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Slipping in and pulling on my belt, I watch him walk around to the driver’s side, wondering how the rest of the day might pan out.
‘Just remember,’ he says, sliding into the black leather seat and inserting the key into the ignition, ‘you’re at work today.’
That answers my question. I’m at work, therefore I should be professional. There’s a problem, though. I can be professional, but I struggle to maintain that professionalism when Becker pushes at the boundary lines. We’re always either in the grey or hovering very close to the edge of it. ‘And so are you,’ I politely remind him. He needs to remember that detail too.
‘Have no fear, princess,’ he teases, pressing a button that starts to lower a platform from the ceiling. ‘When I’m focused on something precious and priceless, there’s nothing else on my mind.’ The hissing of hydraulics almost drowns him out. Almost. I wish it had, because now I’m furious with myself for silently wishing he was incapable of thinking of anything else but me. I’m pathetic. If I wasn’t on my way to Countryscape, I might bail and decide this is a terrible idea. I’m not sure I appreciate friendly, playful Becker. It makes controlling my urges more tricky.
Once the ramp has lowered, Becker pulls slowly forward, and then presses another button that has us rising steadily. The cold air of the derelict factory unit hits me, and it’s only now that it occurs to me that we’re in an open-top car. In November. The low winter sun has been present in recent days, but with clear skies comes lower temperatures. It’s bloody freezing. Is he mad? I shiver and pull in my coat, gazing around as we rise to the factory floor. It’s going to get colder when we roll out of here, and colder still when we’re sailing down an open road. The pretentious Ferrari is suddenly very appealing. ‘It’s a bit chilly,’ I mumble to myself, pulling on my new gloves.
The car jolts, indicating the end of the climb from the garage, and Becker turns to me. ‘Come here,’ he says, reaching over and taking my scarf. My head recoils instinctively in response to his move, not that he notices. Or if he does, he ignores it. He calmly folds and smooths the material of my scarf under my close observation until he has a large triangle. Then he drapes it over my head, sheltering my hair and my ears, before tying a bow under my chin with the loose ends. I smile as he concentrates on tucking some misbehaving locks of my red hair into the edges, a frown jumping on to his forehead when they refuse to remain where he’s put them. ‘Even your hair’s irritating,’ he mutters, his eyes meeting mine and holding them for longer than is acceptable for an employer–employee relationship. ‘Perfect,’ he says quietly, nodding decisively. We both seem to find reality at the same time, each of us snapping out of the moment and looking away.
‘My duties for today?’ I ask, aiming to get us back on track quickly.
‘Don’t piss me off,’ Becker fires shortly, revving the engine and flipping a switch that has the factory doors sliding open. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’
‘No problem, sir,’ I answer cockily. I can’t promise that. Pissing Becker off comes naturally.
‘Don’t call me sir,’ he says quietly, and I look across to see him shudder, remembering him barking those same words at me in the library one time.
‘Why?’
He glances out the corner of his eye. ‘It doesn’t help me when I’m having to resist you, Eleanor.’
I breathe in and quickly return my focus forward. ‘Okay.’
‘Good.’ He hits the pedal, and we’re zooming out of the garage like lightning. ‘Get ready for the ride of your life, princess.’
I’m inhaling again. I try not to, but it’s impossible when he’s chucking innuendoes all over the place. Actually, the first wasn’t an innuendo at all. It was a statement. An honest statement?
‘I mean in Gloria,’ he clarifies, returning his attention to the road. ‘It’s thrilling.’
Forcing myself to disregard Becker’s inappropriate comments, I breathe in the fresh air currently whizzing past my face at high speed, and when music is introduced to the mix, I’m more than thankful. It seems neither of us can say the right thing, so filling the empty space with INXS’s ‘Need you Tonight’ is welcome. And a bit . . . suggestive.
It takes a solid hour to get out of London. We hit the country roads, and Becker opens up Gloria, putting his foot down and relaxing back in his seat. It’s nippy, but he has the heater blasting and the scarf he so thoughtfully secured over my head is keeping my ears warm. I’m relieved I took the initiative to transfer my shades from my other bag. Becker has replaced his normal glasses for sunglasses, too, and despite the music having stopped about ten miles ago, I’m no longer uncomfortable. Becker is right. Gloria is one hell of a ride.
