why. ‘Oh.’ I laugh sarcastically. ‘Too ashamed to admit to her why I quit?’ I ask, getting a sick thrill when he drops his head in shame. It’s all very clear why he can’t go back without me, and it fucking hurts like hell. I bet Mrs Potts will go, well, potty. ‘You left me no choice but to quit, then fucked me with a clear conscience, making it impossible for me to work with you again.’
He snarls, getting his face up close and personal. ‘I’d say it was pretty fucking impossible to work with you before we fucked, wouldn’t you?’
‘Because you behaved inappropriately.’
He recoils, offended.
‘Don’t look so horrified.’ I wail, pointing an accusing finger in his face. ‘You knew what you wanted, and now you’ve had it.’
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t want it, too.’
‘You made it impossible to resist.’ The fact that I’m now drowning in despair as a result of my weakness and where it has got me is beside the point.
‘So did you,’ he shouts, and I withdraw, aghast.
I don’t need this. I never tempted him. He’s not pinning any of this on me, just to ease his conscience. He can go back and explain to Mrs Potts why I’m not at work today. I hope she attacks him with her watering can.
I pick up my feet and make a dash for the road.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ He seizes me around my waist and lifts me from my feet, yet this time I don’t scrap with him, and I don’t know why. I have plenty of spunk locked and loaded and ready to unleash. Is it because I secretly want him to take me back to The Haven? The knowledge that I’m being missed by someone warms me through. Or is it because his chest is currently pressed into my back and is actually warming me through?
Stopping the side of my head from pushing into his cheek when he brings his face close to mine is a killer. ‘Please,’ he begs, surprising me. Becker doesn’t say please. ‘Please, Eleanor.’ He keeps me secure against him as he takes a deep breath. ‘Last night shouldn’t have happened. You know it, and I . . .’ Another deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t . . . I can’t.’
Ouch.
I try to nod my head into him, knowing he’s 100 per cent correct, but the damn thing won’t move, like it’s stubbornly refusing to accept that he’s right.
‘Please come back.’ He drops me to my feet and turns me in his arms. Then he steps back, giving me space I haven’t asked for, or, infuriatingly, that I want. His next words are spoken in a mechanical tone. ‘I promise to stay out of your way. I won’t behave inappropriately or push your buttons.’ There’s no emotion or conviction, nothing to make me believe him, yet I do. Begrudgingly, I do.
Because he’s had me. Itch scratched. Next woman, please. I’m falling to pieces on the inside. Crumbling.
‘Since you’ve been around, Dorothy is much less stressed,’ he says. ‘She can focus on my grandad now. And Gramps loves you,’ he finishes, cruelly yanking at my heartstrings. I adore Mrs Potts. I don’t want to leave her in the lurch. And his gramps? I love him, too. Goddamn him. Becker’s reached an all-time low, using emotional blackmail. ‘What happened last night will never be spoken of again.’
And there it is. I’m determined to not let this break me, because I knew going in that this would be the result. I knew it. But it doesn’t matter how sorry I am that I allowed myself to venture there, because Becker’s regret has just shredded my own. It’s like a kick in the teeth. He made a mistake. He went against Mrs Potts and his grandad’s wishes, and now he’s trying to fix things. He will carry on as normal, wielding his charisma and potency around other willing women, and before a week passes, our night will be forgotten. And me? Well, at least I have my beloved job, and hopefully he’ll be a man of his word and stay away from me. Surely I deserve that. I can’t let my obstinacy and disdain for Becker get in the way of the only thing that’s brought me joy since my father died. That would be cutting off my nose to spite my face. And I can’t abandon Mrs Potts. My conscience simply won’t allow it, not for the sake of punishing Becker. Or myself, for that matter. Because walking