Artful Lies (Hunt Legacy Duology 1)

My lips purse, and I glance to Becker, cringing. He’s backing away, amused. ‘Tastes good,’ he says, cocky as can be, before turning on his expensive brogues and swaggering his way out of the restaurant.

My eyes fix firmly on his tight arse, encased in lovely thigh-hugging grey trousers. His back is covered in a crisp white shirt, but all I see in my mind’s eye is that tattoo. That amazing tattoo. Then I go back to his arse. Oh, that fucking arse. It makes me want to cry. I follow it all the way out, only returning my attention to the table once it’s out of sight.

And then I’m quickly brought back down to earth, where I’m in a restaurant on a date with a man who’s just had half his dessert scoffed by my wayward, infuriating boss. I want to die. Right now. Awkward comes nowhere close. I’m biting the inside of my lip while Brent continues to frown at his half-eaten champagne and Pimm’s thingy. I don’t know what to say, so when my phone bleeps, I jump at the opportunity to distract myself while Brent comes to terms with the fact that Becker Hunt infiltrated his date and his pudding. I open the text.

Stop looking at my arse x

I feel the heat build in my veins, feel the frustration and anger grip me. He can’t bulldoze his way into my private time. I try to stop myself. Really, I do. ‘Twat,’ I seethe at my phone, slamming it on the table in a temper. Eight o’clock start? I snort to myself. He can go swivel. If this is an attempt to ruin my date, hamper my fun because I need an early night for an early start, then he’s sorely mistaken. I swipe up my champagne and down the lot.

‘I assume you’re not referring to me.’ Brent reaches over and tops up my champagne, smiling.

I feel terrible. ‘No, of course not. He really rubs me up the wrong way. I’m so sorry about that.’

‘Don’t be.’ He pushes his mutilated dessert aside, a distasteful look on his face. ‘Becker Hunt rubs up many people the wrong way.’

‘Including you?’

He laughs. ‘How did you guess?’

‘You seemed friendly at The Haven.’ Now seems like a good a time as any to figure out what the deal is between them.

‘Hmm.’ He rests back in his chair. ‘I have a certain fondness for beautiful things, and Hunt has a bad habit of acquiring the beautiful things that I want.’

I nod thoughtfully, warily, wondering whether Becker makes a point of acquiring things Brent wants. It wouldn’t surprise me. He’s a dirty player. I can attest to that myself, and now I’m wondering if he’s the same in business. You can’t be the best without being a little ruthless. ‘What is it that you want?’

He smirks. ‘Are we talking business or pleasure?’

‘Business,’ I confirm without hesitation. Becker has a habit of obtaining things that Brent wants? Is that why Brent invited me to dinner? Am I a tool for revenge? I close my eyes, sigh, and rise from the table. Oh my days, I’m so stupid. I’m a piece of meat. A pawn. I’m not getting involved in their pissing contest. I’m worth more than these arseholes deserve. I need to keep my head down and do my job. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ I say, tucking my chair under the table and collecting my phone and bag.

Brent stands swiftly, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. ‘You’re leaving?’

I can’t believe what I’m about to say and, worst of all, that I genuinely mean it. ‘I need to be at work for eight.’ I’m not giving Becker any reason to mark my card, no matter how much it physically pains me.

‘Oh.’ He seems to deflate before my eyes, but whether this is because he’s genuinely disappointed, or because he’s down a point to Becker Hunt, I don’t know. I’m Becker’s employee, after all, and Brent’s date has not only been hijacked by someone he clearly holds in contempt, but has also been cut short. ‘One more drink can’t hurt, surely?’ he asks hopefully.

‘No, really. But thank you.’ I step away from the table, keen to escape and slap myself all over Piccadilly in disgrace.

‘Another time, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ I murmur, before turning on my heels and fleeing, hating the feeling of despondency that’s beginning to wash over me.

I’ve been sucked in and played. Been made a fool of.

By both men.

This isn’t what I came to London for. I’m not a toy, and I refuse to be treated like one.

The game is over.Chapter 11I don’t arrive at The Haven in the morning at eight. No, I arrive at seven thirty after a crap night’s sleep. I navigate the dark alley with ease, and even predict the exact moment the lights spring to life. It brings a smile to my face, and once I emerge into the lush surroundings of the courtyard, I remember why I love it here. I spot Mrs Potts watering the colourful beds around the fountain.