Page 8 of Dirty Nasty Billionaire: Part 3

Chapter 4

Itold Nixon that I’d quit, but that was only because I wanted to be with him. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then fuck that. I’m showing up at the office today, just like every other day, and I’m going to own that internship. I’m going to Boss Bitch so hard that Amber’s going to want to give up. I’m going to make him give me that goddamn job.

But as soon as I stroll into the intern conference room, I know that Amber won’t be quitting. She’s got a wicked Cheshire grin on her face that tells me she has something up her sleeve.

“Hi guys,” I say, dropping into my usual seat and pulling my laptop out of my bag. My voice is casual, but I’m instantly on edge. Something is up.

But she’s not giving it away quite yet.

“Why don’t we have a team meeting to go over where everyone’s at with their projects,” Amber says. “I think it’s important that we all stay updated, so that if anyone drops the ball, or drops out —“ at this, she gives me a pointed look “— that the rest of us can easily pick up the ball and run it to the finish line.”

She’s definitely got something up her sleeve. But we make it all the way to lunch until I find out what it is.

I’m down in the cafeteria, a stark white wonderland of free food for Scour employees. The food is prepared by a Michelin star chef, and they serve everything from vegan to paleo to gluten free to keto (whatever that is). I’m just settling down to an empty table with my tray, which is filled with grilled salmon, a summer salad, and a warm, fresh out of the oven chocolate chip cookie that is approximately the size of my head.

A file folder drops onto the table next to my tray.

I look up and see Amber standing there, her snotty grin so bright I swear you could see it from the top of the Prudential Center. She gestures at an empty chair beside me.

“May I?” She asks.

“Something about your expression tells me I don’t have a choice,” I reply.

She lets out a sick little giggle. “Oh, Delaney, we all make our own choices.”

Ugh. “Amber, cut the crap. What’s going on?”

“Why don’t you look in the folder?” She nods to it, resting in the middle of the table. She’s clearly been planning this, the lines she’s going to say, all the stage directions. I hate that I have no choice but to follow along, but if I want it to end, I’m going to have to play. So I reach for the folder and flip it open.

Inside is a photo, slightly grainy, but maybe that’s from being blown up into an 8x10. It takes me about point two seconds to realize that it’s a photo of Nixon and me. I remember the moment clearly. It was a few weeks ago. He’d pulled me into the 6th floor supply closet, where he’d hoisted me up on a few stacked boxes of copy paper and fucked me until I came. Twice. The photo is of us emerging from the supply closet. I could almost explain it away, like were discussing supply chains or some such nonsense, except as he emerges from the door behind me, his hand is resting firmly on my ass. And I’ve got a smile on my face that’s a mile wide. The photo may not show much, but it manages to spill all our secrets.

I realize there’s more in the file, and I start flipping through. There are several of me coming out of Nixon’s building, which by themselves wouldn’t be incriminating, but coupled with the supply closet shot, tell all you need to know.

I huff out a breath and flip the folder closed before anyone else can catch a glimpse over my shoulder. But I clutch it in both hands so hard the cardboard crinkles.

“Oh, you can keep that one,” Amber says, like she’s offering me the extra soda in her lunch or something. “I have plenty more.”

“What do you want?” I try to sound sharp, fierce, but I can hear my voice. I just sound exhausted. I can’t believe she’s doing this now, when Nixon and I aren’t even together anymore. As if that would make a difference if the photos got out. My career at Scour would be done. No matter how hard I worked or how much I deserved it, no one would believe I earned the job. They’d think I fucked my way to the top. And admitting that Nixon and I were done would only make me sound pathetic. I’d be the girl who screwed her boss and got dumped. People would look at me like a walking lawsuit.

This can’t get out.

“I don’t want anything you can give me,” Amber says. “I just wanted you to know.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I just wanted you to know that I’m taking this to your boyfriend. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with him in about an hour. He’s probably going to fire you, because that’s what he can give me. Also, the final job.” She grins like Miss America on acid, and I hate her so much right now, I want to knock every last one of her capped teeth into her head.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I reply through gritted teeth, as if that matters in the slightest. As soon as I say it, I regret it. I wish I could take the words back, because they only seem to delight Amber further.

She reaches over and lays a hand on mine, a gesture that in any other situation would be sympathetic. But she’s just twisting the knife. “Oh sweetie,” she says, her lower lip jutting out in a cartoonish pout. She pats my hand. “Couldn’t even do that right?”

* * *

I barely touch my lunch.My appetite is gone. I trudge back to the conference room like I’m headed to the guillotine. When I get back to the room, Colin is tapping away on his laptop, Jenna perusing her phone. Amber is nowhere to be found.

Because she’s meeting with Nixon.

As soon as she sees me, Jenna’s eyes light up. “You’re back! Amber wanted me to let you know that she’s got a meeting with Nixon.”

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