‘Seriously.’
‘Your favourite position?’
‘Correct.’
I sigh, typing out my answer. I frown when it tells me I’m wrong. I look up at him. ‘It’s definitely doggy.’ What gives?
He gets up and rounds his desk, coming in beside me and dropping a kiss on my cheek. ‘It was. But now . . .’
I grin and type in ‘Missionary’, my phone scans my face and the screen opens. ‘Fucking hell.’ I baulk when the balances hit me.
‘Don’t spend it all at once, eh?’
Jesus Lord above. I don’t think I could spend this money in a lifetime. But, then again, I don’t make a habit of spending millions on art. ‘I’ll sort the transfer.’
‘Thanks. I’ll email you their bank details and how much.’
I close the app as Becker takes his seat back up. ‘Oh, and I’m going out with Lucy tomorrow night.’
‘That’s nice. Where?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘Okay.’ He looks up at me. ‘I have an appointment at Parsonson’s at three.’
Parsonson’s? The auction house where I turned up late for my interview because some cheeky arsehole nicked my cab? ‘Do you need me to prepare anything?’
‘Yes, yourself.’
‘Huh?’
‘Prepare yourself, princess. You’re coming with me.’Chapter 13The sight of the glass revolving door outside Parsonson’s sends me cold. I can see myself trapped in one of the quarters all those weeks ago, frozen in a shock-and-awe moment.
‘After you,’ Becker says, having me tear my gaze away from the doors, finding his arm is swept out in a gesture for me to lead on, his expression telling me he knows exactly what’s going through my mind.
‘Thank you.’ I push into the glass and follow as it slowly glides around, reacquainting myself with the stark reception of Parsonson’s as I go. I’m lost in my reflections, remembering the last time I was here, when I’m suddenly pushing against a dead weight. I’m trapped again, and knowing what I’ll find, I turn to search him out on the other side. Except he’s not on the other side. Becker’s in the same section as me. Close. I move backwards until my back meets the glass.
‘Imagine,’ he says quietly, closing the gap between us, ‘if we’d have been in this situation that time.’
I mull over his suggestion, thinking about the energy that sparked back then. Having glass between us wasn’t effective enough. Like this? I honestly can’t imagine how I would have been. Even more useless? I was pretty pathetic with a protective sheeting of glass keeping me contained. ‘It’s very cosy.’
Becker chuckles and reaches past me as he walks forwards, getting the door shifting again. I step out and gather myself. ‘I might have slapped your face for stealing my cab,’ I say, getting heightened amusement from Becker at my claim. He’s right to laugh. The suggestion is funny. I was capable of nothing in that revolving door.
‘Mr Hunt.’ The receptionist appears from a white door that blends into the wall perfectly. She looks as pristine as the last time I saw her.
‘Afternoon, Janet,’ Becker says, leaning over the desk and giving her his cheek. I watch, astonished, as she pecks his stubbled jaw and he laps it all up.
Becker indicates towards me, and she looks at me, smiling brightly. ‘This is Eleanor. She works for me.’
‘Lucky Eleanor,’ she quips, giving me her hand to shake. ‘Oh, I’ve seen you before.’
‘Yes,’ I confirm, turning an accusing look up at Becker. ‘Unfortunately, I was late for my interview.’
‘Unfortunately?’ Becker questions seriously. ‘Trust me. You wouldn’t want to work for Parsonson’s. I did you a favour.’
‘Would have been nice to have a choice.’
The lady behind reception laughs at our light banter. ‘Well, Eleanor, if it’s any consolation, many would kill to work for the Hunt Corporation.’
‘Many women?’ I ask seriously.
She laughs loudly, and Becker rolls his eyes. ‘I’m here to see Simon,’ he says, clearly bored with the banter now.
‘You know where you’re going.’ She smiles coyly, and I quickly look to Becker for his reaction. She’s flirting, and Becker is smiling at her, giving her gleaming eyes and that adorable grin. He’s a tart.
‘Thank you, Janet.’ He strolls off to the elevator, leaving me to follow.
‘I want to add something to your NDA,’ I tell him as I come to a stop beside him at the lifts.
He looks down at me curiously as he reaches for the call button. ‘What’s that, princess?’
‘No flirting.’
‘I agree.’ He straightens and pulls the sides of his jacket in, fastening the button. ‘You’re not allowed to flirt.’
‘I’m talking about you,’ I say on a laugh. He can’t expect me to stand by and watch him lap up the drool being dribbled all over him by enchanted women.
‘I don’t flirt,’ he protests as the lift arrives and we step in. ‘I’m building good business relations.’
I snort my repugnance but decide to leave it there. Because I’m at work and I can be professional. Kind of. ‘Oh, so that’s how we build good relations? I’ll remember that.’