“Okay?” I don’t know what he means by ‘talk to me’, but the sound of the person is closer now, and he knits his brow in what looks like concern.
“Go to Neil. He’s outside.” He points to the exit as he starts back towards the office where his family is waiting (rather impatiently, I must say).
I’m confused, but do as he says.
If someone had told me there’d come a time when I’d recognise Mark’s Bentley by sightandknow his driver by name, I’d have wondered what they’d been putting in their tea.
The rain hits the front of the roomy Bentley’s windows hard, and the wipers are working overtime. I don’t have to tell Neil where to go this time. Does he know a lot of women’s addresses? My refusal to pay attention to the Mayfair gossip leaves me rather clueless about Mark’s dating life. I suppose that’s only fair, considering he knows nothing about mine.
Not that there is one to know about.
I try to reconcile everything Robin has been telling me with the man I thought Mark was. What do I really know about him?
Today, it came together, sitting there looking at him. That smile that is so familiar. His scent. His hands. Those strong, veiny forearms.
The final puzzle piece was when his sister mentioned Robin Hood. But I already knew. When he laughed out loud before that, it hit me like a gut punch. I couldn’t remember when he’d laughed in the office, or even when we were at the market, but I knew the sound. I’ve played it on repeat in my head for weeks. It’s Robin’s laugh.
Robin is Mark.
Mark Becker.
My intimidating CEO is my magical Robin. Although now that I’ve seen more of him, he’s not that daunting. He’s charming. Vulnerable.
I replay our conversations now with Mark’s face attached to them, and it all makes sense. Damian must be the old friend he talked about. He seems genuinely sad about losing that friendship. My heart aches for him. Did he say that was the last time he truly enjoyed himself? How can someone live like that?
“Neil?” I can’t help myself; I have too many questions.
“Yes, miss?” Neil says, meeting my eyes in the mirror for a moment.
“How long have you worked for Mark? How is he?”
“Miss?”
“Does he treat you well?”
I know he’s intimidating in the office, but I’m getting the sense it’s a bit of a persona. I’ve heard you can learn a lot about someone based on how they treat serving staff or cleaners.
“He’s great,” Neil says, and I see his cheeks moving up in the mirror as if he’s smiling. “I’ve worked for him almost nine years.”
“Wow.”
“He’s particular about who he hires. All his staff have worked for him equally long, or even longer, like Emine has been with him almost twelve years.”
“Emine? Do you mean his PA? I thought her name was Patrice.”
“His chef, miss. I’m talking about his personal staff.”
His personal what now? He has staff?
I realise I know nothing. He’s not just a CEO, a man in a big job with lots of money—he’s an entire operation. His life is a business. Something stirs in my gut. What does a life like that even look like? How do I fit into it?
“Neil?”
“Yes, miss?”
“What kind of women do you … umm, usually drive home?”
I meet his eyes in the mirror again, and there’s a twinkle in them. “There hasn’t been a woman in this car for a long time, Rey.”
