“Among other things? Yes, I did.”
“Do you contend that sleeping with the defendant in a complaint you were ordered to file is not a serious conflict of interest?” He looked so pleased with himself, the bastard, that he might sully what she’d had with Isaac.
At the time, what they’d had had been authentic, untaintedby the lives they led during business hours. She had to believe this was true, couldn’t entertain the ideas that had flooded her mind earlier—that he might have known, might have used her. The man she believed him to be wouldn’t have done something so—so...cruel.
“It would have certainly been a conflict of interest had I known he was going to be named as a defendant in a case one of our clients hired us to file and pursue. But, for the record, I did not know that this firm had been retainedby Date Me. Nor was I at any time during the weekend aware that I had been assigned to represent our client in any action involving either Quantum Ventures or Isaac Miller.”
Andrew Taylor again held up a hand to stop the others from questioning her and, when he spoke, his words held more gravity because of his soft delivery. “You expect us to believe that you didn’t receive any of the texts, emails or phone calls made to youby employees of this firm despite the fact you carry a smartphone for which you receive a monthly stipend and, per your employment agreement, you are to keep on your person at all times?”
He had her there. She was going to have to admit to her own stupidity and, perhaps, Isaac’s request that they leave their phones off for the weekend. Sitting up straighter, she looked from man to man and then answered. “I did have my phone on me. I checked my texts and calls prior to departing. There were none. Then Mr. Miller and I left the country, and I turned my phone off preflight.” In a split second, she chose to keep Isaac’s request to herself. What good would it do either of them if these men decided she’d been used? Her shoulders sagged a fraction before she forced them back in place.
“The true problem arose later when I failed to turn on the international-calling feature on my phone. I’ve never traveled abroad before, so the thought didn’t cross my mind. I did power my phone up when we arrived in Dublin, but, without international calling enabled, I didn’t show any missed texts or calls all weekend. When we returned to the United States, I was exhausted. I went home, dumped my bagsby the front door and went to bed. Alone,” she said with emphasis as she looked over at Mr. Lord. “I woke this morning and immediately retrieved my cell. The battery was completely dead, so I plugged it in and got ready for work. I checked my phone on the ride to the subway and discovered all of the messages that I’d failed to receive while out of the country. I immediately got off the bus, caught a cab and came into the office as directed.”
Andrew Taylor nodded, but she had no idea what he was noddingabout. “Did you have any messages from Mr. Miller, Miss Sullivan?”
She swallowed past the dense regret that threatened to choke her. “Yes, I did.”
“How many messages did you have?”
“Two.”
“And what were they?”
She recognized the look on his face, and knew it for what it was. He was setting her up for the kill. Like hell would she give him the satisfaction. She knew her job here was over. The hostility and disdain she’d been subjected to had made that clear. She wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of carrying out what amounted to a public execution.
“The messages from Mr. Miller have no bearing on this interview.”
Bradley Mitchum had been slowly twisting his pen between thumb and forefinger. “I’m sure you can understand that we might see things a bit differently.”
“As is your collective right, Mr. Mitchum. But I will not disclose the content of those messages. I’ve had no further contact with Mr. Miller and would assume there will be no personal contact moving forward. I’ve also been advisedby my immediate supervisor that I’ve been removed from the case, so, again, there’s no merit in disclosing the content of personal messages.”
Mr. Mitchum leaned back in his seat and stared at her.
It was a good stare...if one hadn’t been stared downby Isaac Miller, and recently.
“Miss Sullivan, I will allow you to keep the content of those messages to yourself. However, it is imperative that you disclose any and all conversations, written or oral, that you had regarding the development, strategies and/or marketing plans for Quantum Ventures’ client, Caffeinated Brainiacs.”
So there it was. The ultimatum. To keep her job—but no doubt give up any hope of promotion—she would have to turn on Isaac and tell this panel of misogynistic assholes everything she knew about Power Match, about Quantum Ventures and, without question, about Isaac Miller. Sure, she’d remain employed. But for how long? And was her job worth it? Was it worth tearing down a man whom—as furious as she was with him—she had come to respect...and possibly, very possibly, care for?
No matter what the weekend had been to him, it had meant something very, very real to her. It had been the best weekend of her life, and he’d given it to her. Whether under pretense or not was debatable. But the truth of her feelings was hers to interpret, and she wouldn’t sell out that part of herself for any amount of money, let alone superficial job security.
Folding her hands in her lap, she let herself grow still. She needed to let her heart catch up with current events before she answered. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but this weekend was a private affair. I won’t share information that was shared with me in good faith that could now destroy not only Mr. Miller, but also his corporation.”
“You’re treading a very fine line here, Miss Sullivan.”
“And I’m of the opinion that I have conducted myself in a professional manner and have answered each and every question that is relevant to this matter, sir.”
Christopher Lord slapped a hand on the table, and everyone jumped. “You’ve behaved like a woman whose morals are loose and whose ethics are, at best, questionable. You will address this panel with respect and answer any question we ask. Do you understand?”
Rachel stared, as shocked at the outburst as she was at essentially being called an unethical whore.
Jim reached over and grabbed her arm with more force than was either necessary or professional. “Answer him, Rachel.”
And that—Jim grabbing her—was her breaking point.
In the small, rational corner of her mind, where she found herself watching the fallout with interest, she realized she had wondered where that point would be, if it would come, and what she would do if it did.
Now she knew.