Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145112 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Before I venture out of the bathroom again, I plot my escape, mentally locating my cute suede ankle boots, my leather jacket, and my bag. I’m a little early to meet Lucy, but I’ll find a park, where I can sit on a bench and clear my head.
Straightening my back and raising my chin, I casually exit the bathroom and calmly find my boots, slipping them on while feeding my arms through the sleeves of my jacket. I can feel him watching me, probably with a frown on his face, but I succeed in disregarding it. My bag and keys are my last claims before I’m out the door and walking purposefully down the stairs to the main entrance hall. I can smell freedom as the street comes into view, my feet picking up pace.
Just as I feared, soon I hear heavy footsteps in pursuit of me. ‘Eleanor, wait.’
I ignore his call as I fasten the zip of my jacket and take the pathway to the street. My shoulder jars a little as Becker overtakes me, skidding to a halt and blocking my way. ‘Excuse me,’ I say politely, stepping to the side to pass. He moves with me, so I take another step to the other side, all in vain. Becker shifts, too. I refuse to look at him when I speak. ‘I’m not playing your games any more,’ I tell him, maintaining my calm. I’m surprised that I actually mean it. I’ve lost a little self-respect. I’ve lost a job I truly loved. He got his way, I didn’t. I’m done. Again.
‘My game?’ he asks, stunned. The nerve of him. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Deadly serious. Just fuck off, Becker.’ I start to pass him, but he grabs my arm to stop me. Keep your cool, Eleanor.
‘But Mrs Potts is wondering where you are. She’s worried about you.’ He steps forwards, prompting me to move back, away from his closeness.
‘Then you can tell her she needn’t be.’
‘I can’t go back to The Haven without you.’
I pluck up the courage to look at him. Is that . . . embarrassment coating his features? It takes two seconds flat to figure out why. ‘Oh.’ I laugh sarcastically. ‘Too ashamed to admit to her why I quit?’ I ask, getting a sick thrill when he drops his head in shame. It’s all very clear why he can’t go back without me, and it fucking hurts like hell. I bet Mrs Potts will go, well, potty. ‘You left me no choice but to quit, then fucked me with a clear conscience, making it impossible for me to work with you again.’
He snarls, getting his face up close and personal. ‘I’d say it was pretty fucking impossible to work with you before we fucked, wouldn’t you?’
‘Because you behaved inappropriately.’
He recoils, offended.
‘Don’t look so horrified.’ I wail, pointing an accusing finger in his face. ‘You knew what you wanted, and now you’ve had it.’
‘Don’t pretend you didn’t want it, too.’
‘You made it impossible to resist.’ The fact that I’m now drowning in despair as a result of my weakness and where it has got me is beside the point.
‘So did you,’ he shouts, and I withdraw, aghast.
I don’t need this. I never tempted him. He’s not pinning any of this on me, just to ease his conscience. He can go back and explain to Mrs Potts why I’m not at work today. I hope she attacks him with her watering can.
I pick up my feet and make a dash for the road.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ He seizes me around my waist and lifts me from my feet, yet this time I don’t scrap with him, and I don’t know why. I have plenty of spunk locked and loaded and ready to unleash. Is it because I secretly want him to take me back to The Haven? The knowledge that I’m being missed by someone warms me through. Or is it because his chest is currently pressed into my back and is actually warming me through?
Stopping the side of my head from pushing into his cheek when he brings his face close to mine is a killer. ‘Please,’ he begs, surprising me. Becker doesn’t say please. ‘Please, Eleanor.’ He keeps me secure against him as he takes a deep breath. ‘Last night shouldn’t have happened. You know it, and I . . .’ Another deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t . . . I can’t.’
Ouch.
I try to nod my head into him, knowing he’s 100 per cent correct, but the damn thing won’t move, like it’s stubbornly refusing to accept that he’s right.
‘Please come back.’ He drops me to my feet and turns me in his arms. Then he steps back, giving me space I haven’t asked for, or, infuriatingly, that I want. His next words are spoken in a mechanical tone. ‘I promise to stay out of your way. I won’t behave inappropriately or push your buttons.’ There’s no emotion or conviction, nothing to make me believe him, yet I do. Begrudgingly, I do.