Page 64 of Texting the CEO's Obsession
It’s funny how quickly I’ve gotten comfortable with her in my space, hell, in mylife. If anyone else, even Thomas, had asked to open my mail with me, I’d have told them in no uncertain terms to get fucked.
All it takes from Riley is a quick bat of her lashes and she has my cold heart melting.
“Nosy brat,” I say fondly as I reach for the envelope.
She laughs at the half-assed scolding, leaning forward along with me as I tear the envelope open. I don’t bother glancing inside before I tip it upside down and let the contents fall free over the coffee table.
But I regret it as soon as I process what I’m seeing.
Pictures.
Glossy, freshly printed pictures.
Of us. Of me. Ofher.
My heart skips a beat at the soft, shocked gasp that falls from her lips. She reaches out with a shaking hand, but I snag her wrist back before she can touch any of them.
“No. Don’t put your fingerprints on them.”
She whips her head to the side to look up at me, her eyes wide with fear.
“What?” Her voice trembles as her eyes dart frantically between the photos and my face. “Nick, what’s going on? These… this isus.”
“I know,” I reply, dark and displeased.
The photos aren’t particularly scandalous on their own. The ones of Riley alone are mostly from work or her lunch breaks with Taylor. Even the ones of Riley and me together at work are fairly tame. We’ve been careful to keep our trysts at work away from even the hallway cameras, so all that’s been captured are a few shared smiles and one of me patting her on the shoulder.
The ones of me are more of a problem. They showcase Thomas and me together outside of The Echelon, and, more importantly, me in a mask at various events over the years.Thosepictures should be impossible because I know how seriously Thomas takes the no-cameras policy inside the club.
They look like they were taken stealthily, shaky images from beneath tables and around corners. There’s no denying they are of me, though.
It’s the pictures of Riley and me from inside the club that make me sick to my stomach, though.
They’re from the night of the auction.
A night that should be an untainted, pure memory for both of us, now sullied by whoever the fuck decided to do this.
None of them are from the back rooms, thankfully, but the story they tell is obvious anyway. Shots of Riley on stage are followed by pictures of me walking through the crowd as I placed my bids, a photo of her sitting in my lap, and then one of us disappearing around the corner into the back. We’re both masked in all of them, but it’s not hard to recognize either of us if you know who you’re looking at.
The sight of them alone is enough to make my blood boil with rage, but the fact that they were ripped straight from the security footage leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
“Who did this?” Riley whispers, utterly horrified as she digs her nails into my arm. “What—was it yourfriend? Tommy? That’s security footage!”
I shake my head slowly, grinding my teeth in an attempt to quell my anger before I open my mouth.
“It wasn’t Tommy,” I say roughly. “Someone must have hacked his cameras. He’s not sloppy enough to be that obvious.”
Riley splutters, pushing up from the couch to pace anxiously around the room, crossing her arms over her waist.
“What is that supposed to mean?” she bites out.
I hide my wince behind a frown—Thomas walks a much darker path than I do, his lifestyle closer to what my brother would like me to engage in than that of a true businessman like he presents to the world. That’s not something Riley needs to know, nor something for her to worry about right now.
“It wasn’t Tommy,” I repeat, fixing my eyes on her as she paces back and forth. “I trust him.”
I can count the number of people I trust on one hand, and Thomas has been one of them for a long time. He wouldn’t do this. Not to me.
“Then what’shappening?” she snaps, whirling on her heel to stare me down. “Whatis going on, Nick?”
