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The fresh air hits me like a brick when I make it to the courtyard, and though the alleyway is perfectly lit, I’m blindly following the path that’ll lead me to the outside world – a world that is far more appealing right now than the wickedness than resides in The Haven. I’m in no mood for a date, but the alternative is sitting at home and torturing my mind with constant reruns and flashbacks of Becker Hunt pushing that woman up against a wall. A woman, I admit, I stupidly wish was me. I’ve never been at once so attracted and repulsed by a man. It’s fucking with my head. Everything else is going so smoothly, my new life exactly where I want it to be. Screwing with that now would be monumentally foolish of me.
Becker Hunt does things to me – things I’ve never encountered before – and although he delivered one stinger of a proverbial slap to my face, I know it was tactical, if only to prove to himself that I would be bothered by it.
And he succeeded.
I’m delusional if I try to convince myself he didn’t notice the hurt I tried so hard to hide. Totally delusional. He’s playing dirty because I rejected him. Because I accepted a date with Brent Wilson. Becker Hunt isn’t used to rejection, and he clearly doesn’t like it. I only received Brent’s call ten minutes ago, and then spent a few minutes in the kitchen with Mr H and Mrs Potts. Was his she-tiger already in his office? She must have been.
And God, do I feel like a fool now.Chapter 9I’m pushing my way through my front door when Lucy comes barrelling out of her flat, all dressed up.
‘Hey,’ she sings at me, but her chipper face fades when she notices my moody expression. ‘What’s up?’
‘He’s an arsehole,’ I spit, unable to hold it in any longer. I’ve declared it repeatedly to myself time and time again, but that’s nowhere near as satisfying as saying it out loud to someone else – someone besides him – and since I’m unable to do that, because he’s my boss, then I’ll have to find other outlets for my frustration. Lucy is the only other person I know in London, with the exception of Mr H and Mrs Potts and I can’t very well vent my vexations with them. They think I’m immune.
Lucy steps back, furrowing her brow. ‘Who?’
‘The twat I work for.’ I drag my tired body into my flat, hearing Lucy’s heels following me. I can sense her curiosity. I’ve told her the job is going great, because it is. I never mentioned the sinfully good-looking arsehole that I work for because he was irrelevant. That choice of silence is going to change now.
It all comes spilling out. ‘I never told you, because it didn’t seem to matter,’ I mutter moodily. ‘But my boss; he’s hot. Tall, angel eyes, perfectly straight nose, delicious body, deadly handsome.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes,’ I grumble, throwing my bag down on the sofa. ‘He’s also an arrogant prick, a womaniser, and—’
‘And you fancy the pants off him.’
I gasp in disgust. ‘I do not. He fancies himself too much.’
She laughs and plonks her arse on the couch. ‘What’s he done to piss you off so much?’
‘Everything,’ I grunt. She doesn’t need to know the finer details, how I encountered him before I went for the interview at the Hunt Corporation, how the sexual attraction is so potent it sends me dizzy. Nor does she need to know about the stupid back-and-forth game we seem to be playing. Or the fact that he just made my eyes bleed at the sight of his naked chest and the woman he had pinned to the wall. Oh God, she really does need to know all of that. So it all comes out. The lot. Every tiny detail, from beginning to end, and the whole time I’m talking, Lucy’s mouth opens wider and wider until her chin is skimming the floor.
‘Fucking hell,’ she breathes, wide-eyed, which is exactly the reaction I expected. Then I do something I promised I wouldn’t do again. I grab my laptop and open Google.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks.
I type in his name, pull up images, and turn the screen to Lucy. I don’t need to say any more. That jaw she’s just picked up? It crashes to the floor again. ‘Sweet baby Jesus.’ She grabs the screen and thrusts her face up close. ‘I know his face.’
I laugh. ‘He’s a playboy extraordinaire.’
‘And he’s your boss?’ She looks at me incredulously.
‘Yes. He owns the Hunt Corporation. I knew he was familiar when I first bumped into him.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind looking at this all day.’
The traitor. ‘He’s an arsehole,’ I remind her. ‘Look.’ I point to image after image, all of Becker with a different woman on his arm. My face screws up.
