Chapter 17

Still perched on her desk, invading her space, Chase picked up a glass paperweight in the shape of a goldfish and twirled it thoughtfully between his fingers. "I'm not the devil, you know."

"His cousin maybe?" but far too often, all things considered. He is the devil’s twin; there are no doubts about that. She thought to herself.

"Good, that mouth of yours, Miss Patterson, never seems to amaze me."

She lowered her eyes in order not to murder the asshole, suddenly a little angry at some kind of unspoken, amused criticism behind his words.

Chase pointed it out, dumping the goldfish back on the desk where he had found it. "What's with the boring outfit? I remember those nights when you were nothing but small red satin—"

Her eyes widened. "Chase! We agreed; we both agreed to never ever mention what happened back then, remember? And my choice of clothing is none of your fucking business!"

"Mouth of an angel, I see." He smirked and stood up and slapped a sheaf of papers on her desk, then placed his hands, palms down, squarely on either side of the papers and leaned into her.

I swear I'm going to wring his neck one of these days. She pondered. And I'm going to grill his balls and feed them to the rats in my building.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying, Amaya?"

Amaya breathed in, trying to cool down her mind after murdering her boss. "I'm listening."

"Good. Now. I want you to ask Gary if he knew anything about the anomalies in the supply chain to Los Angeles."

What a fickle-minded jackass! One moment he was tormenting me, the next he was giving me impossible errands like it was nothing.

"I believe the issues with Justin's team were with the supply chain," Chase added.

"You believe?’ Amaya took a deep breath and did her utmost not to be intimidated by the man crowding her—but it was next to impossible. Tall, raven-haired, muscular, and leaning into her, he didn’t cause anything but a rapidly beating heart, a dry mouth, and perspiring palms, which she surreptitiously wiped on her skirt.

"Yes."

"Okay, all I know is that Justin is in charge of those accounts. Exclusively. Perhaps you could explain what it is you’d like to find out?"

Chase pushed himself away from the desk and prowled through the office, noting in passing how little of her personality there was in it. No cutesy photographs in frames on the desk, no pot plants, no gimmick pen holder—not even a desk calendar with uplifting seascapes, works of art, adorable puppies, or semi-clad firemen. He said nothing for a few seconds, then spun to face her, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.

"Quite by chance, a batch of files was delivered to me—probably because "Private and Confidential" was stamped so boldly on the envelope that the post boy must have automatically headed up to the directors’ floor. I scanned them, and there appeared to be...how shall I say this?...certain discrepancies that need checking out."

"Justin knew about this errand?" Amaya asked in a serious tone.

"No. I want you to grill Gary about this."

Amaya paled as the significance of what he was saying began to sink in.

"You catch on quickly," Chase said approvingly. ‘I had actually come down here to confront Gaby with these files, but in his absence, it might be a better idea for you to have a look at them and collate whatever evidence is necessary."

"Evidence? Necessary for what?" she asked faintly, and she flushed when he raised his eyebrows in question, as if incredulous that the point of what he had said might have passed her by.

"Call me crazy, but I trust Justin; we've survived this world of business because we trust each other, but he was soft to his employee," Chase said, with such silky assurance that she wanted to throw the goldfish paperweight at his handsome head, "but when someone I employ decides to take advantage of my generosity, I tend to feel a little aggrieved. Of course I could be completely off target here. There might very well be a simple explanation for what I’ve seen.

"You suspected Gary?"

"Yes."

"But if there isn’t...?" She was unwillingly mesmerised by the graceful way he moved around her small office, his jacket bunching where his hand was shoved in his trouser pocket.

"Well, the wheels of justice have to do something to keep busy... unless you want to apply for a wife position," he shrugged. "So, here’s how this is going to play out: I am officially going to hand the files over to you, and you are to examine them minutely, from cover to cover. I am assuming you know Gary’s password for his computer."

"How did you—"

"Don't insult my knowledge, Amaya. I even know your password; it's your child's birthday."

Amaya was dumbfounded.

What the—

He didn't give her a chance to speak: "You’re going to go through every single document that has been exchanged on this L.A. project and get back to me out of work hours."

"Out of work hours? What are you talking about?"

"I think Gary’s been embezzling," Chase informed her bluntly. "We could keep going around the houses, but that’s the long and short of it. I had no idea that he was in sole charge of this project. Had he not been, I might have been inclined to widen the net of suspicion, but it fundamentally comes down to just one man."

"I hate the thought of checking into what Gary has been doing,’ Amaya said truthfully. "He’s such a lovely guy, and he’s been good to me since I began working here."

"Blow his trumpet too vigorously, and I might start thinking that you are in on whatever the hell’s been going on."

"What the heck? Are you out of your mind?" She said it coldly, her voice freezing over. Her eyes held his. "I just started working here two weeks ago, for fuck’s sake."

Chase’s ears pricked up. He had so many women, he lost count. Yet these past two weeks, he had no date—and no regret there either. His last blonde bombshell had gone the way of all good things, and he was back to the drawing board and more than happy to have a break from the fairer sex.

Amaya Patterson was everything he avoided when it came to women. She was cold, distant, intense, unsmiling, and prickly. She never let him forget that she was there to do a damn good job and nothing else.

But that single look—the anger, the fire in it, the disappointment, the pain—it was like he stabbed her to death.

"I know that; I just want you to get this mission done as soon as possible." Chase moved the topic swiftly along. He hurt her feelings. He was sorry, but he couldn't take back what he said.

He dragged the single spare chair in the room across to her desk and sat down, angling it so that he could extend his long legs to the side, crossing them at the ankles.

Amaya watched with something approaching horror. "I was about to leave. Perhaps we could continue this conversation tomorrow morning?"

"Why? Your fiance is waiting?"

She looked at him blankly.

Think whatever you want to think. I don't care, she thought to herself.

"I’m sure you must have plans for the evening, sir. Chase. If I take the paperwork home, I can have a look at it over the weekend and get back to you with my findings tomorrow morning. How does that sound?"

"The reason I suggested that we discuss this situation out of hours is because I would rather not have it turned into a matter for speculation. Naturally, you would be paid generously for your overtime."

"It’s not about being paid for overtime," Amaya said stiffly. She kept her eyes firmly pinned to his face, but she was all too aware of the lazy length of his body, the flex of muscles under the white shirt, the tanned column of his throat, and the strength of his forearms where he had shoved the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. Those fingers—those lean—amazing sinful fingers...

Crap! Stop, Amaya, stop thinking.

He had always made her jumpy in a way other men never had. There was a raw, primal, barely contained aggression about him that threatened her composure, and it had done so from the very first time she had set eyes on him six years ago.

It was dangerous. It was the sort of danger she could do without. She didn’t like the way her body seemed to respond to him of its own accord. It frightened her.

Her step-parent upbringing had taught her many things, and the biggest thing it had taught her was the need for control. Control over her emotions, control over her finances, and control over the destination of her life.

So far, this paragon of virtue hadn’t appeared on the scene, but that didn’t mean that she would ever be distracted in the meantime by the sort of guy she privately despised. What happened six years ago was a mistake, but she never regretted it. She had a son. That was all that mattered.

So why, she wondered, did her stupid body begin a slow burn whenever Chase Johnson was within her radius? And now here he was, making noises about them working alongside one another outside normal working hours.

"Then what is it about?" Chase demanded, bringing her back to the reality of him sitting across from her with a bump.

Amaya lowered her eyes, keeping her cool, but she ignored his question.

"Okay. You said you were heading off now...?"

Amaya sighed before answering, "Yes."

"In that case..." Chase stood up and sauntered towards the door, where he proceeded to lean against it, staring at her. "I’ll walk you down. In fact, I’ll go one better. I’ll give you a lift to your house. Where do you live?"

Amaya licked her lips nervously and ventured a polite smile as she stood up as well and began tidying a desk that wasn’t in need of tidying.

No. There is no way I'm going to let him see my son. No way!