’ I squeak, slamming the door with a bit too much force.
The window comes down instantly, Brent leaning across the car, almost laughing. Yes, this whole situation is rather hilarious, I agree. ‘I have a meeting with Hunt tomorrow. Pop by and say hello?’
He does? They just totally ignored each other. Whatever. I won’t be there, and I no longer care. Brent doesn’t need to know that I don’t work for Becker Hunt any more. He’ll find out soon enough. ‘Maybe.’ I strain a smile as I back away, and he pulls off promptly. I sag in exhaustion, wondering how I got myself into this diabolical situation.
I laugh to myself as I make my way down the street. Because I’m stupid, that’s how. I thought I could take on Becker Hunt and all he threw at me. But I can’t. I have no idea how to handle him.
I walk slowly down the road with the weight of the world on my shoulders, and when I take the corner into my street, the sight of the door to my building fills me with comfort. I’m already picturing stripping down and tucking myself up in bed with a cup of tea. The thought makes me smile, but it’s soon wiped from my face when the roar of a car engine has me jumping out of my skin, and then almost diving into a hedge to hide when I clock where the loud sound is coming from.
A car.
Brent’s car. He came back?
‘Oh shit,’ I whisper, keeping myself concealed in the shadows. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’ I remain deathly still while I watch his car cruise past.
‘He’s gone, princess.’ Becker’s even tone snaps my spine into shape, but I don’t swing around startled. I’m too busy trying to figure out why the hell he’s here.
There are a few moments’ silence; him waiting for me to react, and me slowly getting more and more worked up. It’s like a natural reaction to him, and in this moment, I realise it’s my fault. Not Becker’s. Most of the blame lies with me, because I can’t control myself when I’m around him. My temper, my irritation . . . my desire. And that’s why I’m in this mess.
It’s like an epiphany. My body is buzzing in response to his closeness, and no amount of willpower and sensibility seems to be able to dull it. And that makes me angry.
My feet kick into action, and I start striding away from him. No looking back. No engaging. No show of emotion – anger or anything else. Walk away. Don’t even think about why he’s here. Why is he here? To continue with our row? To see if I invited Brent in?
My fists clench tightly, and I find myself flexing life back into them when I reach for my keys. I don’t even have to check to see if he’s following me. I can feel him close behind, my back tingling in response