Page 89 of Tempt Me

Winslow was the leak. I’d find proof somehow. He had to have left a trail.

There was a knock, and a security guard opened the door. It wasn’t the woman I’d spoken with downstairs, but a big, beefy guy with biceps bursting out of his black Moo-Lah golf shirt.

“I’ll find that evidence,” I said, “and then we’ll see who’s escorted out of this building.”

Thakor only laughed. “Don’t enter my property again.”

Even though he was twice my size, the security guard kept a tight grip on my arm as he marched me out of the building. A taxi waited for me, and the guard stood at the curb, arms crossed, until it had driven me out of sight of the building.

I scrunched down in the back seat. In hindsight, going in without actual proof was a mistake. But I’d find some. Next time, I’d have a better plan.

I was goingover the crisis communication binder with Hannah that afternoon when someone—okay, let’s face it, it was probably me—lit a match to my career in PR.

Felicia knocked on the open door, her expression grim. “Jamila’s office.”

I shut my laptop and grabbed a notepad and pen. “Let’s go, Hannah.”

“Just you, Natalie. You won’t need that.” Felicia nodded at the notepad.

“Oh?” Maybe it was a personal meeting. Jamila’s text had implied she wanted to see me, but we hadn’t spoken since I’d walked out of brunch on Sunday. We should talk about that. I remembered Charles’s advice. I needed to stand up for what I wanted. Unless Jamila wasn’t ready to go public. She might insist we dial things back. Though two o’clock on a Monday was an odd time to discuss our personal relationship in her office.

I swallowed, but the lump in my throat remained. As I followed Felicia to Jamila’s office, my heart went wild in my chest.

When I walked in, I knew Jamila hadn’t called me in to talk about our relationship. Because she wasn’t alone.

A ball of dread formed right behind my ribs. Winslow Keating-Ashworth, his nose and cheeks sunburned, sat across the desk from her. His scowl told me he knew what I’d done that morning.

I glanced at Jamila. Her face was stone. Her eyes glittered not with fun and affection the way they had on Saturday when we’d set out on that hike. They sparkled with fiery anger.

“What the fuck, Natalie?” Her voice was taut as a tripwire.

I remained silent. How much did they know?

Winslow filled the silence. “We know about your little field trip this morning. I received a copy of Moo-Lah’s visitor log. You signed in as Audrey Jones, but that’s a scan of your driver’s license.”

I stole another look at Jamila. I wished I’d come back with a shred of proof to show that I’d been justified in bluffing my way into Thakor’s office.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourself?” Winslow stood. “How long have you been selling Jamilow’s secrets to Moo-Lah? What did you give them today, the product specs?”

It took me a second to catch up. “Wait, what? You’re accusing me of being the leak? I wasn’t around when the leak started! I don’t have the product specs.”

“Who says it’s a single mole?” He stepped closer. “You saw an opportunity to make some cash after you and Jamila broke up.” I gasped and looked back at Jamila. Her hands were flat and tense on her desk like she was holding on for her life.

“But I…but…I went there to accuse you! You’re the leak!”

“Me?” He put a hand to his chest.“I’mthe leak? I’ve been Jamila’s right hand for fifteen years. She trusts me implicitly. I have too much invested in this company to have any motivation to damage it.”

Motivation! I hadn’t thought of that. Not for Winslow. Why would he want to hurt Jamila or her company? A lot of his wealth had to be tied up in stock options and such. I’d leaped to another half-baked conclusion.

Still, there was the matter of the photos.

“Where were you last week, Winslow?”

“I went to visit my grandmother.”

“Where?” I persisted.

“In Mexico. She was vacationing there when she fell ill. But we’re talking about you now.”

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