His Name Is Sir (The Power to Please #3) (30 page)

I didn’t understand why she was telling me this, didn’t get the connection to Frank Linton, the connection to anything. “Thank you, but I’m fine. I don’t need anything.”

She shook her head. “This is difficult to discuss and I want you to know that if it were up to me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. However, Frank Linton is involved so it’s out of my hands.”

“Whatever it is, tell me. You’re scaring me.”

She clasped her hands on the desk. “I’m just going to say it. Today, a number of us here at the company received identical packages in the mail. Inside was a DVD and a note that said the DVD contained important information about one of our employees.”

Bizarre, I thought, but didn’t see what it could have to do with me. A DVD. It made no sense. My palms became sweaty.

Isabel continued, “I hadn’t opened most of my mail yet, you know how I am about it. But Frank Linton chose today to come into the office, and he did open his mail and he played the DVD.”

I asked, “And?”

She took a deep breath. “The DVD has videos on it and a number of photos. All of it sexually explicit. Pornographic. They feature you, Nonnie.”

I think my heart stopped beating. My brain refused to compute what she said.

Isabel looked at me, regret deepening the lines on her face. “The DVD had a label on it, with a Web site address and a password. The contents of the DVD are available online, posted for sale at a pornographic site. But you know that part.”

I couldn’t think. This was a mistake. It made no sense. “I don’t know anything about this. It’s impossible.”

Isabel said softly, “If you needed a raise, a loan, you could have come to me. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I didn’t do this. I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s a mistake. I’ve never made a sex tape, never done anything like that.”

“You really don’t know anything about this?”

“Of course not.” My brain had kicked back into a sort of frantic gear, my hands beginning to tremble with rising adrenaline. “I would never ... couldn’t ever. It’s not me.”

Isabel leaned back into her chair, appearing even more forlorn than before. “The site clearly states that all the actresses and models on the site are paid. And you’re saying you never ...”

“Never! It’s not me. I want to see it.”

“No, it’s you, Nonnie. When Frank stormed in here raving about you, I watched enough of the video to make sure it was you. I’m sorry. It’s you.”

“It’s impossible. I want to see it.”

“You will. I’ll give you everything we’ve gotten. You can watch it at home. Not here.”

“I ... I ...” This wasn’t happening to me. “It’s a mistake.”

Isabel shifted in her seat. “This is difficult, for both of us. Your private life should be your own, and it’s no one else’s business. Someone has obviously taken advantage of you, and I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I’m so sorry. And I have no choice but to make it worse.”

Worse? What could be worse?

She said, “Frank Linton is infuriated about the video. He demanded that I fire you under the grounds that you’ve broken the company’s code of conduct rule as well as the moonlighting rule.”

This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be true. None of it. “You’re firing me?”

“No,” Isabel said, “I refused to do it. The best I could do for you, though, was give you the chance to resign first.”

A new surge of adrenaline shot through me. “I’m not resigning! I can’t be fired for something I didn’t do. You can’t expect me to ...”

“I know. I know. Here’s what I want you to do. Just breathe for a minute. Try to steady yourself. I know it’s hard.”

I glanced at her hands. They were shaking. Not as much as mine were, and yet, it was a comfort of sorts to have this visual evidence that my mentor hated doing this to me. It was something, anyway.

“I have a plan,” she said. “Just listen. You will resign, it’s the best thing. Frank Linton won’t let you stay, and it has nothing to do with you breaking the rules. It has everything to do with his fear that a scandal might derail the deal with Roundtree. I told him that was ridiculous, but he won’t listen. So you will have to resign.”

I could only shake my head.

She held up a finger, a motion for me to wait. “Resign. Lay low. Once the sale with Roundtree goes through and the Lintons are out of here for good, I’ll hire you back. You won’t lose your job while you’re gone because I won’t let them fill it. You’ll come back and resume your position.”

“This can’t be happening,” I said.

“I’m more sorry than I can say. If it were all up to me ... enough of the ifs. We have to face what’s in front of us. I’m certain that the sale will go through very soon. I’m thinking a month, maybe two. Do you have enough money to support yourself without income for two months?”

“I ... I ... don’t know. Yes, maybe. This ...”

“If you need help, call me. I’ll give you whatever you need.”

“That’s kind of you. I don’t know. I’m not ... thinking well right now.”

“I know.” She picked up a manilla envelope and slid it across her desk to me. “All the DVDs we received are in here. Take them with you. Go home. Call me when you’ve made your decision about resigning. But remember, if you don’t resign, Frank Linton will fire you, have no illusions that he won’t.”

I had no doubt she was right. I recalled his face outside the elevator, the sneering way he dismissed me.

I asked, “And if I can prove it’s not me, that I didn’t do this thing?”

“If you can do that, and you want to force the point, you can let Frank fire you, because he is unlikely to accept any proof you offer him. After that, you can hire a lawyer and file suit against him and the company.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling a sense of hope that maybe she was wrong about Frank Linton. Maybe I could convince him. Some strength returned to my limbs at the thought. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

She gave me a sad, half-smile. “Watch the DVD, Nonnie. Then decide.”

“I will.”

She stood up and came around the desk. “When you leave, if anyone asks where you’re going, just tell them you’re sick and are going home. Don’t worry about your belongings in your office. I’ll box it all up after everyone’s gone tonight and messenger it to you.”

I managed to get to my feet. “Thanks. I appreciate that. That would have been ... awkward.”

Then Isabel did something she had never done before: she hugged me. A fiercely powerful hug, the kind that’s both a comfort and a passing of resolve from one person to another. A stiff-upper-lip, you-can-handle-this kind of hug.

She held me by the shoulders, gave a little shake. “You’re made of stern stuff, girl. Never forget that. This will pass, and you’ll be even stronger for it.”

My eyes filled for a moment with unshed tears, but I held them at bay. “I’ll be back.”

She nodded sharply. “I know you will.”

She released me and I turned to go. “Don’t forget to call me,” she said, right before I opened the door.

I told her I wouldn’t forget and then I was through the door, walking to my office in a daze, digging out my purse and looking around the room, wondering what I could take with me now, what might fit in my purse.

I had shut down, was moving on automatic pilot. I opened a few drawers, but saw nothing there I wanted, nothing that was mine. I didn’t have any pictures on my desk, no nicknacks like so many of the other women in the office. I grew confused.

And then all I wanted was to get the hell out of there, to run away as fast as I could. Get away. Get out.

I left my office, closing the door behind me. It seemed a long way to the elevator. I imagined I heard people whispering as I passed. Or maybe I wasn’t imagining it. It didn’t matter. I didn’t look left or right, just straight ahead.

When I passed by the reception desk, I noticed Stephanie had returned from lunch. She watched me leave without saying a word.

I sat in my car for a long time, waiting for my nerves to steady before I dared to drive. I looked at the manilla envelope Isabel gave me. It was on the passenger seat, taunting me to open it. No. I would wait until I got home. I couldn’t play a DVD in my car anyway.

On the drive home, my brain kicked back into gear, of a sort, a scattered, panicked sort of gear. I thought of how certain Isabel was that it was me in the videos. Before long, I realized that it was possible that it could actually be me.

Three possibilities presented themselves.

One: the night of the kink ball. Me, on the auction block, naked, the raucous crowd, Michael stroking me in public.

Two: on the beach, next to the bar, with Josh. The shadowy figure watching me have sex in the moonlight.

Three: “A Doctor’s Work Is Never Done,” with the Hoytes and Patsy. Nudity, sex and so much more.

I couldn’t imagine how anyone could have filmed me on the beach with Josh. Yes, there was bright moonlight, but surely not enough light to make a recording, to clearly show that it was me. However, I knew little about current technology, what could and could not be filmed with minimal lighting.

I had been unable to clearly see the stranger watching me, and it was not outside the realm of possibility that he had been recording the entire time. Not impossible, but unlikely, I thought.

The kink ball and the Hoytes’ play both took place at Private Residence. The club had signs posted in numerous places which warned that the use of cameras and camcorders was not allowed, and that equipment was subject to seizure.

Of course, someone could always sneak a camera in, record in secret. I thought that would have been difficult at the ball since there were so many people everywhere. But the night of the Hoytes’ play, the people in the rooms. It actually would have been an easy thing to hide a small device and film the whole thing.

Easy.

Of the three, the doctor scene was the likeliest one. My skin crawled at the thought of Frank Linton watching me prance around in that tight nurse’s suit, watching me get spanked, have my breasts ... ugh, I couldn’t think about it.

The Hoytes. Patsy. Me. On the internet ... a pay site.

It had to be that. It was the logical choice.

And if it were, then it really was me in the video, and I would be forced to quit my job, would have no grounds to fight being fired.

A momentary hope spiked through me at the thought that the Hoytes would be furious, and that Ron and Elaine would know what to do, could prove we weren’t paid. I would sue Frank Linton if he didn’t let me have my job back.

But the tiny bit of hope faded away with the realization that this truly was happening to me. What had I done? What was I going to do?

I heard Isabel’s voice telling me to breathe. Telling me to wait and watch the video. Wait. Listen. Plan. Then act. Isabel’s four steps to rational action. In this instance, substitute “watch” for “listen.”

I needed to stop jumping ahead, freaking myself out before I had the facts in hand.

Right then, though, rational thought was in limited supply.

I made it home safely and headed straight to my computer. While it booted up, I pulled out one of the DVDs from the manilla folder. The plain, white label on the disk only had the address of a Web site and what it called an access code. I didn’t recognize the name of the site, but what with not frequenting porn sites, that wasn’t unexpected. Past the “.com” was a slash and a series of numbers, I presumed a straight shot to the pertinent page.

As soon as my computer connected to the wifi signal, I entered the address into my browser. Hit enter. I didn’t have a fast connection, and it seemed to take forever for the page to load. My heart was racing and I couldn’t stop the nervous bouncing of my leg, my fingers tapping on the desk.

Piece by piece, the page came up. I saw right away that it was a kink Web site, for BDSM pornography, an obvious clue being the cartoon animation that stretched across the top of the page with a tiny naked woman scrambling on hands on knees to escape a masked man cracking a whip behind her.

It wasn’t a particularly professional looking site, simplistic in design, old fashioned. A huge line of text stretched across the page, announcing: “ALL NEW!!!! OUR BEST YET!!!!”

Underneath that, the title: “The Disobedient Sub Gets Disciplined.”

Then below that, a few small photos of poor quality, a naked woman kneeling on the floor with her head bent down, a rear shot of a naked woman lying on the floor. You couldn’t see the woman’s face, or head for that matter, in the second shot, and in the first, you couldn’t see her face or any details to speak of, the quality was so poor. She had long black hair, like mine, but that meant nothing.

I didn’t spend any time studying the photos. No need. The video would tell me everything. And it was quickly dawning on me that this was not likely to be the Hoytes’ play at Private Residence, or sex with Josh on the beach, or the auction, not if the title of the page was anything to go by. Maybe there really had been a mistake. I prayed there had been a mistake.