Page 9 of Not Safe for Work
“Oh, I suppose my eyes deceived me then, Ms. Elliot?”
She stopped dead. Flustered words were on the tip of her tongue.
Had he just suggested that he watched them?
He had. She could see it all over his face—expression once sure, and now slightly less so. As if he had given some game away. Some secret he didn’t quite want her to know.
“You have video surveillance in the office.”
“I do indeed, Ms. Elliot. How else am I to ascertain if my employees are trustworthy?”
“I didn’t think you needed to ascertain that with Abel. He’s your friend. Your most trusted advisor and confidant. You’ve known him for years and years.”
He looked at his steepled hands, as if they were the most interesting things in the world and she was the least. But somehow, he didn’t quite pull off the usual cool indifference. His voice was even tighter when he spoke. His eyes were twice as steely. “Even trusted advisors and confidants can be led astray.”
“So you believe I did this to him? That I made him do those sexy things with me? You can’t possibly think such a thing. You must have watched it thoroughly enough to know that the very idea is absurd.” She laughed at the end of her words.
But her laugh soon died when she saw his answering expression.
It wasn’t hard or cold or even furious. For a second it sagged. It was despairing.
“What are you implying?” he asked, a note of hoarseness in his voice.
“I wasn’t implying anything, Mr. Hartford.”
“Well it seems to me that you were. Your suggestion is clear.”
“How can it be clear? I have no idea what it is.”
She really didn’t, either. First he had accused her of leading Abel astray. Now he was telling her that she was accusing him. Of what? All she’d said was that he must have watched the tape thoroughly . . .
Then it dawned on her, a second before he spelled it out.
“So you deny that you accused me of voyeuristically poring over this salacious event? Your words were completely free of any hint that I might behave in as inappropriate a manner as you?”
She sat back, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. Then she fumbled for words that all came out wrong. “God, yes . . . I mean, no. Honestly that wasn’t even a thought that occurred to me at all. I just wanted to explain how mortified I was at the slightest suggestion that I would corrupt Abel in some way, or force him to do this against his will or—”
“You don’t seem mortified, Ms. Elliot. You seem like you’re flaunting your tawdry liaison in my face.”
“I can assure you, sir, that there is no flaunting happening here. I don’t even know why anyone would flaunt this in front of you, considering how professional and aloof and strict about the rules you are.”
“And now you proceed to mock me for having some sense of duty? Some values?”
“What? God, no, Mr. Hartford, no, you have my complete respect, I assure you. That wasn’t mockery, that was the truth I would never—” she said, and this time she really tried to keep going.
But his voice was louder now. He was almost shouting.
Thomas Hartford, shouting in his own office.
“Oh, you would never? Never ever cross your heart and hope to die? Perhaps we should play the recording then and see how much truth there is in such a highly dubious claim.”
He spun the laptop on his desk around, to reveal yet another awful part of this.
There she was, not yet stepping out of her shoes. Abel stood with his hands in his pockets, freeze-framed just as she was about to speak.
“Christ, okay, okay, I think I need a paper bag to breathe into.”
“And why would that be, Ms. Elliot? Do you possibly say something insubordinate?”
