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‘I was passing.’
‘Sure you were.’ I laugh, having another peek around the restaurant. ‘How did you know we were here?’
‘He brings all his women here.’
‘Right,’ I spit, frustrated, still scanning the space around me. I’m not naïve. It’s clear that Brent Wilson has enjoyed his fair share of women. How do these two know each other? Maybe I should have asked Brent that.
‘And I’m very real, Eleanor.’
My eyes shoot to Becker, and I damn my skin type for being so pale it gives away even the slightest flush. It’s not slight now, though. I’m burning up with a mixture of anger at his nerve, and lust that I hate not being able to control. I don’t have time to argue with him, although there’s nothing more I’d love to do than tell him where to shove his eight o’clock start. I need him gone before Brent gets back. ‘Fine, I’ll see you then. Goodbye.’
His eyebrows jump up, a smile pulling at the corners of his lovely mouth. ‘Trying to get rid of me?’
I lean forward. ‘Yes,’ I hiss, outraged by the level he’s stooping to. ‘This is my personal time. Go make some woman scream in delight, tiger.’ I regret my words instantly, but it’s too late to retract them.
His face breaks out into a full-blown, blinding smile. ‘Jealous?’
‘No.’ I sit back in my chair, desperate to escape the cocky bastard’s smugness.
A plate is placed in front of me, and I look up to find the waiter with a deadpan face. ‘Your Pimm’s and champagne thingy, madam,’ he says flatly.
Becker lets out a burst of laughter, but I’m too uncomfortable to be bothered by the waiter’s dry wit. ‘Thank you,’ I say, watching as he places another serving in front of Becker, frowning as he does.
‘Sir?’ Becker totally ignores the question in the waiter’s tone, pulling the plate towards him.
‘Cheers, chap.’ He winks across the table at me before taking his spoon. Or Brent’s spoon.
‘Don’t you dare,’ I whisper-hiss as he plunges it into the ball of sorbet. ‘Becker, don’t you—’
It’s too late. He ignores me and wraps his lips around the spoon, keeping his laughing hazel eyes on me. ‘Hmm.’ He licks his lips slowly. ‘Champagne.’
I close my eyes and flop back in my chair, taking a deep breath while resisting the urge to pick up my own spoon and beat him around the head with it. ‘I can’t believe you just did that.’
‘Believe it, princess.’
‘Don’t call me princess.’ I growl, my patience drained. He’s the most infuriating man I’ve ever met. ‘And why the hell do you keep calling me that?’
He smirks. ‘Why, does it grate on you?’
There you go. That’s why he calls me such an annoying pet name. ‘Please, just go.’ I’m zapped of energy to take him on. ‘My date will be back any minute.’
‘Too late,’ he whispers, standing and looking over my shoulder. ‘Sorry, this might be a little awkward.’ He’s not sorry at all. This was all part of his plan, the wanker.
Every muscle in my body tenses as I watch Becker slap a huge, insincere smile on his face and hold his hand out. ‘Brent, fancy seeing you here.’ He’s being sarcastic, of course, because he’s just told me that Brent Wilson brings all his women here. God, what was I thinking coming on this date? I’m really not ready to venture into the dating world again. The aftermath of David’s betrayal still stings, and I certainly don’t ever want to be one of many women in a man’s life. I’ve been sidetracked and blinded by my fierce need to poke back at Becker Hunt. And my plan’s failed spectacularly, anyway. I’m wasting my time playing his stupid games.
I’m better than this.
I’m cut short from mentally beating myself up when Brent’s hand appears in my field of vision. ‘Hunt.’ He’s not growling, but he’s pretty damn close. Something tells me these two guys barely manage to rub along for business purposes, because the animosity bouncing between them is almost tangible.
Their handshake is brief, both men clearly trying to put on a show for my benefit. What a waste. I might be dying a thousand deaths, but I know rivalry when it’s being shoved in my face. They despise each other.
‘I hope you’re taking care of my staff.’ The emphasis on my doesn’t escape my date’s notice. Or mine, for that matter.
‘I’m a gentleman, Hunt,’ Brent says on a smile, as if to put it out there subtly that he thinks Becker isn’t. I inwardly laugh. He’s right. ‘Eleanor is a catch. I can see why you’d want to keep her.’
A hint of worry travels across my boss’s face before he forces a smile. ‘She fits in very well.’ He performs a ridiculously over-the-top bow, gesturing towards Brent’s seat for him to take. ‘I’ll leave you to your date.’ He flicks me a smile, before returning his attention to Brent, who’s lowering to his chair, frowning at his dessert.
