He grins, nudging me in the side with his elbow. ‘Don’t get any ideas.’
The lift stops on every floor, people boarding or exiting, while Becker and I stand side-by-side, looking straight ahead to the metal doors. It’s a ploy both of us seem happy to adopt in an attempt to ignore the sexual tension bouncing off the walls of the box containing us.
When we come to a stop on the seventh floor, Becker prompts for me to disembark, and I look up at him, stunned.
‘You going to stand there all day?’ he asks.
‘This floor?’
‘Yes.’
‘This is Mr Timms’s floor,’ I say.
‘Correct. Simon Timms.’
‘You’re meeting Mr Timms? That’s who I was due to have my interview with.’
‘Then this should be interesting,’ Becker quips as I step off the elevator, not looking forward to meeting the Rottweiler of a receptionist up here. What was her name?
‘Morning, Shelley,’ Becker says, overtaking me after he’s answered my silent question. She looks up, but she’s smiling today, delighted. Of course she’s fucking delighted.
‘Becker.’ She dives up from her seat and rounds her desk. Becker? Not Mr Hunt? I stand to the side like a spare part while they say their hellos, all smiley and definitely flirty. Building good business relations? Yeah, I bet. I also put money on the fact that my darling boss/boyfriend/con-artist/. . . whatever the bloody hell he is, doesn’t bless his male associates with such charm. ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asks.
‘No, I’m good.’
I thrust my hand forward, disturbing their fond reunion. ‘Hi, I’m Eleanor.’
She flicks an interested look to me, and I assess it carefully, looking for any scrap of evidence to confirm that she remembers me. Will she acknowledge our last encounter, and more to the point, how rude she was?
There’s definitely something there, some recognition. ‘Hi.’ She takes my hand, all friendly, but she doesn’t spend too much time greeting me, quickly returning her attention to my more appealing companion. ‘Simon’s ready when you are.’ Shelley smiles like she’s never seen a man before, let alone a man like Becker.
‘Great.’ He strolls off. ‘Come along, princess.’
I stare at his back, astounded, my fist clenching as I follow him. ‘Don’t push me, Hunt.’ I warn, and he grins as he knocks on the door before pushing it open and stepping to one side. I don’t thank him as I enter Simon’s office, glancing around at the clinical space. Just like the rest of the building, Mr Timms’s office is sparse, with only a minimal desk, a few chairs positioned around it, and a white couch and coffee table.
‘Hunt.’ The noble voice matches the man behind the desk perfectly. He’s kitted out in green tweed, he has a comb-over, and a chubby round face. He gets up and offers his hand to Becker.
As expected, there’s no kissing in this greeting, just a firm, manly handshake before Simon centres his attention on me. His round face lights up. ‘Simon Timms,’ he declares proudly.
I can’t expect Simon Timms here to recognise me because I never made it to his office for my interview. But he might remember my name. ‘Eleanor.’ I offer my hand and he takes it keenly. ‘Eleanor Cole.’
I definitely detect a frown. ‘Eleanor Cole,’ he muses, looking off into the distance. ‘I know that name.’
So he should. ‘I had an interview with you a while ago.’
‘Ah!’ he sings, but quickly frowns again. ‘That’s right. You were late.’
I peek at Becker, seeing him looking at me, his face deadpan.
‘Apologies,’ I say, keeping my stare on my boss. ‘I had an unfortunate incident with a taxi and a less-than-helpful man.’
Becker snorts on a grin as Simon Timms retakes his chair. ‘That’s a shame. I’m sorry about that.’
‘Did you fill the position?’ I ask.
‘Actually, yes, for about a week. Turned out to be all talking no walking. Useless.’
I relieve Becker of my eyes. ‘Maybe I’ll reapply.’ I receive a swift nudge in my side, which I totally ignore, moving forward. ‘I’ll resubmit my application.’
‘You’re not available for hire,’ Becker growls.
‘Everyone is available, Mr Hunt.’
Simon bursts into laughter, slapping his belly. ‘I like you, Eleanor.’
I smile smugly as I round Simon’s desk. I can feel Becker behind me literally quaking at my obstinacy. ‘I like you, too, Simon.’ I’m being outrageously flirtatious as I perch on the edge of his desk. I don’t care. Two can play Becker’s game, and I’m in a winning mood. ‘That’s a mighty fine watch.’ I reach forward and fondle wistfully with the solid silver piece, recognising it immediately. The ‘1973 Oyster Cosmograph?’ I muse. I know I might as well have stripped naked and offered Simon a feel of my tits when he gasps his joy.
‘Yes,’ he hoots, delighted. ‘One of Rolex’s finest.’
I smile. ‘It certainly is.’ I cross one leg over the other. ‘A sturdy watch for a sturdy man.’ I cock my eyebrow suggestively, prompting Simon Timms to dive all over his laptop in a rush.