Chapter 3

A Weasel Out of Hiding

“You threw wine at Nathan Landers?”

Pamela, my best friend, otherwise known as Pam — some people call us SamPam or Spam or Sam-I-Am and Pam-I-Am — looks at me across the cafeteria table with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. Thankfully, she hasn’t taken a bite of her pasta or it would have fallen out.

“Shh,” I scold her with a finger to my lips.

Quickly, I look around the crowded cafeteria. No one’s looking at me weird. Or looking at me, period. That’s good.

I don’t want anyone else knowing about the ‘slip’ I made.

As soon as I got home and the anger had subsided, I realized what a fool I’d been. I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I shouldn’t have risen to the occasion.

And I definitely shouldn’t have thrown that wine on his face.

“I know, I know,” I tell Pam. “I wasn’t on my best behavior. I should have just put on a fake smile and then walked away.”

“You should not have been with him in the first place.” She eats a forkful of pasta. “Haven’t you heard that he’s a womanizer?”

“How do you know this again?” I ask.

She looks at me like I’m an alien. “I’m a news reporter, Sam. I hear things. I know things.”

Pam writes for the company’s news magazine. Mostly in-depth stuff. Investigative journalism, she calls it.

“He didn’t try to seduce me, though.” Or did he? “He pissed me off, that’s what.”

“Then you’re lucky. Oh, but wait. You called him despicable.”

I frown at the reminder. “He called animals unnecessary. Like they are just weeds or something.”

Pam took a bite off her piece of garlic bread. “So, you threw wine at him.”

I roll my eyes.

“Question. Does Nathan Landers know who you work for?”

“I might have mentioned it.”

Pam shakes her head. “Not good. You never know how powerful men will retaliate. I hate to break it to you, but he could ask Henry to fire you.”

He could?

“Or worse, he could talk to the investors — I hear one of the major ones is a friend of his — and have them pull out their money and our company would… well, take a big blow.”

“No way.” I hadn’t thought of that.

Pam shrugs. “Rich men usually have big egos, egos they don’t want deflated. Who knows what they do when their feathers get ruffled?”

I sigh. Pam’s right. I should know, having been around a lot of rich people for the past several months.

I let my head fall on the table. What have I done?

Can my day get any worse? Nancy already gave me an earful for not taking enough pictures at last night’s gala because I ended up not returning to the ballroom after that heated argument with Nathan. Never mind that I told her I was suddenly not feeling well. Mattie seemed disappointed, too, reminding me that I’m a professional and I shouldn’t let personal things like wardrobe malfunctions get in the way. Oh, and she gave me a heap of safety pins.

Now, I find out my career’s in jeopardy.

What next? A broken arm? God forbid.

“Sam?” I hear the concern in Pam’s voice.

“I’m fine,” I lie.

It’s not Pam’s fault. She’s a news reporter, so she has a thing for bearing bad news. Even so, she’s just the messenger. I brought this upon myself.

“No, you’re not. Eat something.”

“I’m still full.”

“Suit yourself.” She pats my hair. “I have to go back to my desk. I’ve got a deadline to beat. Don’t worry about it, okay? It’s not the end of the world.”

Easy for her to say.

“Who knows? He might just let it go.”

I lift my head and look at her. I can tell she thinks it’s unlikely, and yet she said so anyway just to make me feel better. That’s why she’s my best friend.

She crosses her fingers as she walks away then turns and blows me a kiss.

“Good luck with that deadline,” I call out to her.

She gives me a thumbs up. Then she’s gone.

I look around the cafeteria, the crowd seeming smaller now.

I glance at my watch. 12:42.

Should I go back to my desk? But I don’t really have anything to do there. And frankly, I don’t want to see Nancy or Mattie again. Should I go home then? My next event isn’t until noon tomorrow, so I can.

I’m still toying with the idea when my phone beeps.

A new message from Barry Baker.

I frown. Didn’t I tell that scumbag not to contact me anymore? Why does he still have my email?

There are pictures. I don’t understand what…

Oh, shit.

They’re all pictures of me. And Nathan. Half of them are of us kissing, the other half of us getting into the elevator.

How on earth did he get these pictures?

Why am I even asking? He’s paparazzi. Taking pictures without anyone knowing is his specialty. But why send them to me?

I scroll down.

I know what you did last night, but hey, I can be persuaded to keep it a secret from your boss. Just have dinner with me tonight at seven at the Marriott. See you.

If my phone wasn’t so expensive, I’d probably have thrown it at the nearest wall.

How dare Barry blackmail me? Then again, I should have known blackmail wasn’t beneath him. He’d do anything to achieve his filthy goals.

Anything.

I knew it. He’s a weasel.

Well, there’s nothing I can do. If those pictures reach Henry or Nancy or any of the executives at the company, my credibility is going to be questioned. They’ll say I’m using my job to get laid. They’ll call it a breach of trust, a conflict of interest. At any rate, I could easily get fired and my dreams will go down the drain.

I can’t let that happen. I won’t. Luckily, Barry is giving me a chance to get rid of them.

Lucky? Just the thought of sitting across from him at a table, enduring his mischievous grin and knowing what he’s thinking of, is enough to make me cringe.

Yup, my day just got worse.

Much worse.