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‘Look at you, fancy pants.’ She says, giving my outfit the once-over. ‘Good day?’ She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. I wouldn’t know where to begin on today, so I don’t entertain her, returning the favour and slapping her arm. She snickers, but her amusement vanishes the moment her eyes flit past me and catch sight of who’s currently stalking around my apartment with a scowl on his face.
‘Oh?’ Lucy cranes her neck to get a better look, trying to muscle past me. I move to stop her. Something tells me Becker won’t tolerate girlie banter right now.
‘He’s just checking things out.’ I push her back into the corridor and pull the door closed behind me.
I get a slighted look tossed at me. ‘How bouncy the bed is?’
‘Security,’ I blurt, keeping hold of the door handle.
‘Security?’ Lucy repeats, flat and bored. ‘He’s checking security? How exciting. How about checking your security?’ She nods to my crotch area. My lips purse at her cheek and Mark lets out a sharp shot of laughter. Oh, her scream is going to reach the valleys of Wales when I fill her in on the last twenty-four hours. Or what I can tell her, anyway. ‘Take it you have your job back?’ She eyes me suspiciously.
‘Coffee in the morning?’ I ask, nodding my head, telling her the answer to that question should be a resounding yes.
Her eyes light up like fireworks and she nods with me, backing away. ‘Eight?’
I’m still nodding. ‘I’ll—’ The door is wrenched open, my body following it on a clumsy stagger back. ‘Whoa,’ I cry, colliding with Becker’s tall, too solid frame. Quickly gathering myself, I toss him an indignant look. ‘Watch it.’
My scathing threat has zero impact. He gives Lucy and Mark the once-over while they both stand silently and accept the inspection they’re under, before he takes my hand and pulls me into the apartment, swinging the door shut behind him. I catch Lucy’s bemused face and put my hand up, mouthing, ‘Morning.’ She won’t forget, especially now she’s spotted Becker.
‘Did you leave the pillows scattered like that?’ He marches forward and assesses the cushions that are strewn haphazardly all over my couch.
‘Yes.’ I avoid rolling my eyes for fear of being caught and reprimanded. He’s on a mission, yet what that mission could be is yet to be established. He should know the pillows were all over the place. He was sprawled on them this morning.
‘Did you leave the lemonade on the worktop?’
I glance over to my kitchen area and see many things littering the work surface. Is he going to ask about each and every item? ‘Yes.’
‘Was your bed made this morning?’
I purse my lips and note my messy bedcovers. He was in that bed last night. Does he even remember? ‘No.’
‘Was the bathroom door open?’
‘Yes.’ I sigh my answer this time, wandering further into my apartment and throwing my bag on to the couch.
He’s standing in the centre of my space, looking around, pointing out random things. ‘Was the rug all bitty?’
My patience evaporates. He was here this morning. He’s seen it all. ‘So I need to vacuum.’
He huffs his agreement and strolls over to my window. ‘Was this picture on the floor?’ I watch him pick up a framed photograph of me and my mum and put it in its rightful place. On the windowsill.
‘No.’ I frown to myself, searching my mind for any clue that will lead me to the reason why it would be on my apartment floor.
Becker pulls the blind up abruptly and looks outside into the darkness. ‘Didn’t think so,’ he murmurs quietly.
I look back to my front door. ‘Did you close the door?’ I ask, but I know I heard it slam as he stalked after me this morning.
‘Yes, I closed the door.’ His hand reaches for something on the windowsill, and he turns around, playing with it as he stares down. I have to step forward to fathom what it is. My eyes widen when I realise. ‘The window lock?’
‘Correct,’ he mutters as he strides across my flat to the bathroom. I don’t move. I’ve been frightened into silence and immobility. Someone has been in here?
‘Is anything missing?’ he calls, and I immediately scan the space, looking. Not that I have much to take, apart from my laptop.
Which is currently on my bed. ‘No,’ I say quietly, frowning.
‘We probably disturbed them.’ Becker marches out of my bathroom with arms full of various bottles and cosmetics. ‘You’re staying with me.’ He dumps them on the bed. ‘Get a bag.’
His order and follow-up demand soon yanks me from my stomach-knotting worry, catapulting me into panic. ‘I can’t stay with you.’ That’s a bad idea. Stupid.
‘It wasn’t a question, princess.’ He’s back to that irritating, inconsiderate arsehole-like behaviour. I want to object further, but as I gaze around my tiny apartment, I realise something very quickly. I don’t want to stay here. I feel vulnerable and exposed. ‘I’ll go to Lucy’s,’ I suggest. ‘She won’t mind.’
