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Yet when I open my mouth, no scathing words materialise, the insults getting caught behind the lump in my throat. His dishevelled magnificence hits me in the forehead like a bullet, leaving me standing like a useless lump of body parts before him. I’m . . . empty.
I came to London to escape the constant feeling of weakness that dogged me. I wanted to take charge, start fresh, discover a stronger me. I wanted desperately to chase my dreams, to live the life I choose, not the one dictated by my shitty circumstances. I’ve battled my conscience too long to get to this point in my life. This man currently staring me down, looking at me with a mixture of loathing and wariness, was a sure-fire way to fuck it all up. And he has. And worse still, I let him.
Closing my eyes and taking a deep breath, I shake my head a little, backing away, so disappointed in myself. I willingly let him drag me into his stupid mind games. I willingly let this happen.
‘Where are you going?’ he snaps, but I ignore him, turning and walking away with no urgency. ‘Eleanor.’
‘Home,’ I call over my shoulder, cool and collected.
I hear the even pound of his shoes beating the pavement behind me. ‘How?’
‘Cab.’ Just as I utter the word, a black Bentley pulls up to the kerb and the window slowly rolls down.
Brent.
‘You shouldn’t be wandering the streets this late at night, Eleanor,’ he says, leaning over to the passenger door and pushing it open. ‘Get in.’
I stall for a moment and look over my shoulder. Becker has come to a stop a few paces behind me, his face twisting, his nostrils flaring dangerously. I don’t want to aggravate him further, but right now my options are limited. I can get in the car with Brent Wilson and risk pissing Becker off even more – if that’s possible – or I can decline Brent’s offer, hang around for a cab with no phone, and risk getting caught up in another stupid row with my boss. I correct myself. Ex-boss.
It’s an easy decision.
I get in the car.
He doesn’t try to stop me, and I hate myself for feeling hurt by Becker’s lack of intervention. My head is fucked.
I pull on my belt and centre my attention forward as Brent pulls away. The wing mirror catches my eye and I see the reflection of a man walking on heavy feet in the middle of the road behind us. His stance is wide and he’s getting smaller in the distance, until we round a corner and I lose sight of Becker watching me leave him.Chapter 14The atmosphere is thick with awkward vibes on the drive home. At least, it is for me. Brent seems oblivious as he rambles on about . . . I don’t know what. All I seem to be able to focus on is the image of Becker as we drove away.
‘At the risk of it sounding cheesy, can I come up for coffee?’
Brent’s question makes every muscle in my body tense. I should have anticipated this when I accepted his ride. Of course there’s an ulterior motive. And why the hell is he being so indifferent to the fact that he just whisked me away like a knight in shining armour from a man who he knows, a rival? They didn’t even acknowledge each other. Nothing. I believe Brent is up one point to Becker.
I smile as I unclip my belt and open the door. I have no intention of seeing him again, just like I have no intention of seeing Becker. It shouldn’t be difficult. I’m not contactable now, after Becker had fisticuffs with my phone. Plus, I was crafty – or wise – and asked Brent to drop me off around the corner from my flat, therefore eliminating the chances of him turning up when he can’t contact me on my number.
Both of them, gone.
‘No coffee,’ I say assertively. But I’ll happily give you a slap. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
He smiles and starts to inch forward. Oh shit. He’s moving in for a kiss? How thick is this man’s skin?
I dive out of the car urgently and clumsily. ‘Goodnight,’ I squeak, slamming the door with a bit too much force.
The window comes down instantly, Brent leaning across the car, almost laughing. Yes, this whole situation is rather hilarious, I agree. ‘I have a meeting with Hunt tomorrow. Pop by and say hello?’
He does? They just totally ignored each other. Whatever. I won’t be there, and I no longer care. Brent doesn’t need to know that I don’t work for Becker Hunt any more. He’ll find out soon enough. ‘Maybe.’ I strain a smile as I back away, and he pulls off promptly. I sag in exhaustion, wondering how I got myself into this diabolical situation.
