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She drops the can and dusts off her hands. ‘Tickety-boo,’ she says quietly, running suspicious eyes all over my face. ‘Becker’s home.’
I avoid eye contact and that statement. ‘I’ll be in the library,’ I say, avoiding any further observations she might make, like my observation of Becker Hunt looking sinfully tasty. ‘I have some calls to make and lots to detail for Christie’s.’ I take off, rolling my shoulders and talking some reason into myself. Work. Focus on work.
My feet move fast to get me to the library, and after heaving the door closed, I rest my back against it and look up to the depiction of Heaven and Hell, laughing to myself at the irony. ‘Very apt,’ I say as I head for the couch to drop my bag. I only make it halfway when the phone on the coffee table starts to ring. I change course and take the call.
‘Hello, the Hunt Corporation, Eleanor speaking.’
‘Oh, hello.’ The lady’s voice is surprised. ‘I was expecting Becker to answer.’
‘You’ve come through to the library,’ I tell her, looking down at the phone and seeing the various buttons labelled for different rooms within The Haven. I notice the one labelled ‘office’ is illuminated. ‘He appears to be on a call.’
‘I’m sorry,’ the lady says. ‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘Eleanor.’
‘The new recruit?’
‘That’s me.’
‘Oh, how lovely.’ She sounds surprised. ‘I just have a question. Maybe you can help?’
‘I’ll try. Who’s calling?’
‘Paula. Becker and I—’ She stalls for a beat. ‘We work closely together.’
I’m immediately, and quite unreasonably, wondering how close is close? Work? They’re on first-name terms. Every other client or associate is referred to by their surname. ‘How can I help you?’ I ask, pushing my professionalism to the front of my mind and my wondering to the back.
‘Is he free tomorrow?’
I stare down at the receiver, a little flabbergasted. ‘I’m not sure.’ I’m not organising his personal life. Wait. Is part of my job organising his personal life?
‘Okay. Get him to call me, if you don’t mind.’
I do. ‘Certainly.’ This is probably a stupid question, but I literally have to ask. ‘Does he have your number?’
‘Of course.’
Of course. ‘Right. I’ll ask him to call you back. Goodbye.’ The receiver leaves my ear, but she goes on, prompting me to take it back.
‘I bet it’s interesting working with Becker.’
Something tells me by interesting she’s not referring to the insane amount of gorgeous pieces of art and antiques I’m surrounded by, but maybe the gorgeous man. Is she testing the waters? Sussing me out? ‘Interesting indeed.’ I give her a little something to think about. I have no right to, obviously, and part of me is wondering why I’m being rather hostile, even if I sound perfectly polite.
I hear her hum. It’s a thoughtful hum. ‘Well, if you could get him to give me a call that would be great.’
‘Certainly.’ I hang up, noticing Becker’s office phone is no longer engaged. I purse my lips. I’ll tell him later. Pivoting, I head back towards the couch, but I don’t make it very far.
Because something is in my way.
Something hard.
And I walk right into it. I yelp as I bounce back, blinking repeatedly. The sudden sensation of warmth on my upper arm momentarily freezes me in position, before I’m quickly batting him away. ‘I’m fine,’ I blurt, ducking past him. ‘You need to stop appearing from nowhere.’
‘I like surprising you.’ There’s humour lacing the edges of his words, telling me that adorable lopsided grin will be fixed in place, yet I don’t give in to the enticement of it, centring my focus forward.
I gather the files I need and park myself on the couch, crossing one leg over the other, turning my attention on my task so I have something to focus on, other than him. ‘You don’t surprise me, you make me jump,’ I say, hearing the even beats of his footsteps getting closer.
His long legs bend, bringing those thighs into clear view as he lowers to the couch beside me. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Putting together the details for the new lots going to auction next week.’
He peers at the book in my hands. ‘Ah, the Quahog pearl brooch. Gorgeous, isn’t it?’
I smile at the picture of the stunning piece of jewellery. ‘And rare. The stone, I mean.’
‘Tell me about it.’
I look up on a frown. ‘What?’
‘The brooch. What can you tell me about it?’
I cock my head on a small smile, curious. Surely he knows all about it? He nods encouragingly. I shrug to myself. Maybe he’s testing me. ‘It dates back to the early eighteen hundreds.’
‘Eighteen twenty-five,’ he says quietly. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s a rare purple Quahog pearl.’
His smile makes my stomach flip. ‘One of a kind?’
‘Probably.’
He drapes his arm across the back of the sofa, getting comfortable. ‘Definitely,’ he replies quietly. ‘It’s fifteen millimetres in diameter. One sold five years ago measuring in at fourteen millimetres in diameter. This one right here will take the record.’
