Page 61 of Stuck

“Upset me? Miss Bennet, far more is at stake here than my feelings. Or Bingley’s, regrettably. The company lawyers are already looking into it, but in the meantime, you can save yourself a lot of trouble by telling me exactly what you’ve given him.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. What on earth had Bingley said to him? “Lawyers?”

“Obviously. What did you expect?”

“Well, not to be sued, that’s for sure.”

“That was rather naïve of you. And I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but a lawsuit is the least of your worries. The lawyers will be passing any evidence they find to the police, and corporate espionage carries a penalty of up to fourteen years’ imprisonment.”

I took a moment to run my mind back over what I’d had for breakfast that morning on the off chance that I’d accidentally consumed anything hallucinogenic. Nope—just cornflakes and tea. I held up a hand, palm forwards. “I’m sorry… did you say ‘corporate espionage’?”

His top lip lifted into a bona fide snarl. “Don’t play coy with me now. You’ve already admitted your guilt.”

“Not to—no! No, I thought you’d found out that I’m not really dating Bingley.”

“That much is evident. I’ve never seen anyone less interested in their partner.” His voice was gaining volume as he grew visibly more riled. “I couldn’t work out why you cared so little about his hobbies and interests, or why you refused to tell him about your father or your injury. But it all makes sense now. You’ve been using him to get whatever it is Wickham wants.”

“George?” I asked, confusion adding volume to my already incredulous tone. I couldn’t keep up with all the accusations he was throwing at me. “What’s he got to do with anything?”

“That’s what I’d like you to tell me. Don’t deny that he’s involved. I saw you with him last night in the Audley.”

“Okay. And?”

“And?” He let out a gust of derisive laughter. “You’re awfully casual about being caught out with another man!”

This was getting more infuriating by the second; did he know about me and Bingley or didn’t he? “I was not out with ‘another man’. I was out with my friends. It’s no secret that I know George, and as I told you, I’m not⁠—”

“You let all your friends kiss you like that, do you?”

Kiss me? I racked my brains, trying to think what he could possibly have seen to make him think I’d snogged George. When I realised he must have seen him kiss my head, I laughed despite myself. It was something George had first done years ago, at the end of a night out at the Student Union bar, when he’d been too drunk to bend down and give me a kiss goodnight on the cheek. He’d pecked me on the forehead instead and blamed it on me being too short for him to reach any lower—and he’d done it every time we parted ways ever since. But I didn’t feel obliged to explain any of that to Darcy. Not when he was being a grade A prick.

“So, you saw me with another man and immediately jumped to the conclusion that I must be sleeping with him, did you? Thanks for that vote of confidence, but in case you’ve forgotten, George has a girlfriend—Mary King.” She’d been in the toilets when this oh-so-incriminating peck happened. Presumably Darcy had stopped spying on me by the time they left together a few minutes later.

“No, I hadn’t forgotten,” he said in a silky, dangerous voice. “In fact, I’ve been mulling over little else but how very convenient that arrangement is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You have been dating the CEO of Hydro Crops. Wickham has somehow convinced the niece of our main investor to date him. What I’ve been trying to work out is precisely how this fits together and what you’re both planning. Is Wickham selling information directly to King or trying to delay King’s investment while he sells us out to Vertex? Enlighten me—what have you given him?”

I was aware that I was gaping at him moronically, but I couldn’t help it. This was both the most offensive and the craziest thing anyone had ever accused me of. Clearly, he didn’t know about me and Bingley, and my hands were already shaking with rage about that. But his other charges? Cheating, exploitation, corporate bloody espionage? It was so ludicrous, I didn’t know whether to be angry or worried that he was having a stroke.

“I haven’t given him anything,” I said coldly. “I didn’t get anything from Bingley to give him. I told you, I was never truly dating him, so how could I?”

I was definitely leaning towards the stroke theory, because rather than placating Darcy, this seemed to inflame his anger. He pushed himself to his feet, his chair wheeling backwards across the floor to hit the bookshelf behind him.

“Did you think you could get what you wanted from me instead? Bingley wouldn’t give up his secrets, so you fooled me into thinking you were confiding in me, so I’d do the same for you? Is that why I feel so damned out of control every time you’re—” He stopped talking and palmed his jaw, rubbing his tensed hand over his mouth. Then he abruptly strode to the massive window and stood with his back to me.

I took a shaky breath, suddenly fighting tears. I was furious, yes, but hurt was spilling in around the edges, because this wasn’t merely ridiculous, it was completely unjustified. “What are you trying to say? That I used my dad’s addiction to coerce you into telling me company secrets?”

“And like a fool, I answered all your questions,” he snapped without turning around. “About Hydro Crops. About Pemberley. About all our technology, all our methods.” Finally, he spun to face me, and the ferocity in his expression was terrible as he all but spat, “Tell me which parts you’ve shared with Wickham!”

That warmth that had begun to infuse me whenever I was around this man suddenly didn’t feel so pleasant. It felt hot and suffocating. And to think, I’d wanted him to kiss me! I’d enjoyed those conversations about Pemberley so much. I’d really thought he appreciated my knowledge and valued my expertise. But apparently, Darcy was just one more man who thought a woman had to have a conniving reason to want to discuss “men’s subjects”; she couldn’t simply be interested.

I did my best not to show how deeply his accusations pained me, though my voice still came out less confidently than I’d have liked. “Have you got a shred of evidence that I’ve done anything wrong?” Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry!

“I’ll find it,” he said, as though making me a solemn vow. “I know Wickham—I know what he’s capable of. And you have given me every reason to distrust you. Don’t think for one second that I won’t get to the bottom of this.”

“I’ll take that as a no. In which case, would you please excuse me. I have work to do.”