Innocent in His Diamonds. Maya Blake

shrugged. ‘We’ll call this your second chance. You have my undivided attention, so let’s hear it.’

      ‘You’ve already decided what the truth is, Bastien. You said as much earlier when you referred to my “drug-fogged brain”.’

      ‘So you do remember that?’ came his reply.

      ‘Your mind’s already made up, so why should I waste my breath?’

      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.’

      ‘You give me your version of events, but you haven’t denied being a drug-user.’

      She gasped. ‘How dare you?’

      He dropped his foot and surged forward until she could see every fleck in his eyes. ‘Oh, I dare very much, Ana. You see, the welfare of my company is dependent on how much I dare. And so far, thanks to you, it’s not doing so well.’

      She straightened her spine. She’d done nothing wrong and she was damned if she would cower in fear. ‘Fine. I don’t use drugs. Never have—never will. Satisfied?’

      His eyes narrowed. ‘Did you leave your bag unattended at any point during the evening?’ he fired back.

      ‘I took it with me when I went to the bar but I may not have had hold of it the whole time. Look, I told the police all this.’

      ‘But my interest in you is far more vested than theirs, so I think I deserve to hear your account, no?’ His voice was soft, deadly.

      Ana shivered. He was talking about his company, but she couldn’t help but think back to that one very personal moment they’d shared on his boat. One that brought equal shame and excitement each time she relived it.

      Brushing the feeling away, she glared at him. ‘I get that—and, trust me, I want an explanation myself. Don’t forget my reputation is on the line too.’

      Not to mention the fact that she was in severe danger of being dropped from her father’s volunteer programme if this situation got out of hand. Professor Santiago Duval might be a world-renowned archaeologist, but he’d drummed into his only child his hatred of favouritism.

      Her father had despised that parasitic trait in her mother—the wife who’d fed on his prestige for as long as it suited her, then dragged him through a hellish divorce sixteen years ago. The wife who’d then eyed a Swiss banker, seen her way to a better life and selfishly grabbed at it, uncaring that she was wrecking lives.

      She glanced at Bastien, wondered if he ever thought of that horrid winter. Or had he squashed it all beneath that icy demeanour?

      ‘We are where we are. I assume you’ll want to fire me from the DBH campaign again?’ This time she didn’t have much of a leg to stand on. But she intended to find a way to fight her charges and plead with her father to join his programme. Somehow.

      His impassive look remained. ‘As satisfying as that sounds, it’s not that simple. The first adverts have already aired in the US and Japan. TV and media companies have been paid up-front for all three phases. Replacing you with another model now would mean shooting the whole thing all over again.’

      ‘You want me to finish my contract?’ She’d expected a swift, surgical exit from the Heidecker Corporation. ‘But I thought...’ She stopped when the in-car phone rang.

      He answered it, his eyes staying locked on her. The incisive gaze made her aware of every sensitive pore on her skin, every breath she tried to take.

      The tingling that had started in