I exhale, then sag a bit in relief. “I see.” My relief is short-lived, however, when I remember the one thing that Damien still does not know—the memory card that Jackson took from the island. I think of it—and feel anger and betrayal boil in my gut.
“But I’ll keep my eye on him and the project. He’s in a unique position to cause some real hurt. You should keep an eye out, too,” he adds, and something in his voice suggests that it’s not hurt to the company he means, but to me.
I conjure a generic smile. “I will. Of course.” I take a half-step toward the door, eager to get out, but Damien halts me with his next words. “There’s something else you need to see.”
Something in his voice fills me with dread, and I turn back to him slowly. “What’s wrong?”
He nods toward the screen. The LA Scandal article disappears, replaced by a single photograph.
I swallow as my cheeks heat with mortification. It’s an image of me and Jackson locked in an embrace. And not a sweet end-of-a-movie-type kiss, either. No, this was when Jackson had grabbed me, pulling me close, practically fucking my mouth with his tongue. One hand is in my hair, the other starting to slide under the waistband of the yoga pants to tease my ass.
Just looking at the image makes me squirm—in embarrassment, yes, but also from the memory.
“Mr. Stark,” I say, then have to clear my throat because that came out way too high and squeaky. “I’m—”
I give up, not sure if I should start by apologizing for being caught on tape or for being unprofessional. And not entirely sure how to phrase either.
“Sit down.”
I sit. Legs together, hands in my lap, eyes down.
“Look at me.”
I draw in a breath and lift my head, prepared for whatever lashing he’s about to dole out. But where I expect to see retribution on his face, I see only concern. “You’re not in trouble, Syl,” he says gently. “But I am worried.”
I feel myself relax immediately. “I didn’t think about the security cameras. And then when I remembered—well, I never thought that you—that anyone—would see that.” Not entirely true. I knew the guys in security would, but none of them would have sent the picture to Damien without telling me first.
“I doubt I would have had it not been for the Scandal story. I pulled the feed myself.”
“So this isn’t wide?” I realize only as I say the word that I’d been half-worried that this was fodder for some second LA Scandal story.
“As far as I know, no one’s seen it except me and Nikki. I found it at home. She was with me. I’m sorry about that.”
“No, it’s okay.” I run my fingers through my hair, not really sure how I feel about any of this other than horribly embarrassed and incredibly unprofessional. “You should know that—”
Once again I cut myself off. I’d been about to deny, but deny what? That Jackson and I are involved? We are. That it has nothing to do with the resort? It does.
Finally, I settle on the generic. “You should know that although I’m incredibly embarrassed that you’ve seen that, it doesn’t negatively impact the resort. Not my dedication to the project or Jackson’s.”
“I’m going to say this only once—I believe you. But if it turns out I’m wrong, I’ll take you off the resort and put Trent on it so fast your head will spin.”
I squeeze my fingers together. “I understand.”
“That’s not my primary concern, though.”
“There’s no policy against intra-office dating, and—”
“Dammit, Sylvia.”
I freeze. “Sir?”
“This isn’t about policy. This is about you.”
I wait, not sure where this is going.
“You’re a good employee, but you’re also a good friend. I understand men like Steele, and I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I—oh.” I draw in a breath.
“I don’t trust him. I’ve given him the benefit of the doubt about the Sykes footage, but the key word there is doubt.”
“I understand. But I believe him.” The latter is not entirely true. Because right now I’m not sure. I want to believe that Jackson wouldn’t do that—wouldn’t use our time on the island to gain some leverage against the project. Against Stark.
I want to believe it—but there’s the damn memory card filling my head.
That, however, is not something Damien needs to know, and I feel a little sick. Both from my rising anger and worry, and from the simple fact that I’m keeping secrets from my boss.
