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I glance across to Becker, finding him tugging at his trouser leg. ‘Ruined,’ he spits, looking up at me.
I hold onto my grin and wander over to him, listening out for any signs of a dog in pursuit. ‘Let me see.’ I gently push his hands away and kneel to inspect Becker’s mutilated trouser leg. He’s right. Totally trashed. ‘Maybe you can replace them,’ I suggest diplomatically, looking up at him. His face has smoothed out, all of the angry lines gone.
‘It’s bespoke.’ He sighs, reaching down and pulling me up. ‘You’ve turned my own dog against me.’ He turns me in his arms and starts walking, pushing me towards the kitchen door. ‘I have competition.’
‘You have an angry dog,’ I say on a laugh, resting into his back. ‘You should spend more time with him. Build a bond.’
‘Our bond was just fine until you came along.’ I’m gently nudged into the corridor and turned back in his arms. ‘I can’t win with him. When you’re not here, he doesn’t speak to me, and when you are, he assaults me.’
I grin and toss my arms over his shoulders, loving his exasperation and loving our closeness even more. ‘I’m meeting Lucy for lunch.’
‘Okay.’ His nose nuzzles mine.
‘I need to do some work.’
He reaches behind his neck and disconnects my hold, smirking when he catches the affronted state that I’ve tried and failed to disguise. ‘Don’t let me stop you.’ He turns and strides off down the corridor, and my eyes drop straight to his arse. I sigh, my head falling to the side in admiration.
When he reaches the door, he pauses, looking over his shoulder. ‘And stop looking at my arse.’
My eyes climb up his chest, my face stretching into a delighted smile. ‘No.’
I’m back.Chapter 11I’m in my element again, surrounded by the things I love at The Haven. It’s Friday. My first week back has been all I could have hoped for, though finding a happy medium in the workplace between personal and professional is a constant challenge. Becker distracts me without even trying.
He kindly collected some clothes from my apartment for me – I couldn’t bring myself to go there – and Mum has checked in every day, eager to hear regular updates of my life, especially now that she knows Becker is in it. I’m going home again soon, to spend some real quality time with her. I’m slowly coming to terms with my mother’s newfound zest for life, and that she has a new love.
I’ve lunched with Lucy every day, too, and she’s now up-to-speed on everything regarding Becker and me. Well, not quite everything, of course, but she’s slowly accepted that this is where I want to be. I can’t allow the fact that she knows nothing of lost maps and break-ins cloud my contentment. I, however, am fully up-to-date with everything concerning Lucy and Mark – printer-room girl and all. Lucy’s adamant that she’s after her man. Frankly, I think she’s being paranoid, but instead of telling her so, I’ve focused on pointing out the obvious clues that Mark is smitten with her. Like him calling or texting every two minutes when they’re not together.
This morning, after lying on one of the chesterfields in the library and staring up at the depiction of Heaven and Hell on the ceiling for a while, I’ve literally whistled while I’ve worked, skipping from bookcase to bookcase. It’s taking every effort to avoid a certain shelf with a certain secret compartment that contains a certain secret map, as it has each time I’ve been in here since my return.
But that challenge becomes harder when my phone pings with a message from Becker.
Can you grab me the 2001 (T-W) file? Third shelf up, second row behind the door x
My eyes flick up to the shelf he’s stated, the shelf with the secret compartment, and butterflies erupt in my tummy. Goddamn me for the thrilling feel of adrenalin that immediately starts to course through my veins. I should have told him that I know where the map’s hidden. But then I remind myself why I haven’t. It’s his secret. A personal one. Like that secret room, the one where he masterfully chipped away at a lump of marble, producing a piece of art. The fake piece of art that he tricked Brent Wilson into paying a whopping fifty million for so he can search for the real treasure without being tailed. Except Becker’s vowed his search is over. Which makes all the effort he went to in order to execute his master plan a complete waste of time. It seems like a bit of a shame. Doesn’t that lost treasure deserve to be found?
I’m still pondering that a few minutes later, spinning my phone in my hand, when it starts ringing. Lucy’s name flashes up on my screen, and I quickly answer to distract me from more inappropriate thoughts.
