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‘She’ll just nag me about going home to see them.’
‘And why don’t you?’
‘Because I’ll be forced to muck out at five in the morning. I’ve been in London for over two months and I can still smell horse shit embedded in my skin.’ She raises her arm to her nose and sniffs on a grimace.
‘Oh, you lived in the country? How lovely.’ Mrs Potts wobbles over with her tray of teacups. ‘I lived in the countryside when I was a girl. Where do you come from, dear?’
I open the door again and make my exit, leaving Lucy and Mrs Potts chatting. The smooth fabric of my knickers rubs my tender arse as I wander the corridor to Becker’s office. But I still smile.
Pushing my way in, I find him with his phone at his ear. He looks frustrated, his fingers slipping under his glasses and rubbing into his sockets. ‘I’ll pay whatever they want, just don’t let that car go to auction.’
My jaw tightens when I quickly get the gist of the conversation. The vintage Ferrari that he wants and which Brent Wilson also wants. Becker’s potent aggravation tells me the call isn’t going well.
‘There are strings you can pull, Simon. You just won’t.’
I hear Simon Timms’s insulted gasp from over here and watch as Becker removes his fingers, revealing rolling eyes. Brent getting that car will put him in a bad, bad mood.
‘It wouldn’t be the first time a lot is pulled at the eleventh hour. I’ll double my offer.’ He shifts in his chair, making the coiled muscles of his bare chest ripple sinfully. I quickly look away. He won’t appreciate my admiration right now. ‘Is this because I didn’t pull strings for you on Head of a Faun?’ Becker questions with a slight curl of his lip. ‘Are you holding a childish grudge, Simon?’ He narrows his eyes on his desk, listening. ‘Fine. Doesn’t look like I have a choice but to bid. I’ll be there.’ He slams the phone down aggressively and throws his arms into the air. ‘Dickhead.’ Anger sizzles in the air around us. He isn’t happy.
‘Okay?’ I ask stupidly, taking a seat.
‘Super.’ He quickly dials someone else and takes his phone to his ear again. ‘Percy, back to Plan B,’ he says simply, before hanging up. ‘Why do people insist on making things complicated?’ He looks at me like I should know exactly what he’s talking about. ‘I haven’t got time for this.’
I throw him a blank look, hoping he’ll catch it and enlighten me. He doesn’t. He scribbles something down on a pad, and I find my neck craning in an attempt to catch what he’s writing.
‘What’s Plan B?’ I ask, too curious.
‘Plan B is the plan that will guarantee I get the car.’
‘And Plan A isn’t?’
‘Always have a backup. That’s the first rule in this world. How’s Lucy?’
I rest back in my chair. ‘Chatting with Mrs Potts.’
He looks past me, seeming to fall into a bit of a trance. He’s here, but he’s not here, something clearly playing on his mind.
‘Becker?’ I ask. He’s distracted. ‘Everything all right?’
‘It will be.’ He gets up from his chair and rounds his desk, my eyes following him suspiciously until he’s looming over me, his chest in my face. I force myself to disregard it and find his eyes in an attempt to decipher him. He’s crowding me, and his vacant expression has been replaced with a mild grin. ‘What are you doing today?’
I shrug. ‘I have plenty on my list of things to do. Anything you want to add?’
‘I have a meeting with the Countess of Finsbury at three,’ he tells me. ‘She wants to see the Rembrandt.’
‘Ooh, the countess. Sounds important.’
‘She is. Get the showing room ready.’ He moves in and slams his lips on mine. ‘I’m going to buy myself a car.’ Biting my bottom lip, he pulls away slowly, dragging my flesh through his teeth. ‘I’ll be back for three. If I’m running late, you’ll have to start without me and make small talk.’
‘What small talk can I make with a countess?’
‘She’s fond of me. I’m sure you’ll find some common ground.’
‘What?’ I blurt out, horrified. Fond of him? I’ll be the last person she’ll want to make small talk with. ‘How fond?’
The widening of his smile tells me, and I breathe out my exasperation.
‘Fine. I just won’t mention who I am beyond my professional title, else she might not buy the painting.’
He winks cheekily and slides his hand into my hair, giving it a little possessive yank. ‘Do you drive?’
‘Yes,’ I answer quickly, but avoid mentioning that I’ve not been behind a wheel since I left home.
‘Good. You can borrow a car to take Lucy home. Any except the Ferrari, and I’m taking Gloria.’
‘You trust me with one of your cars?’
