On a sharp, satisfied nod of my head, I square my shoulders and make my way back to the restaurant.
My steak is waiting for me when I arrive, and Brent is sitting patiently, sipping his drink. ‘Okay?’ he asks as he stands and pulls out my chair.
I take my seat and take a deep breath. ‘Yes, thank you.’ I let him place my napkin across my lap and take his chair before I collect my cutlery. ‘This looks delicious.’
‘I’m glad you think so. Please, lead the way.’
I smile in response to his gentlemanly manners and push my knife into the meat. It slices easily, and the moment it passes my lips, I sigh, sinking my teeth into the succulent steak.
‘Good?’
‘Hmm.’ I chew slowly to savour the taste. ‘Very good.’
‘Tell me about yourself, Eleanor.’
‘I moved to London just over a month ago. New start.’
‘New start?’ He nods. ‘No better place to make a fresh start.’
‘Have you lived in London all your life?’
‘Yes. My great-grandfather emigrated from America in the early nineteen hundreds and established the family business soon after arriving.’
‘From America?’ I ask, surprised.
He smiles fondly. ‘Yes. He met my great-grandmother only a day after being in London. Love at first sight.’
‘Very romantic.’
‘Tell me about it. They had my grandfather a year later, and the rest is history. Everything I know, I learned from my dad, and he learned from my grandfather and so on. They were very shrewd businessmen.’
‘Were?’
‘My grandfather passed away twenty years ago. My father has been gone for five.’
‘I’ve lost my father, too.’ I surprise myself with my willingness to share, but it only seems right since Brent is being so open. ‘He also died five years ago.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
I shrug on a smile. ‘Live for today, right?’
‘Right,’ he confirms quietly, seeming to drift off into a daydream for a few moments while I look on. ‘Jesus, I’m hardly wooing you, am I?’ Brent laughs. ‘How’s your steak?’
‘Amazing,’ I answer honestly, focusing my attention on my plate and taking another mouthful. Silence falls again, except this time it stays for considerably longer while we both eat, him obviously distracted, me wondering why. It’s beginning to get slightly awkward when his phone rings and he stands, placing his napkin on the table. ‘I’m so sorry. Please, excuse me. I need to take this.’
I nod and set my knife and fork down, watching as he strolls through the restaurant towards the bathroom, his phone at his ear.
I move back when the waiter approaches, giving him clear access to my empty plate. ‘Was everything okay with your meal, madam?’
‘Perfect, thank you.’
‘Dessert menu?’
‘Oh, Mr Wilson mentioned some Pimm’s and champagne thingy.’
The waiter winces at my uncouth reference to what is likely a ridiculously expensive dessert. ‘Pimm’s sorbet with champagne drizzle, madam?’
I cringe, embarrassed, as my phone dings. ‘Yes, please.’ Sighing to myself as the waiter leaves, I open the text message as I sip my champagne. It’s Lucy.
Roland is wild!
A burst of laughter flies from my mouth, sending spurts of champagne with it. I can sense Lucy’s sarcasm from a simple text, and I imagine her utterly bored out of her poor mind. Grabbing the napkin, I dab at my mouth as I reply.
Mine has hit a rocky patch. x
I click send, looking up to see if Brent’s on his way back as I casually sip my champagne. Then I’m coughing all over again, except this time I nearly fall off my chair, too.
My date is nowhere to be seen.
But Becker Hunt is.
And he’s sitting opposite me in Brent Wilson’s chair.Chapter 10My back sticks to my seat like superglue. He’s relaxed, holding a tumbler lightly in his grasp, his elbow resting on the arm, and he’s smirking at me.
All casual.
All sexy.
All . . . irritating as hell.
‘Evening,’ he says, his head cocking a little in amusement. He finds my shock funny? I should be used to him appearing out of thin air by now. ‘How’s the date going?’
‘Amazing.’ My one-word, over-exaggerated answer comes out of nowhere. It makes his head cock further, and I fight back the tell-tale burn in my cheeks.
‘Really?’ he muses, taking a sip of his drink and rolling the liquid around his mouth before he swallows. ‘Because it didn’t look like riveting conversation from where I was standing.’
‘Where were you standing?’ I ask, taking a quick peek around the restaurant, conscious of Brent’s return.
‘At the bar.’
I return my eyes to Becker. ‘Why are you here?’
He pouts and waves a hand dismissively through the air. ‘Just wanted to tell you that I need you at work by eight tomorrow morning. I have a meeting with one of the curators at Christie’s at nine. I need the file on the sixteenth-century Spanish tapestry on my desk before I leave.’
My eyes bug. ‘Are you for real?’ The cheeky bastard. ‘Text me. Call me. Don’t stalk me on a date.’