Page 32 of Blackmailing the Bad Girl

Chapter Eight

The deal in New York was done and dusted.

It had taken somewhat longer than he’d expected, probably due to him dragging his feet. He’d been reluctant to come back and face the mess he’d made for himself.

He vacillated between contemplating moving the company to New Yorkwithouthis brand-new personal assistant and just destroying the file on her and cutting her loose.

How much harm could she do?

Hell, it wasn’t as though the people she stole from couldn’t afford to lose a little, and if the company she’d gone to prison for was any indication, they deserved it. After he’d taken over from his father, Nik had severed ties with several companies because he hadn’t agreed with the way they did business. The company Summer had been working for when she was arrested had been one of them. While his father hadn’t always been entirely ethical in his business practices, Nik had tried to make changes since he’d been in charge.

They were a good company to work for.

Weren’t they?

He’d stayed away until last night. Then he’d taken an overnight flight back and come straight from the airport. He’d decided in the end to just go along with the original plan. Rehabilitation. Ensuring she didn’t repeat her mistakes. She was right—there should be nothing between them on a personal level. It would only complicate matters. It was clear she despised him and his kind—whateverthatmeant. He should have a word with her about stereotyping. Especially sinceshewas everything he’d sworn to stay away from after his divorce.

So he’d just keep his distance. Be businesslike. Treat her like any other employee.

Once Lisa came back, they could find a place for her in the company. While she had no qualifications, she was smart. Not in finance, of course. She clearly wasn’t to be trusted with access to large amounts of money.

As he opened the door to the outer office, music filled his ears. Something…poppy was playing from the computer. But the office was empty.

Where the hell was Summer?

She certainly wasn’t at her desk; the chair was empty and there was nowhere to hide.

He hadn’t spoken to her since that morning at her place. He’d kept in contact with Lisa until she finished on Friday—she’d reported that everything was going well. He’d made requests for a few reports since then. They’d arrived promptly, each with a succinct summary. Summer was good. She seemed to be able to recognize the important points. She’d even added some advice, which he’d taken.

He’d known she was clever. She’d had to be, to do the jobs she’d done.

The office looked different. There were one, two…three potted plants on the desk, an orange, a yellow, and a red one—he had no clue what they were. He remembered her saying she loved flowers all those years ago.

Two photos stood on the desk, one of a woman with a look of Summer about her, presumably her mother. And one of Summer and two other women, a brunette and a blonde, all high-fiving. There was no photo of the man she’d been with the other night. Good.

He’d built himself up to seeing her. Had she gone? Disappeared again?

He headed across to his own office and pushed open the door. Thankfully, his office looked exactly the same as when he left it. No flowers. But he’d found his personal assistant. She was in the big leather chair behind his desk and she was…spinning. Her eyes were closed.

“Summer.”

The chair stopped turning, but still faced away from him. For a few seconds, she didn’t move. She was so small, he couldn’t see her head above the back of the chair. He’d just decided he needed to say something else when the chair slowly swung around.

If he’d ever wondered what Summer really thought about him, then he didn’t need to wonder any longer. It was there on her face, plain to see.

Abject horror.

“Pleased to see me?” he asked wryly.

She cleared her throat. Her hands were still gripping the arms of the chair, but she released them slowly, wiping them down her gray skirt.

“My…uh…chair doesn’t spin,” she said.

Her hair was pulled into a ponytail, her face free of makeup, though she had more natural color than when he’d last seen her. She wore a plain white shirt and a gray skirt that skimmed her knees. He could vaguely remember the outfit from her first stint of working here in the accounts department.

She certainly wasn’t dressing to impress. And whatever she’d spent her ill-gotten gains on, it hadn’t been clothes. Or makeup. Or jewelry. She wore none, except a simple black watch.

He suspected the outfit was more to make her invisible than anything else.

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