Shelley flashes him a shocked look. ‘You know I can’t do that,’ she protests, shaking her head to reinforce her words.
‘I’ll make it worth your while.’
I shoot him a look and Shelley visibly straightens up in her chair. Is he for real? Has he forgotten I’m here? ‘How will you make it worth her while?’ I ask, more than pissed off.
He looks down at me, his mouth snapping shut. ‘It was a figure of speech.’
‘It wasn’t last time,’ Shelley pipes up, and my eyes are back on her in a heartbeat. She looks smug. I’m totally dumbfounded, yet I can’t blame her since she doesn’t know Becker’s status.
‘And what did you get last time?’ I ask.
‘Eleanor,’ Becker pipes up, warning me. I don’t care. I want to know, even if I’m pretty certain already, and I know it’s going to eat me alive.
I hold my finger to my lips to halt him, then deliver a calm, ‘Shhhh,’ tilting my head to the side when his mouth drops open. ‘Well?’
‘Nothing.’ Becker takes my arm, and I shrug him off, glaring at him.
‘Dinner,’ Shelley interjects, pulling my attention to her. She looks pleased with herself. I want to slap her. ‘To start,’ she adds.
The bitch. ‘I’m sure your boss will appreciate this news,’ I say, totally unruffled. ‘Feeding Becker confidential information in return for . . .?’ I can’t say it. ‘How sad, Shelley. You have to bargain for sex.’
Her smug look plummets as I swivel on my heels and walk gracefully, and with the utmost dignity, towards the elevator. I want to rip everything in sight to shreds. I hear Shelley’s angry whispers from behind me as I push the call button and enter the lift.
‘She won’t say anything,’ Becker snaps, dismissing Shelley’s panic. In my spite, I want to march straight back to Timms’s office and prove him wrong. The wanker.
‘Don’t count on it,’ I call as the doors close. And as soon as I’m out of sight and the lift is moving, I yell, kicking the wall of the elevator before falling against it.
All of these women. This unexpected possessiveness coursing through me. It could be destructive. I need to channel it. My damn mind is racing with thoughts of how that dinner progressed. Did he give her a good fuck from behind? Spank her arse? I slap the ball of my palm into my forehead and massage the thought away before it gets the better of me. Becker can fuck right off if he thinks I’m subjecting myself to this shit every time we go out on business.
The doors open, and I engage my leg muscles to step out, but my foot only lifts an inch from the floor before I see him. His stance is wide, his hands in his trouser pockets, and he’s standing slap-bang in the middle of the elevator opening, blocking my path. He looks solemn behind his glasses. How the heck did he make it down here so quickly?
I don’t entertain him. Instead, I pass him and head for the revolving doors, ignoring the curious look from the receptionist. I’m a little surprised that Becker hasn’t intercepted me, but not so surprised when I enter the turning doors and they jar to a halt. I breathe in some patience, then turn to confront him. He’s in the next section of the revolving doors, maybe because he deems it safe having a sheet of glass between us. He’d be right.
His sleepy eyes behind his glasses have a soppy edge to them, and his bottom lip is protruding, so much so there’s a risk of him tripping over it should he move forward. He looks sorry as he holds onto the metal handle, stopping me from pushing the door around.
‘Are you mad with me?’ he asks lamely.
‘Not at all,’ I quip on a sarcastic laugh. ‘I love the fact that you’ve probably fucked every woman in London. Fills me with joy.’
‘I haven’t fucked every woman in London.’
‘How many, then?’ I have no idea why I’m asking this. I really don’t want to know. Besides, I’ve seen the endless photographs on the internet.
His shoulders jump up on a guilty shrug. ‘A few.’
‘A few hundred? A few thousand?’ I feel nauseous and jealous, the thought of another woman feeling him, touching him, seeing him naked, sending me positively insane. I thought I only had to worry about the threat of his love affair with his treasure. But seeing him in action, seeing these women fall all over themselves for him, I’m now feeling threatened for other reasons.
Arghhhhh!
‘I don’t know how to do this, Eleanor.’ Becker dodges my question smartly, and I’m grateful. Guessing numbers is one thing. Having confirmation is another.
‘And I’m not sure if I can show you,’ I retort shortly, and his face drops, hurt invading it. I feel guilty, damn me. My fingers come to my temples and press into my skin, trying to push the stress away. ‘Please stop flirting.’
He frowns, like that’s an unreasonable request. It tells me that I was right with my assumption. It’s natural for him to behave like that around women. ‘You mean like you just did in Simon Timms’s office?’ he questions in surprise.
Yeah. I asked for that. ‘I was proving a point.’
‘Which was?’
I snap my mouth shut and think. I have no answer, and his raised eyebrow and expectant look tells me he’s aware of that. I’ve been as bad as him today, shame on me. ‘Two wrongs don’t make a right,’ I huff, taking the door handle and pushing my weight into it. It doesn’t budge.
‘I don’t like it when you’re mad with me.’ Becker pushes his bottom lip out again, enhancing his sorry face.
‘Pick up your lip,’ I order shortly, trying to push the door again. It goes nowhere, but Becker’s lip does. He juts it out even further. ‘Stop it.’
His eyes droop.
‘Becker, I’m being serious.’
‘So am I.’
‘You’re being a juvenile.’
‘Well, I kind of am when it comes to love.’ He gives me an adorable smile. He knows what he’s doing, and I can’t really challenge that, because he’s right. ‘If I flash you my arse, will you forgive me?’ he asks on a hopeful smile.
I drop my eyes on a shake of my head. ‘I’ll forgive you if you promise to stop with the stupid games.’
‘Okay. I promise, I’m sorry. Old habits die hard, huh?’
I give him a look of utter disbelief. ‘You’ll die if you don’t pack it in, because I’ll bloody kill you.’
‘Yikes, that bad th . . .’ He fades off, and I glance back up to his adorably annoying face, finding he’s staring past me. And he looks worried. I turn to see what’s captured his attention.
And go stiff as a board.
Chapter 14
All of the blood rises to my head and reddens my face.
Alexa.
It’s a good job I’m trapped behind the glass, because I can’t guarantee my conduct if I wasn’t. Becker’s ex-screw is looking me up and down like I’m the most repulsive thing she’s ever seen, her enhanced lips pursed, her blond hair in a harsh up-do. I’m suddenly moving, the glass pane behind me pushing me around, and I soon find myself within a metre of her on the pavement, nothing between us.
‘Ah,’ she sings, super over-the-top. I know by her tone and the derisive look on her face that the next thing she says is going to be scathing. ‘It’s the skivvy.’ She flicks her silk scarf over her shoulder.
Be cool, Eleanor. Be cool.
‘Becker prefers to call me his girlfriend these days,’ I retort on a sweet smile.
She can’t hide her shock, though she tries her hardest. ‘Not for long. He’s never been able to resist these legs wrapped around his waist.’
Kill her. No, kill her with kindness. That’s what I should do. Don’t rise to it. Be refined and grown up. ‘Oh fuck off,’ I spit, throwing my bag onto my shoulder, just as something meets my back with a thud. I jolt forward, courtesy of Becker barrelling into me. He’s worried, and so he should be. I’ve endured enough brash women today.
‘Becker.’ Alexa eradicates all the spite from her voice and smiles all sweet and innocent at my boss. No, my boyfriend. He’s my boyfriend. ‘Lovely to see you.’
‘Yeah.’ He takes my elbow and pushes me on. I don’t protest. In fact, if I could click my fingers and magic us away, then I would. Then I wouldn’t have to tolerate the daggers currently stabbing into my back as we escape, and in a stupid fit of possessiveness, I slide my hand onto his arse, for the benefit of Alexa.
‘See you at Andelesea!’ she sings. I’m halfway to turning around, a little confused, when I remember . . .
The gala at Countryscape. ‘She’s going to be there?’ I blurt out, dropping his arse like it’s white hot, turning my stunned face up to him. His attention is centred firmly forward, his flawless profile and perfect nose in perfect view.
‘Sounds like it.’ He speaks on a slight mutter, keeping up his pace.
‘Great.’ I don’t trust Alexa. Not one little bit.
‘Princess?’ Becker’s concerned voice snatches me from my unpleasant thoughts, and I look up at him, seeing the concern in his eyes, too. ‘You okay?’
‘Fine. When’s the gala?’ I walk on in determined strides, planning every evil thing I will do to Alexa if she so much as sniffs Becker.
‘Saturday. You got my tux sorted, didn’t you?’ he asks, his footsteps close behind.
Shit, shit, shit. I need to get his tux dry-cleaned. ‘Yes, all done.’ I cringe, then proceed to mentally drop-kick myself across Bond Street. Not just because I’ve fucked up, but because she is going to be at the Andelesea Gala, and Becker’s going to be in a tux.
‘What are they showcasing at Andelesea, anyway?’ I ask. The most famous annual gala in the art world is renowned for boasting exclusive exhibits.
‘Heart of Hell.’
My steps falter. ‘The gigantic ruby?’
‘That’s the one.’
I’m not so irritated now, more envious. I’d love to see the elusive gem that’s been the talk of precious-stone experts for decades. It’s been kept from public view by its discoverer and private owner, J.P. Randel, since it was unearthed in 1939. Everyone was beginning to think it was a myth. ‘So it does exist?’ I ask, keeping my pace as Becker follows me, but then I remember something in the NDA, and I skid to a stop. ‘Wait, am I coming with you?’ I ask the open space in front of me.
I catch sight of Becker out the corner of my eye, then he’s standing before me, a thoughtful look on his face. ‘Of course.’
‘Oh good.’ I smile brightly at him. ‘That’ll please Alexa.’
‘Eleanor, don’t let her bother you. She’s a leech.’
‘She’s not bothering me.’
He rolls his eyes and cocks his arm out for me to take. ‘I need to pick a dress for you.’
He does? ‘Do I have consultation rights?’ I ask, letting him lead me down the road.
He ponders my question for a few moments, then looks down at me with a conniving grin. ‘I have only a few rules that you must adhere to. Other than that, I’m pretty flexible.’
‘And what are the rules?’ I’m wary, and I get a strange feeling that I need to be.
‘Legs out and high heels.’ He reels off his demands wistfully, a delighted smile on his face. He’s already thought about this. Those rules came too quick and easily. So I’ll be wearing a cocktail dress? I nod agreeably to myself. ‘And no knickers,’ he tags on the end.
‘No knickers?’ I blurt out, throwing him a horrified look. ‘A short dress and no knickers? At Countryscape?’
‘You’re a clever girl, princess.’ He stops and takes the tops of my arms, bringing his face close to mine. ‘High heels, short dress, no knickers,’ he whispers, his eyes scanning my face while he holds me in place. I’m not stupid. I know why he’s insisting on me wearing a short dress and no knickers. Not only will he relish in the thought of my arse bare beneath, but he’s also making allowances for a spanking session should the urge come over him. And I don’t doubt it will.
‘That could be awkward when I drop-kick Alexa.’ I say thoughtfully, and Becker laughs loudly.
‘Fucking hell, I love you.’
Warmth. God, it’s the best feeling. ‘I’m not going to give you any reason to spank me.’
He grins and plants a forceful kiss on my lips, sucking me further into his debasing world. ‘I don’t need a reason to indulge in what’s mine, princess.’
‘When are you going to accept it, Mr Hunt?’ I ask around his kiss. ‘You do not own me.’
‘Keep telling yourself that.’
‘I will.’
He grabs my hand, checking for traffic, before we cross the road towards the side street where Becker parked his pretty red Ferrari. ‘Did you get hold of the Andy Warhol exhibition catalogue?’ he asks as he opens the door and I slide in.
‘They’ve reserved one for you. It’ll be mailed this week.’
‘Super.’ He shuts the door and rounds the car, sliding in and switching his specs for shades before he starts the car and pulls off. I go to my phone to check my emails, seeing one has just landed from Sotheby’s.
I frown. ‘There’s a problem with the O’Keeffe painting.’
Becker swings me an alarmed look. ‘A problem?’
I scan the email, searching for more information. ‘They don’t say. They’ve asked me to call them.’ I dial Sotheby’s as Becker takes a corner. ‘Oh, wait,’ I hang up before it connects and point my phone at the sign for New Bond Street. ‘We may as well stop in.’
‘Good idea.’ Becker takes the turn and slows in search of a parking space, and I scan the street too, looking down the side streets for any available spaces as he crawls along.
‘Nothing,’ I say, pointing to the entrance of Sotheby’s. ‘Just drop me outside and wait. It shouldn’t take long.’
Becker pulls up and idles at the kerb. ‘They better not have discovered it’s a fake,’ he says, giving me high eyebrows. ‘That would be ironic, wouldn’t it?’
I laugh and jump out. ‘Back in a minute.’ When I enter, it’s busy, people criss-crossing the foyer. ‘Is Frank Gardener available?’ I ask when I arrive at reception. ‘My name’s Eleanor Cole. The Hunt Corporation.’
The man on reception dials an extension and talks briefly before hanging up. ‘He won’t be a minute. Please, take a seat.’
‘Actually, can you tell me where the ladies are?’ I’m suddenly desperate for the loo.
‘Yes, just over there on the right.’
‘Thanks. Will you let Frank know if I’m not back?’
‘Of course.’
I hotfoot it to the ladies, taking a right as instructed, but I skid to an alarmed stop when I see someone at the end of the corridor, pushing his way through a staff door. ‘Shit,’ I breathe, diving back around the corner before Brent sees me, plastering my back to a wall. What the hell is he doing here? I look left and right, weighing up my options. I have only one. Hold my bladder. I can’t see him. Don’t want to see him.
I hurry back to reception and find a chair, my eyes watchful as I perch on the edge, my mind racing. What’s he doing here? My stomach rolling, I pull up my emails, checking the transfer details with Becker’s bank. ‘Oh no,’ I nearly die, and all thoughts of Brent Wilson disappear when I see I’ve entered a digit wrong. ‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ I break out in a sweat, scrambling through my contacts for the number of Becker’s personal banker.
‘Miss Cole?’
I look up, finding a man before me. ‘I’m sorry, can you just give me a minute?’ I ask as the phone rings. ‘I’ve just realised I entered the bank account details wrong for the transfer. I’m assuming that’s what the problem is with the O’Keeffe?’ Someone picks up, and I hold a finger up for Frank to wait. ‘Hi, yes, it’s Eleanor Cole, the Hunt Corporation. I believe there’s an issue with a payment to Sotheby’s.’
‘Yes, we’ve been trying to call Mr Hunt.’
‘You can speak to me.’ Please speak to me. ‘I have clearance from Mr Hunt. My name’s Eleanor Cole.’
‘Okay, we’ll need to go through a few security questions. Can you type into your keypad the third digit of the account password?’
‘Absolutely.’ I stand and pace up and down as I follow his instructions and then answer all the questions fired at me, my eyes batting back and forth to the huge clock hanging on the foyer wall.
‘Thank you for clearing security,’ he eventually says. ‘The account number provided doesn’t exist.’
‘That’s my fault. I entered a digit incorrectly.’ Bloody hell. Becker will kill me. ‘Can we rectify that now? I’m at Sotheby’s.’
‘Of course. Do you have access to online banking?’
‘I have the app.’
‘Excellent. If you enter the details again, I’ll make sure it goes through without delay.’
I put him on loudspeaker and click the app, but the damn thing won’t load. I could kick myself. I put my hand over the phone. ‘I don’t suppose you have a spare computer I could use?’ I ask Frank, who’s waiting patiently nearby.
He smiles kindly. ‘This way, Miss Cole.’
I go back to my phone. ‘I’ll call you back in five minutes once I’m at a computer.’
‘Okay, Miss Cole.’
I hang up and follow Frank as he leads me into a private office. ‘I’m so sorry about this,’ I say, a little embarrassed. It’s the first payment I’ve made for Becker and I’ve fucked it all up. Idiot!
‘Don’t worry. The painting is all packaged and loaded onto the van ready for delivery. I knew there would be a simple explanation. We’ve dealt with the Hunts for many years.’ Frank motions to a chair, and I take a seat as he backs out of the room. ‘Just call me if you require any assistance.’
Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology Book 2) Page 14