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I leave Lucy at the Tube station after getting a pep talk, not that I need one. I know what I’m doing, and I can’t find the will to stop myself. Not after his little performance in the corridor of The Haven earlier. My self-respect seems to have vanished into thin air since I clapped eyes on the charming Becker Hunt.
Strutting into The Wolseley, swaying my curvy arse like a pendulum, I cast my eyes around, refusing to allow my nerves to get the better of me. I saw Becker’s reaction when Brent got a little friendly with me in his office last week, and I also saw his face when I took Brent’s call and accepted his dinner invitation earlier. Just the knowledge that Becker knows I’m out with Brent is fuelling me, and – unreasonably – I cannot wait to go to work tomorrow and remind him by slipping it neatly into conversation. I’ve already decided that however tonight turns out – massive fail or a pleasant first date – Becker is going to get an enhanced version of the latter. I’m about to have the best night of my life.
‘Madam?’
I look up and meet the stare of a lady standing before a wooden podium. ‘Hi, I’m meeting Mr Wilson.’
Her whole being lights up before my eyes, then she coughs and makes an obviously bad job of composing herself. ‘Certainly, madam.’ She steps out from behind her stand and gestures to the left. ‘Mr Wilson has arrived already. Let me show you to your table.’
I follow her lead, absorbing the happy chatter that’s filling the grand space. Her reaction to Brent’s name only increases my smugness. It doesn’t matter that I promised myself no involvement with men. I can make an exception for a millionaire. A smile breaks across my face, just as I catch the eye of Brent across the room. He matches my expression, rising from his chair to greet me.
‘Eleanor,’ he says as I approach, putting both hands out to me as he lets his gaze travel up and down my body. ‘You look beautiful.’
I take his hands and let him kiss both my cheeks. ‘Thank you.’
His lips linger for a brief moment, his hands increasing their grip. ‘I took the liberty of ordering drinks.’ He breaks away and pulls a chair out, gesturing for me to take a seat.
A glass of champagne is handed to me before Brent sits and claims his own fizz, holding it up on a smile.
‘Are we celebrating?’ I ask, chinking the side of his glass.
He raises his eyebrows suggestively and takes his glass to his lips. ‘I’m having dinner with a beautiful woman. I’d say that’s something to celebrate, wouldn’t you?’ He tips his glass slowly, watching me as I glance away and shift a little in my seat. ‘I’m glad you agreed to have dinner with me.’ Brent’s declaration pulls my attention back to him, and I finally allow myself to take him all in. His brown eyes seem warmer and his grey hair greyer. His square jaw also seems squarer.
‘So am I,’ I reply, smiling.
‘But I can’t help but wonder if your acceptance was because you really wanted to have dinner with me’ – he watches me closely, and I cringe, knowing what words are going to pass his lips next – ‘or whether there’s a bit of one-upmanship going on between you and the charming Becker Hunt.’
I cringe even further. There’s that word again. Charming. ‘Mr Wilson, there’s really nothing very charming about my boss.’ I give myself a little pat on the back for two reasons. One, because I sound confident, and two, because I referred to the arrogant swine as my boss. Let it be clear that that’s the only way I see Becker Hunt. Almost like forbidden fruit, which he is, and not only because he’s my boss.
The pleased smile that spreads across Brent’s face fills me with satisfaction. He believes me, which is good, because I’m speaking nothing but the truth. ‘Many would disagree.’ He takes another sip of his champagne.
‘Many must be stupid, then.’
Brent almost spits his drink out, his chuckle turning into a proper belly laugh. He quickly puts aside his glass as I look on, bemused, then grabs his napkin and pats at his mouth. ‘I apologise.’
‘No need,’ I assure him, polishing off my own glass and placing it on the table. A waitress is by my side a second later, and my glass is refilled. I smile my thanks.
‘You have fire in your belly to match the vivid red of your beautiful hair.’ Brent reclaims his drink and tips it towards my head, like he’s toasting my red hair. ‘I like that.’ He takes a sip, keeping his eyes on me. ‘I like you, Eleanor. Smart. Ambitious.’
That’s it. I can’t hold it off any more. I blush, severing our eye contact and muttering my thanks. If we’re going to talk charming, this guy is nailing it. It’s been a long time since I’ve been romanced by a man, and I’m unsure whether to be uncomfortable or flattered.
