de Lune, Clair - Master Eric's Virgin Sub [Prometheus in Chains 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) Read Free

sleep, happily dreaming of what she found out online.
    Her happy state did not last long. When she got into the office the next day, several of the designers were having the usual coffee but all conversation suddenly ceased when she entered. One by one they got up and went out, leaving her on her own, without the usual cheery greetings and smiles, and everybody avoided her eyes. Emma could not understand it. Until today she had been made to feel very welcome, a part of the firm. What was wrong? What had changed?
    One woman said in a stage whisper as she went out, “No surprise how she got her job when her grandmother is fucking the boss.”
    Emma was appalled. It was no secret that her grandmother, Jane, was involved with Angus. He had told everyone that she was Jane’s granddaughter. He had also told them that she had got her job on her own merits. He had sifted through the applications and liked her work. He had followed up the contact and, when, he found out she was Jane’s granddaughter, he had asked her to make up a sample of her work for Jane to wear. He had told her, and the rest of the design team, that, if her work had not measured up to his standards, Emma would not have been offered the job. That was one of the reasons he had not told Jane about the interview, just in case. The other one was to let her wear Emma’s creation to the club, a nice surprise for Jane, when she found out who made it. Did they really think her grandma had got her the job? Had she? They were even making her doubt it now! No ! Emma would not believe it. Angus had said Jane did not know and Emma believed him. Grandma had not known anything about it, and she would not so undermine Emma. She would want her to do things for herself, and she had always said, “You can do anything you want to,” when a young Emma had said, “I can’t, Grandma.” She missed her grandma now. She’d know what to do. Emma put the remark down to spite.
    Well, Grandma was away, and she had work to do so best get on with it. She worked all morning, but when it got to lunch time she got a curt e-mail from the girl she had been going to lunch with, saying she could not make it. All day she had niggling incidents. Whatever she wanted was late or not done or had to be done again. People she needed to see were unavailable and did not know when they would get back to her. Her calls were cut off, and then she could not get a line to get back to the supplier she’d been talking to. The day from hell was over at last, and she went home to continue her research. She would find out more, then fix up with Prometheus to go to another exploratory visit before Angus and Grandma got home next week.
    The next few days at the office followed the same pattern. If anything, the situation got worse, and if she tried to find out what was happening she was faced with blank stares.
    The post came early one day before she left home, and she was appalled when she opened her credit card statement. The sum on it was not something she could pay, as it reached four figures, and the list of her spending was all wrong. She phoned the company and complained, and they asked if she had bought those items. She said she had not, and they promised to look into it and would get back to her.
    She went to work but did not get much done between the noncooperation of the rest of the staff, and the worry made it a totally wasted day. She needed every minute, as she so wanted to have the new collection ready when Angus came back, to demonstrate that his faith had not been misplaced and she had got the job on her merit, not through nepotism. When she got home one of her neighbours called and said she had parcels for her. Emma could not imagine what as she had ordered nothing, being a little short of cash until she was paid at the end of the month.
    She could not believe the huge pile of parcels that was shown to her.
    “Somebody’s birthday or a spending spree?” the neighbour asked.
    “They aren’t