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‘Mark,’ I blurt, swinging my eyes to Lucy. ‘That’s Mark, isn’t it? Printer-room guy.’
‘That’s him.’ She rips her eyes away.
‘Not gonna say hello?’
‘Nope.’ She slumps back in her seat, swirling the champagne in her glass. ‘Anyway, how was the rest of your day?’
My glass pauses on its way back to the table as I cautiously glance up, finding an expectant look on her face. ‘I intended on clearing the air, but when I went to his office to do so, Brent Wilson turned up.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘I’ve never been in such an awkward situation. He asked me out again.’ I neglect to mention the fact that the veins on Becker’s neck looked set to burst at that point. She’ll only surmise what that might mean, and I’m worried about what that could be.
‘And you said—?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
I sit back, evading her gaze. ‘I didn’t want to,’ I murmur lamely.
‘Why?’ She’s not giving in.
‘Just . . . because.’
‘Because of no one?’
My lips purse, and she smiles at me, her tongue pushing into her cheek mischievously.
‘I know it’s a bad idea,’ I admit. ‘And I have a feeling I’m just a game to both of them. I’m not interested in that at all.’
‘A game?’
‘I don’t think they like each other.’ I shrug.
Lucy’s face screws up a little in disgust. ‘Urgh, testosterone at play. Men. They think with their fucking dicks.’ She lifts her glass to mine. ‘Here’s to not being one of the many, but maybe being the one someday.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
‘Good. We need more alcohol.’ Lucy waves the bottle above her head, and a fresh one is soon delivered. I cast my eyes past her, relaxing a little, thinking tonight is shaping up to be a good one – a great club, great music, free champagne, and my best fr—
What the fucking hell? I stiffen all over as I spot someone. Or no one. My neck cranes, my eyes squinting a little as my mind tries to decide whether I’m seeing right. I don’t know who I’m trying to kid. I’d know him a mile off. Plus, my heart is doing what it usually does when he’s nearby. Going wild. ‘Oh fuck,’ I breathe, tipping another whole glass of champagne down my throat.
‘What?’ Lucy asks, turning in her seat to see where I’m staring. ‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ I squeak, ducking a little in my chair before he spots me. ‘Can we go?’ I can’t believe it!
‘No way.’ She swings back to face me, disgusted by my suggestion. ‘Free champagne all night? The only place I’m moving to is the dance floor.’ She downs her drink in demonstration, then tops it right back up, this time knocking the bottle on the side of the glass. She’s well on her way and I’m not far behind. A bad condition to be in when Becker Hunt is around, and we’re not on work time.
Shit, he’s mere feet away, looking spectacular. He’s ditched the jacket of his suit, leaving him in grey trousers and a white shirt. His collar is open, his sleeves rolled up, revealing lickable forearms, and he’s wearing his glasses. Those fucking glasses.
My eyes close as I gather breath. Lots of it. He was smiling, a bottle of beer in his hand, lapping up the attention being rained on him by the women flocking around him.
Oh God.
When I finally find the strength to open my eyes, I’m confronted by Lucy’s frowning face. ‘Seriously, Eleanor, what’s up?’
‘My boss,’ I whisper. She can’t possibly have heard me over the music, but she must have read my lips because she swings around, wide-eyed and mouth agape.
‘Where?’ she gasps, her head swaying from side to side. ‘Which one?’
‘Trousers, white shirt, glasses.’ I hope Lucy will take note quickly, spot him quickly, and turn away quickly.
‘Motherfucker,’ she says, throwing her arm out in Becker’s direction. ‘His photos do him no justice.’
‘I know,’ I grate. ‘Stop pointing.’ I grab her arm and yank it back.
She flashes me excited eyes. ‘You missed magnificent on that list of yours.’
I pout to myself. I do have magnificent on my list. I just didn’t share it with Lucy, just like I didn’t tell her that he intruded on my date with Brent, or about that tremendous tattoo on his back.
‘Go and say hi.’
‘Are you insane?’ I hiss. ‘I’d rather put on some pink fluffy knickers and join a Bubblegum Girl on one of those podiums.’ My gaze flicks in Becker’s direction, my face screwing up when my eyes are assaulted by a ton of women all vying for his attention. My repulsion only multiplies when I notice that one of the clingers-on is the woman from The Haven. Tiger bird. Alexa. I snort my revulsion and throw another glass of champagne down my throat. Is he for real? He had Alexa in his bed last night. Kissed me this afternoon. And now he’s out with her again? Oh my days, someone hold me back before I go on a rampage. The wanker. The dirty, philandering, low-life wanker.
