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Damn him for knowing her so well. She jerked away. “In one of your better dreams, maybe.”
He ignored her barb. “I know because you make my blood race and my heart pound and I’m not going to ignore it forever.”
She breezed past him and opened the door. “I don’t expect you to ignore it forever. Ignoring it for the next fifty years will suit me just fine.”
“Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. No need to walk me out. I know the way.” He hesitated at the door and turned back. “We were great together once, Meagan, and frankly, I think we’d be even better now. If you change your mind . . .”
“If I change my mind, I’ll have myself committed.”
He tipped an imaginary hat and left.
***
She thought that would be the last she heard or even thought about Luke for a long time. Since she’d already made up her mind not to go to his club anymore, she wouldn’t see him there and the truth was, they really didn’t travel in the same social circles.
But even though she didn’t see him, she wasn’t able to banish him from her thoughts quite as easily as she thought she should. After the day he stopped by, he popped into her mind at the most inopportune times. Like when one of the Doms she casually played with happened to call. She told herself she turned down his offer of playing because she was really busy with work, but deep inside she knew better. It was because of Luke.
Since he’d mentioned taking erotic pictures of her, whenever she thought about playing with anyone, an image of him came to mind.
A week after his visit, she finally got around to putting the magazines away.
That, she decided, was that.
But two days later, she sat at her desk, trembling, as she reread the e-mail on her screen for the fifth time.
It’s reckoning day, bitch. I bet after all these years, you thought no one knew what you did seventeen years ago. That’s exactly what I wanted you to think. But now it’s time to pay up or be exposed for the lying whore you are.
Luke DeVaan has some things I want and you’re going to get them for me. I don’t care how you do it. I’m sure a slut like you can think of something.
We’ll start easy with a little test. Find out the location of his next building site and reply to this e-mail. You have three days. If you fail, you will be punished.
Don’t fuck up,
The Taskmaster
Seventeen years ago? She swallowed. She had been so certain only her brother knew what happened that summer. If the person who sent the e-mail had any idea, it could not only damage her life and her brother’s, but also ruin the reputation her father had worked so hard for.
The e-mail address was generic. She drummed her fingers on her desk and tried to think of someone she knew that could discreetly look into who it belonged to. The problem was she’d have to let them read the e-mail and she did not want to go into what happened that summer seventeen years ago.
Damn it.
She wasn’t going to the police, obviously. Not without thinking this through more. And she wasn’t about to give into the demands. Which left her doing nothing.
It was probably no more than a game of chicken and she wasn’t interested in playing. With a nod of her head and few quick keystrokes, she deleted the e-mail.
She tried not to think of it in the days that followed, but it was difficult. She kept wondering who it could be, what exactly they knew, and what they were going to do at the end of three days. Hadn’t she always heard that you weren’t supposed to give in to blackmail demands? That things would only escalate?
At times, that thought was enough to convince her she’d made the right decision. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case the majority of the time.
On the third day after receiving the e-mail, she admitted she couldn’t focus on anything. She jumped at every unexpected noise, looked over her shoulder constantly, and dreaded every moment her e-mail indicated a new message had arrived.
When her phone rang shortly after lunch, she almost didn’t answer it. But a quick glance at the display told her it was Abby calling. With a sigh of relief, she hit the CONNECT button.
“Hey, girl,” she said. “What’s up?”
“Umm, I’m not exactly sure.” Something in Abby’s voice, along with her words, set off her internal alarm. “I just got this e-mail.”
Meagan’s stomach fell to the ground. She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “What kind of e-mail?”
“It’s, ah, a naked picture of you.”
Her grip tightened on the phone. “What?”
“I don’t recognize the e-mail address and the message says, ‘Your boss is a slut.’”
Meagan closed her eyes. Shit. “Forward to me?” she managed to get out.
“Do you want me to try to figure out who sent it? I’m sure Nathaniel—”
“No.” Meagan couldn’t even fathom bringing Abby’s husband into this. For starters, the man didn’t like her. And there was no way she wanted him to see her naked. She shivered. “No, thank you. I’m pretty sure I know who it is.”
She was surprised how easily the lie fell from her lips.
“Okay.” Abby didn’t sound convinced. “If you’re sure.”
“Yes, completely. Just forward it to me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Let me know what you find out.”
“Will do.” But Meagan was sure she wanted to involve Abby.
Abby didn’t waste any time getting off the phone and within seconds of disconnecting, the e-mail arrived in Meagan’s inbox. She looked at it, not really wanting to open it, but knowing she had to. With a sigh, she clicked on it and watched as it opened on her screen.
In the brief moments since Abby mentioned the picture, she’d wondered what sort of naked picture it was and was horribly afraid of the answer all at the same time. That weekend with Luke, their first and only, he’d taken some shots of her. Did those pictures even exist anymore? She didn’t know, but she sure as hell would find out.
The truth, when she saw it, made her heart skip a beat. It was definitely her and she was naked, but the most alarming thing about the photo—she was in her house. And from the date stamp, it was taken this morning as she got ready for work.
She reached for the phone to call the police, but her fingers hovered just over the numbers. How could she bring up the picture without telling them about the blackmail? And if she mentioned the blackmail, she’d have to confess about her brother. Shit. She couldn’t contact the police after all.
She drummed her fingers on her desk, trying to figure out what to do next when her laptop pinged with a message.
I see you decided to go about this the hard way.—Taskmaster
Beyond the message, what freaked her out more was that it was sent via interoffice chat. Holy fuck, did the blackmailer work for NNN? Her fingers flew over the keyboard.
Who are you? How did you get that picture? Do you work here?
The reply was almost instant.
I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions.
She was typing out a reply when the next message popped up.
You have 24 hrs to get me the next club’s location. You think that picture’s bad, wait until your entire office sees the ones you actually posed for.
He knew and he had the pictures. Damn it, Luke. But in reality she should have been cursing herself. She was the one who allowed him to take the pictures in the first place.
Fine. You win, she replied.
I always do.
