Page 98 of Not Safe for Work

I scoff. “And what would they have done? I gave him permission to take that photo. They would have said what everyone else did—that I was asking for it.”

His shoulders drop, and he exhales a sharp breath.

He’s angry, but it seems like it’s on my behalf.

“No one would hire me. That’s why I took the job at WMC. It was two years before I stopped receiving anonymous dick pics. I had to change my number and email three times before they stopped.”

His expression brims with fury. The vengeance of a James Bond villain about to enact his plan to fry the earth with his giant laser. He rubs a hand down his face.

“Fuck Tris, I’m so sorry that happened. That’s despicable. Where is he now?”

I shake my head. “He’s still running his company, probably screwing over a stable of other young women.”

He wraps me in his arms, dropping his chin to the top of my head.

“What’s his last name?” he asks.

“Why?” I look up at him.

He shrugs. “I’d kind of like to find him and rip out his spine.”

That dispels the tightness in my chest, and I choke out a laugh. He isn’t judging me for my mistakes.

He cups my face in his hands and gives me a penetrating look.

“Tris, I want you to know that I’d never do anything like that to you or to anyone, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

The earnest look he’s giving me surfaces so many emotions I’m trying to tease my way through. I do know he wouldn’t have shared a photo like that. I’ve always understood he’s not that sort of man. I want to trust him, but I can’t let my heart slide any further until I’m sure. I’m enjoying my time with Rafe, but I don’t know if we can ever be more.

So, I might as well enjoy it while I have it.

“Rafe,” I say, looking up at him. “Get some clothes on. Dress pants and shirt.”

“Why? Where are we going?”

I point to the far corner of the room. “Nowhere, but we have a fantasy to play out, and that desk should do the trick.”

His eyebrow arches as he realizes what I’m suggesting.

“You sure?” he asks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I promise.”

He hesitates, studying me. “We’ll talk about this again.”

I shake my head. “No, there’s no need. Now, are we doing this or not?”

I plant my hand on my hip and raise my eyebrow. He leans in and kisses me so deeply that I can barely catch my breath. Then he pulls away and practically flies to his bathroom to change. I head to the bedroom to find the heels he mentioned.

“Miss Malik, I need to see you in my office immediately,” he says sternly as he approaches, still buttoning his shirt.

“Coming, Mr. Gallagher,” I say in a high, breathy voice, and we pick up where we left off.

Chapter Twenty-Five

A few days later, I’m sitting in a golf cart coasting down the paths of the Naupaka Golf Course. It comes to a grinding halt at hole 11, skidding on the gravel. Diane Hart slides out from the seat, elegant in crisp white shorts and sleeveless polo. Her blond hair is tied into a low ponytail, held back with a white visor.

She marches up to the tee box, where the grass is so vibrant and green it looks like it’s been spray painted. I hate golfing, but professional necessity has forced me to become at least somewhat competent.