Page 56 of The Cowboy and the Bombshell
God, I was so embarrassed. My behavior had been terrible, immature and puerile. He deserved better from me, and I planned on giving it to him.
I made my way through the property and to the business offices, waving at the call center girls on my way by. Once I was on the third floor, I headed straight to my office, leaving the door wide open so that I wouldn’t miss Stone when he got back. I sat at the desk and opened my email, only to stand again in shock at what was waiting in my in box.
Photos.
Horrible, intrusive photos. Of me. And Stone. Right here in this office.
My blood ran cold as I scrolled through the email, my eyes skipping the text and immediately honing in on the photographs that would ruin my life if they got out.
I remembered the exact moment three weeks ago, me on my knees at my desk, Stone’s hand on my head, guiding me. There it was, in all its full color glory, splashed across my laptop screen like some armature porn site. Who the hell had taken these photos and what did they want?
The pictures moved from me on my knees, Stone’s dick buried to the hilt in my throat, to me on the desk, my head thrown back, tits out, looking for all the world like a complete and total hussy. Our faces were both clearly visible and there was no mistaking the location.
My hand shaking and my lunch threatening to make a reappearance, I scrolled back up to the top of the email to read the attached letter.
Hello whore;
I’m sure by now you know that there is no hope for you to have any kind of future with Pennington Hotels. However, if you don’t want these photos released and your reputation ruined forever, then you will do exactly what I say.
First, you will hand in your resignation to head office by midnight tonight.
Second, you will never again set foot on a Pennington Hotels property.
Third, you will delete this email and never speak of it again. To anyone.
If you refuse to follow any of these instructions, these pictures will be released, and everyone in the industry will know that Penelope Lund gets what she wants the old-fashioned way… on her knees.
Remember. Midnight tonight.
There was no signature, and I didn’t recognize the address as it came from one of those free to use email companies. This was ridiculous. Who would do such a thing?
Who would be so offended by Stone and I being together that they would go to such extreme lengths? My mind flashed back to Toby and the disgusted look on his face at the last meeting. He had certainly changed from the kind and caring person he had been on my first day here in Las Vegas.
But why would Toby want me to quit my job? Stop seeing Stone, sure. But leave the company? I didn’t see how that would benefit him in any way.
But then it hit me. Like a baseball bat to the face, and I knew. I had been so stupid. So naive to think that my effort, my drive and desire to succeed would mean anything in the long run. Because I had gone up against a giant, assuming I could beat her.
Constance Pennington-Grover.
That cowardly bitch. Was she that afraid of losing? Of not getting something she thought was hers by sheer desire alone?
Looked like she was.
I was standing, staring at the laptop and fuming, planning to pick up the phone and call Harold Pennington myself to let him know just what was happening, when my email pinged with another incoming message. I hesitated to open it when I saw that it was from the same mystery address, but my morbid curiosity won out, and I clicked on it.
And was promptly sick in the garbage can next to my desk.
It was a video. Of the entire encounter. Our flirtatious banter. Me dropping to my knees. Stone tearing down my thong. The whole sordid affair.
Because that’s what it looked like. Not the intense and deep connection that Stone and I had been building over the last two months. No, this looked like a stereotypical office tryst, with the gold-digging tramp trying to work her way up the corporate ladder one blow job at a time.
The person who sent this was right; my career would never recover from something like this. I would be labeled a slut and ruined for life. Scarlet fucking letter style.
There was no way I could let that happen. Sure, Stone and I had something, something that I had decided was worth pursuing. But what if it didn’t work out? What if our relationship fizzled out and I had to go back to New York? I couldn’t do that if I was branded a tramp.
Either no one would hire me, or they would, but they would expect me to behave like these photos insinuated I did.
Stone would survive any fall out. Men always did.
