Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

‘Anytime soon.’ Becker’s sarcastic comment yanks me from my admiration of his new piece.

‘Tea,’ I announce, braving his eyes and smiling sweetly. ‘Where would you like it, Mr Hunt?’

His scowl travels across the room like lightning and smacks me in the face. ‘Desk,’ he orders, keeping narrowed eyes on me as I saunter over and slide it in front of him.

‘There,’ I say casually. ‘Right on your sturdy desk.’ What the fuck am I doing? I peek up at him to see his mouth hanging slightly open. He’s shocked. I don’t blame him. I’m shocked with myself. I’m deplorable, playing him at his own game. But I can’t help it. He just pushes my buttons. I smile, almost in apology, and his eyes close briefly. He’s gathering himself.

I wander across the room and indicate to the clock. ‘It’s stunning.’

Becker loses all irritation in a heartbeat and smiles, standing and joining me. I make a metal note that when Becker is in a bad mood, I simply need to talk about his treasures. ‘Isn’t it?’ His hand reaches forward, and he glides a light fingertip over the face. ‘You know it?’

‘Of course.’ I rip my eyes away from his finger caressing the clock and smile up at his face. ‘It’s an amazing replica.’

‘Indeed.’ Becker’s hazel eyes become heavier, lazier, and I quickly recall what he said in the library. I turn him on more when I talk about his treasure. That could be a real issue, since The Haven is drowning in it and I love talking about it. I clear my thoughts and glance away. ‘I’ll leave you to your meeting.’ I pass him, brushing against his arm, and squeeze my eyes closed, ignoring his quiet intake of breath.

He coughs. ‘Yes, you’re dismissed.’

Dismissed? It takes every crumb of my willpower not to turn and cuff him around his beautiful head. Oh, I’ve really got under his skin. Good. So now he’s going for plain arsehole? Because I rebuffed him? Such a child. ‘Will there be anything else?’

‘I said you’re dismissed.’ He shoos me away with a wave of his hand through the air, riling me further. But I maintain my self-control and turn away from him slowly, adopting something shamefully close to his sexy swagger as I slink away.

Taking the handle of the door lightly, I pull it open and perform a slow turn as I exit and pull it closed behind me, just catching a glimpse of Becker Hunt’s face before the door comes between us. He was looking at my arse. I want to smile my satisfaction, but I know I’m dancing on dangerous ground. Very dangerous ground.

I wander back to the library and swipe my card to let myself in. I shouldn’t be goading him, but he’s easier to handle when he’s being a difficult, arrogant cock, rather than a smouldering, tempting cock. I feel like I’ve gained a bit of control. Or am I kidding myself?

I call to make arrangements with the restorer, and I’m surprised when the guy who answers calls me by my name with no introduction. Maybe Becker’s told him about me, like he must have told that Paula, whoever she is. Who is she? I stop my conjecturing right there. That part of his business isn’t my business.

After agreeing on a time for the painting to be collected, I hang up and make my way to a ladder, but the phone on the table rings again and I rush back across the library to answer. I’m working up a sweat, all this to-ing and fro-ing. ‘Hello.’

‘There’s a file labelled (W) 2010–2015,’ Becker mumbles. ‘Third shelf up on the fifth case clockwise from the door. Bring me it.’ He hangs up, leaving me with my mouth agape and the phone dangling limply in my hand.

‘Such a twat,’ I grumble, my earlier coolness drowned out by his expert tosser-like behaviour. I slam the phone down and stomp to the specified shelf, quickly locating the correct file before stomping back to his office. I wish he’d piss off back to South America.

I use the brief time it takes to get there to cool my simmering temper, and I only ring the bell when I’m sure it’s under control.

‘Come in.’

Plastering an over-the-top smile on my face, I push my way into his office. I feel his eyes on me in an instant. Burning eyes. ‘Your file.’ I hold it up on my way to him, clocking another man seated at Becker’s desk, his back to me. ‘Good afternoon, sir,’ I greet politely, watching as the man slowly turns to face me.

‘Hello . . . Miss?’

I falter in my stride, a bit taken aback. His grey-flecked hair suggests a middle-aged gent, but his friendly face and warm brown eyes put him nearer the mid-thirties. He’s handsome in an unconventional way, with a prominent Roman nose and very square jaw. ‘Eleanor,’ I exhale my name, placing the file blindly on Becker’s desk and offering my hand.