‘I’m not sure getting blind drunk is such a good idea, darling,’ Mum pipes up. ‘He looked like he wanted a serious talk.’
I laugh loudly and point to my glass again. Paul obliges, and after I’ve downed another shot, I flop forward and let my forehead meet the bar. Hard. Then I lift and let it fall back down again and again, taking pleasure from the consistent thuds shuddering through my brain. I’m hoping to physically knock some sense into me, because there’s a man waiting outside and I’m having to lock down every muscle in order to stop them from engaging and taking me to him. It’s like a bizarre magnetic pull hauling me backwards, and it defies everything my pounding head is telling me.
I let loose with a few more head thwacks on the bar, causing an audible bang each time, which I’m sure Becker can probably hear from outside the pub.
‘Eleanor,’ Mum cries, pulling me back up and checking my forehead. I let my body sag on the stool while she faffs all over me. Then she takes my chin and holds it firmly. ‘Now, then. Enough of that,’ she says, jiggling my face a little, probably because my eyes are wandering through drunkenness. ‘Paul, water, please,’ she orders as I blink rapidly. ‘Here.’ Mum tips a glass to my lips, and I gulp it all down ravenously, joining her in the urgency to cancel out the alcohol that I’ve just purged on. What was I thinking? Getting drunk would be stupid. I’m better than this recklessness. I pause for thought. Am I really? After all, recklessness got me in this mess in the first place.
I take my palms to my cheeks, rubbing furiously before revealing my face to Mum. ‘How do I look?’
‘Drunk,’ she says on a laugh, brushing my hair from my face. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Drunk.’ I grab another water and chug it down.
‘You’ve had eight minutes.’ Paul looks down at his watch and taps the screen. ‘You’ve spent eighty per cent of the time he’s given you trying to get blind drunk and the remaining twenty trying to sober up. I don’t fancy your chances.’ He passes a tequila over. ‘If you’re unconscious, he can’t make you talk, right?’
I gasp at his genius idea and swipe up the glass, but it’s intercepted by my mother. Traitor. ‘No more,’ she snaps, shooing Paul away.
Paul holds his hands up in surrender. ‘Sorry, Eleanor. I tried.’ He’s well and truly under the thumb. Pussy.
‘It’s fine,’ I grumble as I stand, surprisingly stable. ‘I’m fine.’ I drink in air and take a quick glimpse around the pub, noting that everyone is back to chatting and dancing. ‘I’m fine.’ I breathe in and out, in and out, in and out. ‘I’m really fine.’ Head first, Eleanor. Ignore your stupid heart.
‘One minute left, Eleanor,’ Paul calls, and I start to tremble, because one thing I know for sure, beyond all things I know for sure, is that Becker Hunt will be coming to get me if I don’t go out there. I’ll show strength. He won’t break me down. ‘Thirty seconds.’
‘Oh God.’ My shakes intensify as I look at Mum. She smiles. It’s a knowing smile. One that tells me she has me all figured out.
‘Don’t be a fool, darling,’ she warns encouragingly.
A fool? Been there, done that. I look away from her before I spill it all, every little detail, so she can really gauge what kind of shit I’m in. This isn’t a simple boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy messes with girl, girl falls hard for boy, boy fucks up kinda scenario. I fucking wish it was.
I manage another step, and another, until I’m in my stride and talking some courage into my drunken bones. When I reach the door, I click my neck on my shoulders before straightening them and pulling it open. Show strength, I tell myself. Be bold and strong.
Then I see him.
And all of those demands sink like they’ve fallen into quicksand.
Becker Hunt doesn’t lose.
And that fact douses down the fire in my belly.
Chapter 6
He’s leaning against the side of his beautiful red Ferrari, legs crossed at his ankles, arms folded across his chest. My head starts to spin, and it has nothing to do with the stupid amount of alcohol I’ve purged on.
He watches me from across the pavement, his head cocked slightly to the side. ‘Just on time,’ he says quietly, glancing down at his watch. There’s victory leaking from every single delicious pore of his delicious body. I fucking hate him. I fucking adore him. They’re conflicting feelings that are driving me positively insane.
‘What do you want?’ I ask, keeping my distance and grabbing onto my waning determination. I like his confident persona about as much as I like psychological thrillers. Not a lot. They screw with your mind and make you second guess everything.
‘What I want,’ he murmurs quietly but surely, ‘is standing six feet away pretending she doesn’t want me.’
Time stops still as my mind sprints, reminding me of all the encounters we’ve had, all of the clashes, the kisses, the touches. ‘I’m not pretending.’ I could get over the map business, the fact that he’s on a desperate treasure hunt that his grandfather has forbidden him to pursue. I even got over his con move on Brent. It’s the breaking in and making me fear for my life that I have a problem with. The fact that I’m potentially in danger by association. Funny that.
‘The NDA.’ His lips barely move as he utters the letters quietly, but he may as well have thrown them at me, because I feel like they’ve just slapped me in my face.
‘We both know that stupid NDA is a pile of crap.’ I laugh, but his expression remains stoic, totally unfazed. ‘Do you honestly think it’s going to have me running back into your arms? Forgiving you?’
‘It was an agreement we made together. Are you breaking it?’
I lob him a filthy look that says more than any words I could spit, and once I’m sure I’ve burned off a layer of his skin with the fire in my disgusted stare, I make tracks, walking on surprisingly stable legs down the street towards home. ‘Yes, I’m breaking it.’ I should have stayed at home tonight. Yes, I may have given David the proverbial finger, but I’ve also rid myself of one arsehole and found myself another to deal with. Except this one is so much harder to tackle – challenging on every level.
‘You know I’m going to come after you, Eleanor,’ he calls, his feet kicking in as soon as the last word leaves his lips. I speed up. Yes, I know that. I also expect he’ll be brushing past me any second and blocking my way. Then we’ll do our usual silly dance, me stepping one way, Becker following suit. And then he’ll touch me. The thought quickens my heartbeat as well as my feet. ‘Life’s too short, princess.’ He’s close, and my determined march turns into a steady jog. ‘And you’re too—’