‘He likes you.’ Mrs Potts sounds surprised. ‘You’re privileged. He doesn’t like many people.’ My gaze lifts with her as she stands. ‘That’s enough, boy. In your bed.’
Winston displays his displeasure with a few more grumbles before rolling his big body back on to his paws and trotting across the kitchen, curling up in his bed.
I smile and take my seat as Mrs Potts returns to preparing the tea. ‘Becker is very picky about who he has around his treasure. So far, that means no one,’ Mrs Potts states matter-of-factly. ‘But he knows I haven’t got a lot of gas left in my tank. We’ve needed someone for a long time, but he’s categorically refused. It’s a family business, you see. And the Hunts have always been very private about their business dealings.’ The kettle starts to whistle loudly, and she grabs a tea towel before removing it from the stove and filling the china teapot. ‘I’m so relieved Becker has finally accepted we need help. And now that he’s met you, I suppose we can commence business.’
I don’t think it’s a good idea to share the fact that I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting Becker Hunt.
Mrs Potts sighs. ‘But I fear a girl as pretty as you might not be a good idea.’
‘I’m not pretty.’ It’s out before I can stop it, sounding desperate.
Mrs Potts frowns at me. ‘Really, Eleanor? That red hair and those big brown eyes are men magnets. Not to mention that curvy bottom you’re sporting.’
I restrain myself from looking over my shoulder to said bottom. After all, it’s not like I haven’t seen it a million times in the mirror or squeezed it into dozens of pairs of jeans. I get my arse from my mother. And her narrow waist. Does Becker Hunt like pretty redheads with peachy arses? I don’t know, but I need to convince Mrs Potts that I don’t like cocky, arsehole men. ‘I’ve heard he’s a womaniser,’ I state tentatively, wanting her to understand that I know all about Becker Hunt’s reputation. What I don’t want her to know is that I’ve experienced his womanising ways first hand. He’s suggestive, tempting, and has the power of seduction down to a fine art. And he manages to be a total prick during the process. It defies reason that he should have such an effect on me, and I hate him for it.
‘Donald, that’s old Mr H, Becker’s grandfather, calls him spirited,’ Mrs Potts says wistfully, taking a sip of her tea.
I snort. I can’t help it, and she shoots her eyes to mine. ‘Sorry,’ I say.
Her lips curve. ‘Becker can be a charmer when he wants to be.’
I don’t see him as charming, not in the least. I see him as an arrogant pig. A philanderer. Any female with a brain cell should see that.
‘That man sends every woman he meets dizzy with those godforsaken good looks that he’s inherited from his grandfather.’ Mrs Potts confirms it. I’m not alone. I was dizzy, too. ‘He’s a maverick. A rogue. A player. Seduces women for fun. Honestly, he has a problem. It’s unhealthy.’ She looks past me thoughtfully for a few moments before returning serious eyes to me. ‘But he’s the best dealer out there. He gets that from the long line of Hunt men. Although I dare say he might just be the best of them all. His parents would be proud.’ She takes a sip of her tea, and I follow suit, intrigued. His parents. That was headline news. His mother was tragically killed in a car accident many years ago, and his father was found dead in Rome a few years later after a mugging gone wrong. Becker Hunt has had his fair share of tragedy.
Mrs Potts snaps back to the room, as do I. ‘Anyway, he’s assured me he’ll behave and let you get on with your job,’ she tells me. ‘He knows I need the help, and he needs to make sure he keeps his’ – her lips purse – ‘ways under control. You’ll become immune in time.’
My brow wrinkles. ‘Immune?’ I place my cup down, and she reaches over the table and squeezes my hand.
‘To Becker,’ she says. ‘I have every faith you can keep things professional, dear. It’s so exciting to have someone new at The Haven.’
Professional. I can do that. And now I’m determined to resist the man at all costs. I want this job more than I want him. I quickly rewind. I don’t want him at all. He might be the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and he might send my pulse racing, but Becker Hunt isn’t the kind of man to whom any woman should give the time of day. Why so many do is beyond me. God knows what doors could be opened for me because of working here. My mind is on the job and nothing else, and I plan on keeping it that way.