A Scandal Made in London

It had been remarkably easy to find an appropriate site and register. When she remembered the stash of normal-sized clothes she’d bought over the years because it made her feel dainty and feminine just to know she owned them even though none of them actually fitted, it had seemed as though the stars had aligned. In fact, the most challenging aspect of the whole exercise had been mastering the self-timer on her phone.

Of course she’d considered the possible

consequences of her plan—she wasn’t a complete fool—but she’d been at her wits’ end and as a result her assessment had been brief. Conveniently, the pros had vastly outweighed the cons. What cons there were—mainly concerning the sort of people who might use such a site—she’d presumed would be neutralised by the application of filters and a robust screening process.

Clearly, however, there’d been little of that because some of the creepier emails she’d received had been downright disturbing. The staggering sums of money she’d been offered for her virginity, not to mention the many ways it could apparently be relieved, had been even more alarming. And, actually, even the more moderate correspondence had hinted at something other than conversation, so maybe Theo also had a point about her would-be clients’ expectations.

Perhaps, then, in hindsight, she’d had a lucky escape, even if it did mean that her only hope had vanished and she was now back at a terrifying square one. Because if she was being brutally honest, the reality of what the site offered was far seedier than in her naivety she’d imagined, and, regardless of the amount of money on offer, the thought of actually having to go through with some of the more lurid scenarios described made her want to throw up.

‘It is absolutely none of your business,’ she said, not inclined to admit that Theo could be right and give him the upper hand.

‘That’s not strictly true.’

No. Well. There was the small issue of pesky company policy, but still. He had no right to meddle in her affairs in this way. In any way. ‘I don’t need rescuing, Theo,’ she said steadily. ‘I’m twenty-six. I’m eminently sensible and perfectly capable of making my own choices.’ Not that she had many at this precise moment.

‘It doesn’t look like it from where I’m sitting.’

Ooh, he was insufferable. ‘Why do you even care?’

He stared at her silently for a moment, as if he couldn’t work it out either, and the hard intensity of his gaze coupled with the way he seemed to be trying to see into her soul was sending a strange sluggish heat oozing through her blood, detonating tiny sparks along her veins and electrifying her nerves.

To her consternation she found she couldn’t look away. She could hardly breathe. All of a sudden she wanted to get up, clamber over his desk and plaster herself against him. And then she wanted to—well, she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted to do next since she had little experience of such things, but she wanted to find out. So badly she was ablaze with it.

Appalled at and bewildered by her reaction, she shifted in an attempt to alleviate the fizzing of her stomach and the prickling of her heated skin, but all that did was inch her skirt up her thighs, at which point Theo’s darkening gaze dropped to her legs and lingered there a while, which sent the heat buzzing through her shooting straight down to the spot where she suddenly, alarmingly, burned.

Maybe she moved again, maybe she let out an audibly breathy gasp. She didn’t know. But Theo jerked his gaze back up, his expression once again cold and inscrutable, and the tension snapped.

‘I take it you need the money,’ he said bluntly, and all she could think was money? What money?

Ah.

Well, of course she needed the money, she thought, tugging her skirt back down with annoyingly shaky fingers as the reminder of her precarious financial state obliterated the bizarre heat and dizziness and refocused her attention. Why else would she do it? She wasn’t that desperate for a date. ‘I do.’

‘How much?’

‘A lump sum of a hundred thousand, plus around five thousand a month on an on-going basis for the next sixty, possibly seventy, years.’

Up shot his eyebrows. ‘That’s a lot of money.’

Really?

‘I am aware of that,’ she said coolly. And now, thanks to him and his high-handed ways, it was a lot of money she still had to somehow find because, quite apart from the distressing threat of homelessness, she was not having Milly moved when she was so happy and secure where she was.

‘It’s a concern,’ he said.

‘You’re telling me.’

‘It’s my concern.’

‘How?’

‘You’re an accountant,’ he said. ‘You’re about to finish your probation, at which point you will have access to certain aspects of the company’s bank accounts. Fraud is a risk.’

What the—?

Kate blinked at him, for a moment completely lost for words. Was he being serious? ‘Are you suggesting I might indulge in a little light embezzlement in order to pay my bills?’

‘It’s a possibility.’