Page 124 of Collateral Damage
That said, I don’t have proof. I’ll have to talk to my boss on Monday and see if she knows anything. Maybe the tech department did something while I was gone.
“I hope you’ll understand I’m just trying to do my job,” Jonathan continues, his tone shaky.
I nod. “Very well, but please don’t use my computer again without my permission. It’s a violation of my privacy.”
His face pales. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Laurence.”
I wave him off. “I appreciate your enthusiasm. I’ll need to review all the work you’ve done. The seating chart especially.”
“Of course. It’s all here.” He slides the papers toward me.
I glance at them, then at him. He’s standing there like a puppy waiting for a pat on the head.
“Thank you for your hard work,” I say warily. “Next time, don’t assume you can tackle something as critical as the seating chart without checking with me first. You’re meant to be my assistant, not take over my job.”
“Understood,” he replies with a nod, but there’s a smug glint in his eye that unsettles me right to the bone. I’m suddenly very suspicious that taking over my job isexactlywhat this man intends to do. He is Lance Vale’s nephew, after all, and whilethis company has Laurence on the door, Vale has made it clear he doesn’t mind making as many adjustments to the company as needed to assert his power.
Shit. I need to watch out.
I smile as big as I can; two can be fake here. “Go home, Jonathan. Get some rest. First thing Monday morning, we have a lot of work to do. I’m pleased you’re myassistant.”
When I emphasize the word, he winces, and I know my suspicions are correct.
This is not a man who wants to be anyone’s assistant, and I highly doubt he believes he’ll have to wait long until he can move into my office permanently.
Jonathan is gunning for my job, and I’m sure his uncle was the one who is helping him do it.
Fifty-Two
Sybil
Present - Age 27
The dim bluish light casts a glow across the cramped screening room. It smells like stale popcorn and sweat in here, byproducts of late-nights and rushed decisions. Cooper sits next to me on the long couch that’s pushed up against the window, Perry on my other side. Everyone else is gone for the evening, but we’re reviewing some footage from Nantucket.
Perry crosses his arm and leans back, clearing his throat.
“What is it?” Cooper asks. “You gonna lecture us again about PDA?”
As soon as we decided to give this thing a go, Perry was the first person we told. He took it better than expected, claiming he was happy for us but also asking us to keep PDA to a minimum.
“About that,” Perry releases a long-suffering sigh, voice tinged with forced optimism. “This is… delicate.”
Damn. I thought he was going to complain about the audio glitches from yesterday that made us lose half a day of content. Apparently, this is about me and Cooper. I sit forward andCooper removes his arm from my shoulder, opting for my knee instead.
“There’s been an anonymous complaint,” Perry continues. “About you two.”
My stomach lurches. “Us?”
Cooper’s voice hardens. “What kind of complaint?”
Perry clasps his hands together like he’s about to deliver a sermon. “The complainant suggested your relationship is interfering with your professional judgment.”
“Are you kidding me?” I stand quickly, needing to move, pace the room or something. I’ve never had a complaint lodged against me in my entire career.
“We may not have made the best decisions on Nantucket,” Cooper says. “But we’ve been professional since we made things official.”
“Someone obviously feels differently,” Perry counters.
