His smile mocked her. ‘Because I want to hear what happened from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’
A spurt of anger speared through her. But alongside the anger came a small dart of hurt that he didn’t believe her.
She contemplated silence, not dignifying his suspicions with an answer. But just as quickly she dismissed it. He was her boss. Her DBH contract had another month to run before she was finally free to join her father in Colombia. And a major condition of her contract stipulated her propriety and the maintenance thereof. The charges against her had put the DBH ad campaign at serious risk.
Bastien’s presence in London—in court, in this car—made that fact painfully obvious.
He slowly straightened, leaned forward, and rested his hands on his knees without once taking his eyes off her. Ana knew she wouldn’t get away without offering some kind of explanation.
She went with the simple truth. ‘I suffer from asthma.’
He frowned, slate-grey eyes narrowing. ‘I don’t recall reading that in your personnel file.’
‘You mean when you read it once you knew I was the one your management had hired for the campaign and tried to get me fired?’
It was the reason he’d been in Cannes that day. The reason he’d sent everyone away, leaving them alone on the yacht. The reason she’d ended up nearly losing her self-respect...
He didn’t show an ounce of regret. ‘Yes.’
She ignored the sharper dart of pain. ‘Conditions that don’t hamper the execution of my job aren’t listed on my file, and asthma isn’t generally a life-threatening illness. But I have it and I have to manage it, so...’ She shrugged.
Lauren Styles, the owner of her agency, Visuals, and her own personal agent, had been aware of her condition and happy to keep it under wraps unless it hampered her job.
Lauren, once a model herself, was more of a mother to her than her own mother had ever been. Her loyalty and support were faultless. Which was another reason why she couldn’t afford to jeopardise the DBH campaign or clash with its CEO.
‘Go on.’
‘My flatmate, Simone, invited me to her birthday party last night. I don’t normally go to nightclubs because of the artificial smoke and recirculated air—I suffered a bad attack at a club last year. Halfway through the party I began to feel unwell.’
‘Why didn’t you just leave?’ he demanded.
‘I tried to. Simone begged me to stay.’
‘Even though she knew you were ill?’ Scepticism marred his tone.
‘She doesn’t know about my asthma.’
His brows lifted.
‘We’ve only been sharing a flat for two months. Anyway, I went into the cloakroom, splashed some water on my face, and used my inhaler when I got back to my table. I decided to stay for another half-hour. I went to the bar to get a bottle of water. When I returned to my seat the bouncers were waiting for me with the police. They showed me the security camera video, asked if it was me. I confirmed it was.’
Bastien pursed his lips.
‘I didn’t know then what it was all about, okay? They took me outside and asked to search my bag. They found the inhaler, charged me with possession of heroin and here we are.’
Silence cloaked the dark interior of the luxurious car. Outside, sunlight glinted off the buildings of Central London as they edged through the traffic on the Strand. Inside she was as cold as the January freeze they were experiencing. She pulled Bastien’s jacket closer around her. For a few stolen seconds she let the scent of his body suffuse her senses. Then she looked up and found him watching...waiting.
‘What? I’ve told you everything.’
He sat back, settled one ankle over his knee and drummed his fingers on the polished hand-stitched Italian leather. ‘Not quite.’
Her gaze collided with his. Those compelling eyes held her prisoner, sending that familiar hot jolt she experienced every time she looked into those silver depths.
‘I’m pretty sure I have.’
‘I haven’t heard you once deny drug possession.’
‘Of course I’ve denied it. I’ve just told you what really happened.’