Page 15 of Enthrall
“Back off, Cameron,” it was Richard’s voice.
“Let’s talk,” said Cameron.
“There’s nothing to talk about. I want her gone.”
“Keep your voice down,” snapped Cameron.
I cringed, hating to hear such tension between two people who were meant to be friends, and feeling for the poor person they were talking about.
“Don’t make any decisions until we’ve had a session, understand?” said Cameron.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Richard slammed a cabinet drawer. “Did you even read her resume? She has no experience. She’s at risk here.”
“Protect her. That’s what you do best,” Cameron’s tone sounded soothing.
“For fuck sake,” said Richard. “She doesn’t even know what Venus balls are.”
I jolted back.
WIPING TEARS AWAY, I tried to work out if I’d be able to drive.
Richard had fired me. Although nicely and with two week’s pay, after reassuring me this generous offer came as an apology for their error in hiring an inappropriate candidate.
I cursed my ineptitude for not Googling sex toys before. Those pesky Venus love balls had given away my lack of knowledge. Anyway, didn’t Google record everything you searched for, holding it back and waiting until you married a governor before they revealed the documented proof to the world? Why yes, you are a kinky bitch and your husband’s run for the presidency is now dashed because of your twisted fuckery.
More tears fell. My inability to impress my boss had lost me my job. I shoved my Mini Cooper into reverse and backed out—
After jolting forward, there came an awful grinding of metal and my foot slammed on the brake. I spun around to see an open topped silver sports car stuck to the back of my Mini.
Oh no...
My moan filled the space around me. I pulled forward, heart racing. It threatened to burst out of my chest and render me unconscious.
I buried my face in my hands. “Grrrr.”
I climbed out, psyching myself up to face the other driver and what damage I’d done to their car. Brave their wrath.
Oh shit.
Cameron Cole swept his hand over the large dent in his front side door. He tilted his head when he saw me, his expression lacking any anger, which I found strange considering his car was the most amazing thing on wheels I’d ever seen.
A wave of panic hit me. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for it.”
He narrowed his gaze as he took in the back of my car. Unable to stop my tears, my aching chest threatened to burst wide open and I sucked in a sob.
“Are you hurt?” he said.
“No. Are you?”
“Of course not,” he said calmly. “Are you insured?”
“Yes.”
“Well then.” He shrugged. “Though don’t be surprised if your insurance broker cries too when you tell him you hit a Porsche Spyder.”
Although I had no idea what kind of car that might be, his vehicle looked even more expensive close up. I broke my gaze from it as though the car might spring to life and chastise me. With a trembling hand I reached into my bag and felt for my wallet.
“This really has been a horrible day for you,” he said, “hasn’t it?”
