Page 4 of Dirty Legacy

I like numbers.

Jesus Christ, Angie, what the hell is wrong with you?

“That’s good. I’m glad you like numbers.” Connor reaches for his laptop. “I get a lot of emails, Ms. Bellandi, but most aren’t interesting. They’re numbers, as you said, and while they’re important, they rarely catch my attention. But something you sent me earlier this afternoon broke through the noise. I’ve been staring at it for hours now.”

I feel like I might be sick. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Maguire. If I messed up that badly⁠—“

He turns the screen to face me.

“Did you mean to send me these?”

My jaw drops open. The world goes blank. All I can see is the image glowing like it’s the damn sun.

It’s… it’s me.

I’m sitting on my desk chair at home in front of my full-length mirror. I’m in a pair of cute purple panties with lots of lace. They’re my favorites. My legs are spread. The lighting is dim, but it makes my pale skin seem almost tanned. I’m topless, pressing my tits together, my pink nipples stiff. My mouth is open, my tongue pressed against my teeth. My expression is unmistakably: come fuck me until I scream.

Oh, no.

Oh… oh, god, please, no.

Connor taps the edge of the screen, his voice softening. “There’s a lot more where this came from, but I liked this particular shot. Let me ask you one more time, Ms. Bellandi, since you don’t seem able to reply.” He leans forward, gaze smoldering into mine. “Did you mean to send me an entire folder of nudes earlier today?”

Fuck.

I sent my terrifying boss Stock Photos.

And now my life is over.

2

ANGIE

My brain glitches and skitters around desperately as I try to come up with something to say. Deny it all? Pretend like I was hacked? Make some lame excuse?

Cry. Start crying. That might work? Unless he’s into weepy girls…

But something he said nags. I’ve been chewing on it for hours now. And he’s not saying he’s upset or acting like he’s embarrassed for me at all, but instead he seems like he’s trying to figure out if I meant that nude-photo dump as some kind of awkward attempt at flirting.

Looking at the guy, he seems like this might not be the first time a woman’s thrown a bunch of nudes at him out of nowhere.

“I don’t… I didn’t…” I start saying, but my cheeks are burning and I can’t breathe, and I’m looking at myself and myself is looking right back, tits out, legs spread.

Connor seems to understand. He turns the screen away from me again. But I notice he doesn’t close the image. “You aren’t in trouble, Ms. Bellandi. I’m only trying to understand what happened. I’m not upset.”

“I’m so sorry,” I finally manage to blurt out, which is probably what I should’ve led with. “I’ve been having a really hard week, and I’ve been busy with those expense reports, and I guess I attached the wrong files⁠—“

He holds up a hand to stop my flood of explanations. “Why do you keep these images on your work computer?”

I cover my face, ready to implode out of existence. “My mother.”

“Your mother?”

“She snoops on everything. There’s no such thing as privacy.”

“You’re an adult, Ms. Bellandi. Your mother can’t punish you for photographing yourself.”

“No, you don’t understand. I wouldn’t get in trouble. She’d want to offer advice, which is way worse. Please, Mr. Maguire, I’m so sorry.”