‘In your opinion,’ Nikos pointed out.
‘In my opinion,’ Mia allowed.
‘And if the—affair had been a mutual and amicable agreement, would that alter your opinion?’ her interrogator enquired.
‘He is married with children—’
‘That was not my question.’
Mia shifted restively. ‘The article says—’
‘Alleges…’
‘Alleges,’ she echoed with the barest hint of a snap. ‘She was quite distressed at the time she made the charges and she wore bruises on her arms and her face…There are photographs.’ Mia pointed towards the file.
Allowing the lush curve of his eyelashes to droop again, Nikos looked at the photographs, the twist of his mouth showing his distaste before he used long fingers to slide the images aside.
‘This article says that Brunel denied all knowledge as to how the lady acquired her bruises. He claims she set him up.’
‘For what purpose would she do that?’ Mia stared at him in bafflement.
‘For the purpose of receiving the nice hefty pay-off she eventually got?’
‘What about the baby?’
‘Could be anyone’s baby,’ Nikos said with an indifferent shrug.
‘But that is such a cynical way to view the situation,’ Mia immediately flared up. ‘You cannot know that for a fact, and—’
‘You cannot know for a fact that Brunel’s version isn’t the truth,’ Nikos cut in with incisive logic. ‘I suspect the truth probably sits somewhere in the middle of both story versions, but since it was never proven either way I suppose we will never know.’ Casting the sheet of paper aside he looked up at her. ‘So tell me again why you included this in your report?’
Mia shifted from one foot to the other, not really wanting to answer that question. ‘I—I don’t like him,’ she finally contrived to push out.
This time both sleek eyebrows rose upwards. ‘But you’ve only met him once, the other day over lunch.’
‘He has an—uncomfortable manner…’
Nikos suddenly lurched forward, his calm demeanour gone in a single sharp blink of his eyes. ‘Explain that,’ he commanded.
‘I…No.’ Feeling her cheeks start to heat, Mia lowered her gaze.
‘You damn well will, Mia,’ he countered harshly. ‘And you will do it right now!’
‘Why are you angry with me?’ she queried hotly. ‘You instructed me to find out everything I could about Lassiter-Brunel. I found these articles. You prefer that I pretended I did not?’
She was trying to divert the subject, Nikos recognised, narrowing his eyes as he swung his mind back to the working lunch they’d shared earlier this week with John Lassiter and Anton Brunel. The two men were good-looking, arrogantly confident cut-throat businessmen—nothing wrong with any of those characteristics in people that strove for success.
However, his PA had been wearing a sexy red summer dress that fitted tightly beneath the voluptuous thrust of her breasts. The little black shrug thing she’d worn with it helped to cover nothing which mattered, and her hair had been drawn loosely back from her face in a big red clip. She’d looked like an exotic flower in a room packed with staid dark suits. Each time she let her big blue eyes drift across the lunch table the other two men lost the plot as to what they were talking about. Lush red lipstick, Nikos remembered. The warm and throaty tones of her Italian accent whenever she found the courage to speak.
Something he did not want to feel brought him to his feet with the smooth graceful movement of a leaping big cat. ‘I want to know why you’ve decided you don’t like Anton Brunel,’ he insisted. ‘Did he say something to offend you?’ he quizzed sharply. ‘Did he make a pass?’
Wishing now that she had not started this by including that article, Mia shifted uncomfortably. ‘No—’
‘What then—?’ he shot at her.
‘It was n-nothing!’ Her eyes widened in alarm when he came striding around the side of the desk and pulled to a stop only when he towered right over her. Intimidated by the whole macho physicality of his stance, Mia took a wary step back. ‘W-what is the matter with you?’ she husked out.
‘Just answer the question.’ Nikos stepped in close again, halting her next backward step by catching hold of her arms to make her stay where she was.