Page 90 of Tempt Me

“Pavel Thakor was in Mexico! You guys golfed together!”

He crossed his arms. “We ran into each other one day on the golf course. And?”

“And…and you…” But I couldn’t bring up the other photo. I knew those were Winslow’s feet in the picture, but no one else could see it. My credibility was already hanging by a thread.

“Speaking of photos,” he said, “how odd was it that none of the ones of the two of you on the beach showedyourface? It’s almost like someone deliberately avoided identifying you. Yet, it set up Jamila for another fall.”

“Deliberately?” I sputtered. “I didn’t even know where we were going that day!”

Jamila’s face had gone still, like a mask. There was no smile, no sparkle. Nothing but pain reinforced by impenetrable steel.

Finally, she spoke. “I can’t believe you’d try to hurt me by selling secrets to Moo-Lah.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Thakor says otherwise.”

“What?”

Winslow stepped between me and the desk like he wanted to shield Jamila. “Thakor’s email said you offered him details about our launch.”

“But I—no. I didn’t. I don’t know why he said that. I accused—”

“That’s sad, Natalie.” He shook his head. “You should know better. Here’s a tip: keep your personal life separate from work. Then your feelings won’t impact your job.”

“Leave your laptop in your—the office,” Jamila said, her voice hollow. “Felicia has your final paycheck.”

“What? You’re firing me?” Anger blazed up. I hadn’t done what they said. I’d made a mistake by breezing into Moo-Lah without proof, but people didn’t get fired for mistakes like that. Did they?

Winslow snorted. “You’re surprised?”

“You can’t—” But I didn’t finish my sentence. It appeared they could fire me even if I was a Jones. No need to quit this time.

Winslow drove it home. “We can and we have. If you try to approach another competitor, we’ll get our lawyers involved. I don’t think you’d enjoy the accommodations at the Dublin minimum-security federal prison.”

Bees buzzed in my brain. Jamila knew I wouldn’t do what Winslow accused me of. I stared at her, hard, like I could make her look up from her desk. But she didn’t.

That’s when Bruno, who’d beamed at me and said, “Good morning, Miss Natalie,” a few hours ago, opened the door.

Bruno watched, arms folded, while I gave Hannah the password to my laptop. He didn’t allow me time to answer her questions about why this was happening or what she should do next.

“You’ve got this,” I said. “I have faith in you and the binder.”

He trailed me to Felicia’s desk. Frowning, she held out an envelope. I ignored it. Instead, I reached into my purse and pulled out my keyring. Sighing at the inevitable damage to my manicure, I worked the Porsche’s fob from the loop, wincing when my thumbnail tore right against the quick.

I held out the key. “Can you give Jamila this?”

She took it from me. Grudgingly, she said, “Need a bandage?”

I glanced down at my thumb where a spot of blood welled.

“No, thanks.” I wouldn’t take another thing from Jamila, not even a bandage. Not when, after all we’d shared, she didn’t trust me. I popped my thumb into my mouth to soothe the wound.

For the second time in a day, a security guard escorted me out of a Silicon Valley office building.

Today’s Uber back to the city was the worst yet.

“Sorry about the smell,” the driver yelled over the wind whipping through the car. “Last passenger had food poisoning.”

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