Revenge(16)
“I believe you,” she says. “I choose to believe you. For now.”
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask, “Is that video trending? Can they really do that without my permission?”
“That depends.”
“But what’s the legality?”
She scoffs. “It doesn’t depend on legality quite so much as on the size of your team of lawyers. And Morris Music is not the small firm it once was.” She points her finger at me. “If you belong to us, and he doesn’t know, we have an advantage. And judging by the way he was pressing you against the wall at the end of the video, close enough to smell your pretty brown hair, I’d say he likes you.”
“But who is he?”
“He’s your new boyfriend. You’ll meet him again, and you’ll use your womanly charms.” She waves her hand, pointing her finger up and down the length of me. It’s absolutely clear she’s talking about my body.
“I don’t understand. Why do you want me to do that? If you want to get this guy a record deal, why not just offer?”
She blinks a few times, the pupils of her pale blue eyes becoming as small as poppy seeds before widening again.
“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin,” she says.
That word, virgin, hangs in the air between us.
I don’t say anything at all. Is this meeting actually happening, or am I still in bed, having a nightmare? And why is there no oxygen in this office? With all these green trees, you’d think it would be easier to breathe.
She prompts me, “Can you at least be a kinda-sexy virgin? Unbutton the top of your shirt. Stephanie can help you, but she can’t turn you into something you’re not.”
I fumble with the button, unsure if this is something I should say yes to, or no.
What would Nick do? That idea doesn’t help much. Nick doesn’t have breasts.
Crap. What am I doing? My heart is beating so fast, my pulse rushing so hard, my ears feel like they’re underwater.
The cheap sewing on my blouse lets me down, because the button pops right off, followed by the next one, and the next. I gasp, then remember the blouse has snaps, not buttons.
My blouse is now completely open down the front, exposing my bra. My white, cotton bra.
Maggie Clark frowns and shakes her head.
I’ve just stripped for the vice president of Morris Music and all she does is shake her head?
“That’s a shame,” she says. “You’re not going to be the one to seduce Dylan Wolf.”
“Who?”
She jumps up, tucking the folded laptop under her arm. “Forget his name, and forget this meeting happened. I know I will.” She strides over to the big desk, her petite legs looking almost long in their high, stiletto heels.
She takes a seat on the other side of the desk and opens the laptop again.
Peering over the top of the screen, she says to me, “Well? What are you waiting for. Back to the basement you go.” Her lips twist up in a cruel grin. “Tell darling Nick I send my love, will you?”
Chapter 8
Nick is hanging up the phone when I return to our workstation in the dusty archives.
“Don’t feel too bad,” he says.
“You already know what happened? Nick, I caught an elevator straight down. It’s barely been a minute since I left Maggie Clark’s office. How the hell do you already know? Who told you? It was that receptionist, wasn’t it?”
He shrugs. “What do you think?”
“Damn! It was the receptionist. She seemed so nice, but she was listening at the door. I hope she’s got someone watching her back now, because I’m on to her.”
Nick tilts his head back and says, “Hah!” It sounds like a laugh, but doesn’t look like one. His mouth glints, revealing another piercing through his tongue.
I take a seat at my station and growl, “Nobody’s laughing with you, Nick. Just because Maggie Clark doesn’t think I can seduce some singer guy, that doesn’t mean I even care.”
He leans back in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. “Who needs corporate spies when you’re an open book? You came out of the elevator looking like someone took away all your dreams. I made a guess. Then you opened your mouth and told me the rest yourself.”
“Oh.” I glower at my computer screen.
“Hang in there, kid,” he says cheerfully. “I’m sure Maggie will give you another chance. In a year or two. Maybe three.”
“Thanks a lot,” I say flatly.
“Jess, admit you love the archive floor. I’m usually drunk by lunch time, but with you here for my entertainment, I’ve barely cracked open my flask. We’re going to have a fun year or two together.”