Page 16 of Hate To Be Mine

There it was. The real reason he’d put me on this job instead of one of the senior adjusters. Not because he trusted me, but because he could control me. Family loyalty meant I’d do whatever it took to protect the company’s bottom line.

“I know what my job is,” I said, keeping my voice calm.

“Good. At the end of the day, we’re a business. We make money by collecting premiums and not paying out claims. That’s the model. That’s how we survive.”

I’d heard this speech before, in various forms, throughout my career. It always made my stomach turn. Yes, insurance was a business. Yes, we needed to be profitable. But there was a difference between being smart about risk and leaving clients hanging when they needed the insurance they paid for because of some fine print.

“I know,” I said.

“Your job is to make sure nothing happens. Watch them like a hawk. Document everything. If they so much as step one toe out of line, I want to know about it.”

“You want me to find a reason to void the policy.”

It wasn’t a question. We both knew that’s what he was saying, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.

“I want you to do your job,” he said, but his eyes said something else entirely. “Two weeks on a tropical island with a bunch of models and fashion people. They’re going to screw something up. It’s inevitable. Just make sure we’re protected when they do.”

“Is there anything else?” I asked, getting to my feet.

“Don’t embarrass the company. Don’t embarrass me. And don’t get distracted by whatever playboy antics that Blackwell boy gets up to. I’ve seen the pictures. He’s exactly the kind of irresponsible idiot who causes the problems we’re trying to avoid.”

I felt that familiar wave of heat whenever I thought too hard about Sebastian. “I’m a professional. My personal feelings don’t factor into my work.”

“See that they don’t.” He turned back to his computer, dismissing me. “Have a safe flight. Check in every other day. And Bernadette?”

I paused at the door. “Yeah?”

“Don’t screw this up.”

I left his office feeling like I needed a shower. Or a drink. Or maybe just a different father.

My apartment was in a decent building on the Upper West Side, close enough to the office that I could walk when the weather was nice. It was a one-bedroom with hardwood floors and good light, furnished with pieces I’d inherited from my grandmother mixed with generic items from West Elm.

My apartment was nice, not homey or exceptional, but nice.

Lonely, if I was being honest with myself.

I had barely taken off my pumps when there was a knock at the door.

I opened it to find a courier with several garment bags and shopping bags with the Blackwell logo. “Bernadette Simmons?”

“Yes.”

“Sign here.”

I quickly signed for the delivery and took everything inside. I stared at the pile. Annika wasn’t kidding when she said she was making my clothes a priority. If I had bought all this stuff in a store, I had no doubt I would have spent somewhere in the six-figure range.

I carried everything to my room and unloaded the bags. The clothes were pretty. More than pretty—they were the kind of clothes that made you feel feminine and sexy.

And I hadn’t paid for any of them.

I frowned, pulling out my phone to calculate what I should reimburse Blackwell for. But the prices weren’t listed on any tags, and when I tried to look up similar pieces online, nothing came up.

A conflict of interest, probably. I should document it. Put it in a memo somewhere. Cover my ass if my father tried to claim I’d been compromised by accepting gifts from a client.

But I also didn’t have time to shop for myself before we left. I worked too much. I barely had time to sleep, let alone wander through department stores looking for appropriate tropical business attire.

Plus—and I was only admitting this to myself in the privacy of my own apartment—I wanted them. And despite how I presented myself in my professional environment, I wasn’t actually a passionless robot. I was just a woman who’d learned that showing too much personality around dickhead businessmen was a liability.