Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
hi, robin
REY
“Hi,” I whisper. “Robin … Mark.”
This incredible face is the one I was kissing in the dark.
These arms were the ones I was clutching on to as I dry-humped him at The Orion.
The heat rushes to my cheeks. I’m so embarrassed just thinking about it, although, feeling the same pooling of heat between my legs, I’m amazed there’s any blood left for basic organ functions.
“Rey,” he says, his voice so gentle it makes my heart flutter. Okay, good to know that works too.
“I like my real name on your lips,” I whisper, and study that luscious mouth. Now that I know, I wonder how I didn’t notice it earlier. It just didn’t even occur to me Robin could be Mark Becker.
“Jesus Christ,” I say louder than I intended, but the rain hammering on the foyer windows drowns out my voice.
“Yeah.” He chuckles, a hint of uncertainty flashes across his expression. He doesn’t regret kissing me, does he?
“What happens next?”
“It’s raining. I’ll have my driver take you home,” he says. I look up at the windows; at the dusk made much darker than normal by the heavy clouds.
“Oh.” That’s not what I expected him to say.
“Let me get rid of my family, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Wha—”
A voice comes from further down the office, his mum or a sister, calling out for Mark.
“I need to talk to you tonight.”
“Okay?” I don’t know what he means by ‘talk to me’, but the sound of the person is closer now, and he knits his brow in what looks like concern.
“Go to Neil. He’s outside.” He points to the exit as he starts back towards the office where his family is waiting (rather impatiently, I must say).
I’m confused, but do as he says.
If someone had told me there’d come a time when I’d recognise Mark’s Bentley by sight and know his driver by name, I’d have wondered what they’d been putting in their tea.
The rain hits the front of the roomy Bentley’s windows hard, and the wipers are working overtime.
I don’t have to tell Neil where to go this time.
Does he know a lot of women’s addresses?
My refusal to pay attention to the Mayfair gossip leaves me rather clueless about Mark’s dating life.
I suppose that’s only fair, considering he knows nothing about mine.
Not that there is one to know about.
I try to reconcile everything Robin has been telling me with the man I thought Mark was. What do I really know about him?
Today, it came together, sitting there looking at him. That smile that is so familiar. His scent. His hands. Those strong, veiny forearms.
The final puzzle piece was when his sister mentioned Robin Hood.
But I already knew. When he laughed out loud before that, it hit me like a gut punch.
I couldn’t remember when he’d laughed in the office, or even when we were at the market, but I knew the sound.
I’ve played it on repeat in my head for weeks. It’s Robin’s laugh.
Robin is Mark.
Mark Becker.
My intimidating CEO is my magical Robin. Although now that I’ve seen more of him, he’s not that daunting. He’s charming. Vulnerable.
I replay our conversations now with Mark’s face attached to them, and it all makes sense.
Damian must be the old friend he talked about.
He seems genuinely sad about losing that friendship.
My heart aches for him. Did he say that was the last time he truly enjoyed himself? How can someone live like that?
“Neil?” I can’t help myself; I have too many questions.
“Yes, miss?” Neil says, meeting my eyes in the mirror for a moment.
“How long have you worked for Mark? How is he?”
“Miss?”
“Does he treat you well?”
I know he’s intimidating in the office, but I’m getting the sense it’s a bit of a persona. I’ve heard you can learn a lot about someone based on how they treat serving staff or cleaners.
“He’s great,” Neil says, and I see his cheeks moving up in the mirror as if he’s smiling. “I’ve worked for him almost nine years.”
“Wow.”
“He’s particular about who he hires. All his staff have worked for him equally long, or even longer, like Emine has been with him almost twelve years.”
“Emine? Do you mean his PA? I thought her name was Patrice.”
“His chef, miss. I’m talking about his personal staff.”
His personal what now? He has staff?
I realise I know nothing. He’s not just a CEO, a man in a big job with lots of money—he’s an entire operation. His life is a business. Something stirs in my gut. What does a life like that even look like? How do I fit into it?
“Neil?”
“Yes, miss?”
“What kind of women do you … umm, usually drive home?”
I meet his eyes in the mirror again, and there’s a twinkle in them. “There hasn’t been a woman in this car for a long time, Rey.”
“Oh.”
I didn’t expect that answer, but it gives me a rush.
Brain buzzing, I let the drive continue in silence.
London traffic is the worst; it would have taken me less time to jump on the tube.
But this is comfortable, at least. The steady hum of the Bentley’s tyres on the tarmac is soothing, and I appreciate how the reflection of streetlights in the raindrops makes the window sparkle.
And I can sit here and mull over this concoction of emotions in my chest. If this was a cocktail, it would be a terrible one. There’s a sweet sensation of hope lurking under my ribcage, trying its hardest to overpower the bitter, almost acidic simmering in my gut that says this will not end well.
Mark, as Robin, has over the last few weeks become a big part of my life. And the way he seems to enjoy my company and conversation, I’ve started thinking it could become something more.
The simmer bubbles up, making me scared.
Mark is stirring something in me that’s never been touched. Not properly. And it feels fragile. I wrap my arms around myself.
“Here we are, pet,” Neil calls out in his comfortable Yorkshire dialect, yanking me out of my darkening thoughts.
“Thank you, Neil.” I force the words out from my tight throat.
“Would you like the umbrella, miss?”
“No, thank you. Don’t get out for me, please.”
I open the door and hunch down instinctively as the raindrops hit my face. Neil couldn’t find a spot by the curb tonight, so I have to run between parked cars.
Jesus, who drives an Aston Martin on this street? Surely, no one I know.
I hurry past it, keeping my head down, and rush through the gate. It’s only when I get closer to the steps I spot someone standing under the awning.
I look up, raindrops blurring my vision.
It’s Mark.
Words are stuck in my throat, and I stand gaping.
He walks down the steps and into the rain toward me, stopping when he gets to the bottom. Just out of reach. His face is dimly lit, but I can make out the intensity of his gaze, and how his jaw is working hard.
He’s driven all this way.
Is it to let me down face to face? To tell me to keep it secret and sign an NDA?
I step closer to him, needing to see him properly.
His usually stylish waves now hang heavy over his forehead. Water runs over the tip of his nose and down his luscious lips. The white shirt clings to his arms. His waistcoat is drenched.
Because he’s here.
And the fire in his eyes tells me exactly why.
He’s here for me.