Isla sat at her kitchen table with her laptop open in front of her. She'd been watching the screen so long, her eyes burned.
"Please," begged Donna. "Put it away."
She wanted to comply, but couldn't. God only knew when she'd blinked last, or swallowed, or had a coherent thought. Shock. That's all there was. The video played over and over; her and Marlowe in the rare books room. There was no sound, just black and white footage from a security camera. Isla, prostrate over the display case, her face clearly visible. And Marlowe behind her; his white shirt with the black ink stain. His face had been blurred out.
There were over a million views on YouTube, and the number was growing exponentially. Sandy Miller had received the video anonymously, or so he claimed in his broadcast. He'd used clips of it in his story, but had also uploaded the video in its entirety, from the moment she'd entered the room to when she'd left. He named both her and the firm. There was no way she could face Gordon, or Robert.
Oh God. Robert. He'd have a field day with this.
Donna wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Come away from there." Without waiting for a response, she gently pulled Isla to her feet and led her to the sofa. Isla simply crouched at one end, hugging a pillow and staring into middle distance.
There was no salvaging this. She was ruined. Her reputation and everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. Gone. Outside the apartment building, reporters waited for a statement, but what the hell could she possibly say to explain this?
Vague clinking sounds came from the kitchen, but Isla didn't register them as anything in particular until Donna returned carrying a sandwich and a steaming mug.
"Eat," she said and handed over the plate. It was tuna salad, cut into four small triangles.
"I can't."
Donna sighed. "Then drink."
Isla did as she was told and soon the clove and nutmeg mixture began to settle her. "What is this?" she asked.
"Buttered rum. I figured you could use it."
She took another sip, but what she could have really used was a time machine. She longed to go back eight months and put the invitation from Seduction through the shredder. If she hadn't gone to the ball, she'd have never met Marlowe, and this whole mess wouldn't be happening now.
Steam swirled up from her mug.
Not meeting Marlowe . . . the idea made her heart ache.
"Everything will be fine," said Donna. "You'll see."
"Fine?" It came out as a shriek. "How will everything be fine? Miller is saying I'm a depraved loser who gets her jollies by making sex tapes."
"He didn't say that."
"Whose side are you on?"
"Yours. But he didn't call you a depraved loser."
"Hmm, that's right. How did he put it?" Isla tapped her lip in mock thought. Every word of the news story was burned into her mind. "Isla Foster's secret double life was exposed when a sex tape she recorded was leaked to the media. The respected local businesswoman, who had sex in a bookstore with an unknown male, is expected to be charged with public indecency." The worst part about the story was how dangerously close it was to the truth. She did have a double life, and she did have sex in the bookstore — albeit the rare books room, not the showroom floor. She just didn't know she was being filmed.
Isla took another gulp from her mug. "I wasn't making a sex tape," she said, her voice uncharacteristically meek. And then, the tears that had been threatening to fall ran down her cheeks.
Donna wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "This is my fault. I'm the one who told you to date someone."
"Date someone, yes. Not have sex in a public place," she wailed. Tears and snot covered her face, and she wiped them away with her sleeve.
"He must be a very special man," said Donna, handing her the tissue box. "Only someone you really care about could talk you into this."
"I started it. He asked me to meet him there, but he wanted to talk. I'm the one who . . ." Her bottom lip quivered and a second wave of tears began.
"Shh, it's ok. Dad will be here soon. He'll know what to do." She gave Isla a reassuring squeeze and held her until the sobbing subsided. "I'm curious . . . you haven't mentioned his name."
Goddamn this whole name business. She blew her nose and added the dirty tissue to the growing pile on the coffee table. There was no lying to Donna, but there was no confessing the truth about hidden identities either. This whole secret affair was salacious enough, but doggie-style on film with a man she didn't properly know . . . she groaned. Christ, how humiliating.
"Colin," she muttered. "Colin Jackman." There was no way in hell she'd ever admit to him having used any other name.
"Do you love him?"
Isla yanked another tissue from the box and twisted it in her hands. There was no right answer to that question. The truth made her sound like a fool, a lie made her a slut. Thankfully, before she could say anything, a knock came at her door.
"That'll be Dad," said Donna.
"He's going to kill me."
"No, he won't. He loves you. You're like a daughter to him." She crossed the apartment and opened the door for her father. Within seconds, he was standing over Isla, his hands in fists.
"What in the hell were you thinking?"
She looked up at him and sniffed.
"What a mess you've created. Sex. In a store? Christ, Isla."
Against her best efforts, her hands began to shake.
"Dad," cooed Donna. "Come on . . ."
"Stay out of this," he barked and turned his attention back to Isla. "What is wrong with you? Public indecency, I mean, my God . . ."
"She hasn't been charged with anything yet." Donna was wedging herself between Isla and her father, and Isla was grateful. Her entire body was shaking now and the more she tried to be calm, the worse it got.
"But she will be. Our lawyers are certain of it."
"And I'm sure they'll find a way to defend her too."
Isla wanted to defend herself now. She wished, more than anything, to be able to stand and face Gordon and state her case in an intelligent and articulate way. Instead, she pulled her feet up under her and clutched another pillow to her chest.
"They won't be defending her," he said. "Not now. Not ever."
"Why not?"
"Because this has nothing to do with office business."
Isla twisted a corner of the pillow. He was right about that. There's no way this could be justified as a business expense, and she wouldn't want it to be.
"And," he continued, "because Isla is no longer a partner in the firm."
Her head snapped up. Questions tripped over themselves in her mind, and her mouth dropped open, but nothing coherent came out. In the end, it was Donna who spoke.
"What do you mean?"
Gordon moved his daughter aside and looked down at Isla. "You're a smart woman, which is why I can't for the life of me understand why you chose to risk everything on something so stupid." His face was bright red. "Your partnership agreement has certain behaviour clauses in it. This video shows that you violated several of them, not the least of which is conduct becoming a partner."
He took an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket and dropped it on the coffee table next to the pile of tissues. "You have forfeited your shares in the company. You're out."