Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Single. There was definitely emphasis on that one word. Why is he here? To gloat about his acquisition? To rub Becker’s nose in it? What a waste of time.
Becker’s fingers flex, and I suck in a hiss of pain, dipping out of his hold. He’s being possessive. Marking his territory. And why the fuck is Brent even here?
I try to call on my sass and the fire in my belly, but when I need them most, they’ve deserted me and nerves have taken hold. A combination of Mr H’s harsh reality check and the nasty history between the Wilsons and the Hunts that I now know about has me in a fluster. What do I say? What do I do?
‘Congratulations.’ I startle myself with my enthusiastic grace. I have no idea where that came from, and I certainly don’t know if I should be making any mention of Brent’s winning bid and the subsequent acquisition of a forged treasure. And when he frowns at me, confused, I realise that my one-word outburst wasn’t very specific. ‘Head of a Faun,’ I say more calmly, tensing, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. It’s Becker’s fault. I’m talking for the sake of it, and talking about stuff I really shouldn’t be talking about.
‘Ah.’ Brent laughs, giving Becker a smug look. It won’t ruffle my boss’s feathers. He’s got the upper hand. He’s a point ahead, even if Brent Wilson doesn’t know it. ‘Yes, quite. Unfortunately, my celebrations were cut short when I found a scratch on the bonnet of my Bentley.’
I burst into flames. Literally. Every trace of skin on my body matches my hair within a second. ‘Oh no,’ I gush, hearing Becker laughing in my mind, howling, rolling around on the floor. I, however, want to dive out of the window. ‘That’s shocking,’ I exclaim, thinking I need to shut up right now. ‘Terrible.’ But I don’t. ‘It’s a travesty. Diabolical.’ I shake my head, rambling on. ‘And to such a beautiful car.’ I morph my face into something close to disgust. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to.’ I jolt forward as a result of a sharp nudge in my back, courtesy of Becker, and I start to laugh nervously, doing my best to style out my stumble with a shift of position, transferring my weight on to my right hip casually. He’s telling me to zip it. Of course, I don’t. ‘Who would do such a mindless thing?’ Just give me the lethal injection and be done with it.
‘I wondered the same thing.’ Brent’s distrustful eyes watch me, waiting for me to cut to the chase and spill the beans. I feel like I virtually have already.
‘Vandals,’ Becker breathes, sliding his hands into his pockets and sighing. ‘It’s enough to make you want to kill.’
‘Indeed,’ Brent says quietly, locking stares with Becker. Good God, the animosity in this room is potent. Enough to make you want to kill? Jesus. ‘Eleanor.’ Brent turns back to me. ‘About that lunch.’
What?
My eyes go round and all saliva dries from my mouth. What on earth? I tilt my head with a lack of words coming to me as Brent looks down at his watch.
‘I have a spare couple of hours before I head back across town to The Staton.’ What’s his game? He must know Becker and I are . . . involved? If he doesn’t, then he’s quite dim, and if he does, then it’s clearly of no consequence. I’m not sure which irritates me most, and that sass and fire I was looking for suddenly finds me. But Becker speaks up before I can unleash it.
‘I’m sorry,’ Becker says, all casual and unperturbed. ‘Hunt Corporation employee contracts state no client–employee socialising.’
‘I’m not a client,’ Brent retorts, a glimmer of a cunning smile on his face.
Becker’s teeth clench, and he virtually snarls, but he doesn’t counter because he can’t. Brent really isn’t a client. He’s the enemy.
I look back and forth between the two men, my anger growing. They may as well have one of my arms each and be playing tug of fucking war with me. Boys!
‘Thank you for the offer, Brent,’ I say on a sweet smile, getting a sharp poke in my back, courtesy of my boss. I ignore it and step out of his reach. He’s being so possessive, and I’m not taking much pleasure from it. What the hell am I involved in? Then my bottom rubs on the material of my trousers, making me wince. Becker. I’m involved with Becker Hunt, his filthy fucking, and his filthy business dealings.
He’s bristling like a bear with a sore head next to me, and Brent is loving every second of it. Does he really think I want to date him? The prick. But at the same time, I’m furious with Becker for putting me in this situation.