She hasn’t been here all morning? She hasn’t been worrying about me? The fact that Mrs Potts isn’t suspicious should be a relief. But it isn’t. I’m too mad to appreciate it. He lied. The dirty scoundrel lied through his teeth.
Mrs Potts turns and smiles at me. I might look completely composed on the outside, but on the inside I’m ripping everything in sight to shreds, and a few things out of sight, too. Namely, Becker Hunt.
‘Are you okay, dear?’ she asks. Okay, maybe I’m not so composed.
‘Yes,’ I squeak, pointing to the kitchen door. ‘I’d . . . um . . . better get on.’ My legs are itching to break into a run, but I manage to hold them off until the kitchen door is shut behind me, and Mrs Potts is out of view. Then there’s nothing holding them back. I’m sprinting down the corridor towards Becker’s office like a madwoman, knowing I need to rein myself in, but unable to find the self-control to do so. He lied to me, the conniving bastard. Played with my conscience.
I don’t bother ringing the bell when I get to his office door, I just steam right in, my temper getting the better of me. ‘You lying arsehole,’ I blurt through my laboured breathing, slamming the door behind me.
Becker looks up, and it takes a few moments to register something that I should have checked first: he isn’t alone. ‘Mr H,’ I breathe, my eyes widening. Becker’s leaning over the desk, his palm is resting lightly on his grandad’s shoulder, where he’s seated in Becker’s chair. Both men are staring at me, one shocked, one annoyed.
‘You just can’t find the staff these days,’ Becker says quietly, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. A derogatory statement like that from him would usually have me preparing to attack, but I’ve just noticed someone else in the room, too.
Brent slowly turns in his chair, a stunned look on his face. ‘Good morning, Eleanor.’
Oh fuck. What the hell is he doing here?
‘Morning,’ I reply, taking the handle of the door, desperate to escape the three sets of eyes all focused on me.
‘I think that’s my cue to leave,’ Mr H says as he rises from the chair, giving me a knowing look and Becker a pat on the shoulder. A pat that’s a bit too firm to be mistaken as fond.
‘No, really, I’ll go.’ I open the door. ‘I thought you were in the courtyard.’
‘I was heading that way until I found Becker and Brent in the corridor.’ Mr H makes his way around the desk and holds out his hand to Brent, who takes it quickly and gives it a firm shake. ‘Good to see you, son.’
Brent stands in a gesture of respect. ‘And you, Mr H.’
I definitely don’t miss the look of condemnation on Becker’s face at their exchange as he rounds his desk, and it makes me wonder whether his grandad is aware of the animosity between these two and the game they’re playing. ‘You don’t need to leave, Gramps.’ Becker shoots me a filthy look that I accept willingly. I deserve it.
‘Oh, yes’ – Mr H points his walking stick at me – ‘I think I do.’
I cringe all over the office and mentally smack myself around the head with the cane currently pointed at me. Yes, perfectly immune.
‘I don’t think it’s safe to be alone with her,’ Becker mumbles under his breath. I accept that too. In fact, if he sacked me on the spot, I wouldn’t blame him. He looks to Brent. ‘We’re done. I’ll see you out.’
I turn and exit sharply, but I only make it a few metres down the corridor when my arm is gripped harshly. ‘Ouch,’ I hiss.
‘Wait in the library.’ Becker is speaking through a clenched jaw, trying to disguise the threat.
‘Mrs Potts didn’t even know I was gone,’ I whisper-hiss, allowing him to guide me away for fear of creating more of a scene in front of his grandad and Brent, who are trailing some way behind, chatting.
‘She would have, had I not got you back here before she arrived.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Shut up and get in there.’ He swipes a card, then roughly pushes me inside, and I turn to find Becker trying to close the door and Brent holding it so he can’t.
‘A moment of her time, if you don’t mind,’ Brent says confidently, going to pass Becker. I cringe as Becker blocks him.
‘She’s busy,’ he retorts sharply, yanking at the door again, but Brent isn’t giving in. His expression is determined, and so is his hold on the door.
‘I won’t take much of her time.’ Brent speaks coolly, but there’s no escaping the gritty edge to his tone. Not that I expect it to make an ounce of difference to Becker’s subtle refusal. I’ve just caught a glimpse of my boss’s profile. He looks indomitable. This could turn messy.