So, plucking my professionalism from nowhere, and disregarding the fact that I’m doing Becker a favour, I square my shoulders and knock every reason to decline out of my mind. ‘You owe me a new phone.’ My statement is an agreement without actually agreeing, and the hopeful look that springs on to his face tells me he gets that.
‘Done,’ he says, his eyes shining with happiness. It makes me appreciate just how much he wants me back to help Mrs Potts, and that realisation makes me see Becker in a mildly different light. Maybe he isn’t such a selfish knob. It also makes me pull up and think carefully, because judging by his quick agreement just now, I could probably demand anything and get it.
Maybe it’s time to test my boundaries. ‘And I want a pay rise.’
‘Done.’
I purse my lips and think harder still. Will he really agree to anything? The potential has my mind racing, conjuring up demands while I’ve got him where I want him. ‘No poking me or winding me up.’
‘Agreed.’ He nods.
I push some more. ‘No pieces of arse at The Haven during my working day.’
‘Whatever you want.’
‘Really?’ I blurt, shocked. I have no right to demand such a thing, and in all honesty, I have no clue where it came from.
‘Yes, really.’
‘Oh.’ I’m stumped. Nearly. ‘I want Fridays off.’
His eyes narrow, and I realise I’ve reached my limit. ‘Don’t push it, princess.’
‘Oh,’ I squeal, when the most obvious demand comes to me – the one I should have demanded first. I poke him in the shoulder. ‘You don’t get to call me princess any more.’
He sniffs his thoughts on that. ‘Well, we won’t have to worry about that if we stay out of each other’s way, will we?’
‘Fine,’ I snap, knowing he’s suggesting the impossible. I work for him. Avoiding each other is a luxury we can’t have. He knows that. I know that. That’s where resistance and control needs to come into play, though it sounds like Becker’s not going to struggle in that department.
‘Good,’ he snaps right back, pointing behind me. ‘Get in the car. I’ll take you to work.’
I pivot haughtily and come face to face with a red Ferrari. A super-shiny one. It’s the epitome of showy. My nose wrinkles in distaste. ‘This is yours?’ I don’t know why I’m asking. Who else could it belong to?
‘Yes.’ He circles round to the driver’s side and leans on the roof. ‘Maybe you should get the Tube.’
I frown. ‘Why?’
‘Because, you know, your hair clashes with my pretty motor.’
I cough all over his shiny red car, outraged. ‘What happened to not goading me?’
‘I can’t fucking help it.’ He’s halfway between hysterics and exasperation as he shouts over the roof at me. ‘Just looking at you makes me want to poke you . . . or fuck you.’
‘Then don’t look at me.’ I’m offended, I’m disgusted, and, for my fucking sins, I’m instantly turned on. ‘And for the record, looking at you makes me want to slap you. You’re like an irritating gnat that won’t fuck off.’
‘A gnat?’
‘Yes, a gnat.’
‘Nice.’ He gives me doubtful look as he jumps into his car. ‘Come on, princess. You’re over an hour late. You can work late to make up the time.’
I roll my eyes and begin to search for anything resembling a door handle on his pretty motor. There’s nothing. ‘Becker, where’s—’ I’m interrupted when the engine roars to life, but not content with making me physically jump out of my damn skin once, he begins revving it, over and over, the noise each time making me jolt with fright. ‘Where’s the—’ The horn begins to sound, accompanying the unbearable booms of the high-powered engine, making my ears ring and my hands cover my face to muffle my incensed scream. He just can’t fucking help himself. He must either play with me or flirt outrageously with me. There’s no in between.
In a temper, I draw my foot back and launch it into the side of his Ferrari. Silence falls. Until Becker scrambles out of his car and begins to rant like a sailor, firing fucks all over the place. ‘What the fuck are you fucking doing?’ he cries, running around to my side and closely inspecting the paintwork of his baby. ‘Jesus, Eleanor, have you any fucking idea how much this machine cost?’
I shrug insolently when he looks at me in disbelief, casually inspecting my nails. I couldn’t be any more