Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
‘Eleanor?’ He nudges me from my trance, and I quickly fix a strong, sure look on my face.
‘Paula wants to pick your brain.’
He laughs lightly. ‘Oh, I bet she does. I’ll call her.’
Silence falls again, but before it becomes too awkward, I go on, keen to clear the air. ‘I just wanted to come and clear—’ I snap my mouth shut when the bell rings and the door swings open behind me. Glancing over my shoulder, I find Mrs Potts gesturing for someone to enter. And my eyes quickly widen. ‘Brent.’ His name passes my lips on a gush of stunned air.
‘Eleanor.’ He smiles brightly, walking into the office as Mrs Potts quickly scans the situation before shutting the door on a look that can only be described as despair. Understandable, since I told her I would be in the library and I’m not.
I’m on my feet quickly, but they feel like lead, preventing me from leaving. I want to leave, I need to leave, because I know what’s coming. But my muscles refuse to play ball.
‘So lovely to see you.’ Brent reaches me and takes my shoulders, leaning in, kissing one cheek first, then the other. My eyes automatically flick to Becker, seeing him stiff as a board behind his desk, the muscles of his jaw ticking wildly.
I manage to step away from Brent, but the discomfort filling the room remains. ‘I . . . I . . . didn’t realise you had a meeting with Bec . . . Mr Hunt,’ I stammer.
‘Your boss is going to fix me up with an endorsement, aren’t you, Hunt?’
We both look to my boss, who has a death stare aimed at Brent. The atmosphere is cutting. I need to go.
‘I was just leaving.’
‘I was hoping I’d see you while I’m here.’ Brent’s looking at me thoughtfully, maybe wondering why I’m not as receptive as the last time he was here. I could be, if I wanted the stupid battle of the biggest ego between these two men to continue. But I don’t, not just because of what happened in the kitchen a couple of hours ago. But because I know Brent only took me on a date to rankle Becker.
My stare bounces between them, uneasiness crippling me. One man looks pleased to see me, smiling as I stand before him all awkward and fidgety, and the other is looking at me like he wants to rip off my head.
God, get me out of here. ‘Is there anything I can get you?’ I ask Becker, reclaiming some composure and relying on my professional demeanour. I focus my attention on him with a straight expression. I haven’t any desire to rile my boss. Not now.
He eventually drops his eyes from mine. ‘No,’ he murmurs, faffing randomly with some papers to the side of his desk.
I nod and take the few steps that will get me to the door, giving Brent a small smile when he looks at me questioningly. I can’t even muster the strength to say goodbye.
‘Eleanor?’ he calls as I leave the room, clenching my eyes shut, hoping he doesn’t follow me. ‘Eleanor,’ he repeats, this time more urgently.
I increase my pace, but only make it halfway to the library before I hear footsteps coming after me. Taking a deep, confidence-boosting breath, I stop and turn, plastering a fake smile on my face.
Brent skids to a stop, frowning. ‘Are you okay?’
I look over his shoulder when Becker emerges slowly from his office and stares down the corridor at me. His hands are in his trouser pockets, his stance wide as he regards me with probing eyes. I break our eye contact before Brent notices that I’m distracted. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I chirp, straightening my shoulders. ‘Just busy.’ I don’t give him a chance to extend the conversation, turning on my heels and hurrying towards the library.
‘Tonight,’ Brent calls. ‘Dinner again?’
What the actual fuck? No, my head’s already twisting because of my sinful boss’s games. I’m not up for another round of Brent’s game, thank you very much. ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ I say. ‘Out with a friend.’ I swipe my card quickly and throw my weight into the door before closing it just as fast and collapsing against the back of it.
Shit.
So much for clearing the air.
Chapter 13
I’m ambushed by a very excitable Lucy as I climb the stairs to my flat, my feet aching, along with my brain for overthinking about . . . certain things. She has giant rollers in her hair and half a face of make-up on. ‘It’s six thirty,’ she screeches at me, hurrying over and taking my arm. ‘What’s taken you so long?’
‘Um, London rush hour,’ I answer, as I’m practically hauled down the corridor to my front door. ‘What’s the rush?’ Admitting to her that I could quite easily curl up on my couch in my jammies would be stupid. I know I won’t be allowed to do that tonight. She’s ready to paint the town red.