3 Book Romance Bundle: "Taken by the Cowgirl" & "Sex With the Lawyer" & "Loving Him Peacefully" by Alice Parker, Kelly Young, & Lisa Martin
Chapter Two
Oliver Bertrand. The name that had been on the breach of confidentiality agreement that had come across my desk. They wanted me to delete all records of him.
“If I may,” I asked, my voice finally starting to show a little bit of a worried wobble behind the words, “Why are you asking me to do this? Why not simply do it yourself?” I knew how disrespectful the words sounded, but I couldn’t keep them from coming out of my mouth.
“Don’t worry Katherine, I’m not asking you to do anything illegal,” he said, making a motion like he was trying to assure me, and not doing so in the slightest. “We haven’t pushed through with the paperwork yet, so technically we can delete the files, as though we never had them in the first place.”
“But…won’t that be hard to do? He’s already filed a petition for breach of confidentiality on our contract,” I responded, shaking my head slowly from side to side. Even if I could do what they were proposing, it wouldn’t be right. It wouldn’t be ethical, no matter whether or not it was technically legal.
“He’s started the beginnings of a petition. He needs documentation to move forward, which will take him at least a few weeks to get a court order to retrieve. But by that time, the files will be long gone. Mr. Bertrand will have never been listed as a client with Trestmont.” Mr. Jones sounded so sure of himself, so confident that this would work and that I would do what was being asked of me.
“But if Mr. Bertrand doesn’t get his patent, won’t his competition be able to lay claim to his ideas?” I asked, almost stumbling over the words. My heart was pounding ferociously in my chest, my breath starting to shorten from the panic that I felt over being asked to do something like this.
Mr. Jones stroked the length of his chin, his fingers scratching at the short stubble of hair that was stretched across it. “Mr. Bertrand’s problems of losing his patent would no longer be our problem, once this matter is taken care of.”
“Isn’t there another way to handle this? My mind was scrambling for any kind of answer that would break me out of this shell, get me out from in between a rock and a hard place.
“Do you think,” one of the board members behind Mr. Jones said dangerously, placing his hand flat on the desk and moving himself forward, “that we would resort to this if there were any other options left to us?”
“What Mr. Hatton is trying to say,” Mr. Jones interrupted, his eyes darting nervously to his college and then back to me, probably afraid that the man would say more than what was necessary, “Is that we have reached the end of the line. We respect that fact that this is a difficult decision, but it is one that you need to make if you intend to continue working for us.”
“So that’s it.” It was a statement, not a question. They couldn’t risk me staying there and working for them if they didn’t know that I would be one hundred percent loyal to their cause. The sad thing was, up until about five minutes ago, I would have fought tooth and nail to keep my position there, I would have defended the company’s abilities and trustworthiness in front of a damn jury.
How wrong I had been.
“How long do I have to give you an answer?” I asked quietly, looking from man to man, searching for something to give me some hope. Mr. Jones sounded cold and indifferent when he answered me.
“We need your answer by the end of the day, Katherine. If I don’t hear from you this evening, I’ll assume that you aren’t serious about keeping your job here.”
“I’ll let you know.” My answer was short and curt, nearly matching the tone that he had used when talking to me. I gave him a slight tilt of my head, having lost all respect for him. I knew he was in a bad position. Hiring a lawyer for the company would look bad, would run off other potential clients, and would be costly and expensive, not to mention probably centered in the public eye. He wanted to keep his company alive. But that didn’t justify stepping on someone else to get there.
I walked from the building that had meant so much to me over most of the past decade. A piece of me, the weakest part, threatened to well up with tears, wanting to rid itself of the worry that had invaded my body and made itself so comfortable. Another part marveled at how, half an hour ago, my biggest worry had been the shoes on my feet. But the most dominant part, the part that led me out of the building and kept me going, was the part that just wanted to forget it all. To not remember that it mattered.