Chapter Eight – Shadows of Doubt
Annabell woke before dawn, staring at the pale ceiling of her guest suite. The sheets were cool against her bare skin, but her body still felt too warm. She couldn't stop replaying the moment Michael's voice had turned hard and commanding—Strip.
Her face heated just remembering it.
She'd never done anything like that before. Never imagined she could stand before a man—her employer—and bare herself so completely. And yet…
She closed her eyes.
I'm yours.
The words she'd spoken made her stomach flutter and twist. She didn't know whether it was shame or something far more dangerous.
And the strangest part—the part that unsettled her most—was how easily Michael had returned to business afterward. This morning, he hadn't even mentioned what had happened between them. No lingering glances, no sly smiles, no evidence he'd spent the night thinking about her the way she'd lain awake thinking about him.
When she entered his office just after sunrise, he didn't look up from the folder in his hand.
"You're late," he said mildly, as though the night before had never happened.
"I—" She swallowed. "I didn't realize—"
"Sit."
She did, folding her hands in her lap. Her cheeks were still warm. He finally raised his gaze to hers, and for one heartbeat she thought she saw something flicker there—memory, perhaps, or hunger. But then it was gone, replaced by that impenetrable calm.
"I have an assignment for you," he said, sliding a slim black dossier across the desk.
She blinked. "An assignment?"
"You're going undercover," he said. His voice was smooth, unhurried. "I believe Mr. Tony has resurfaced."
Her brows drew together. "Tony? The board member you fired?"
"Correct."
Annabell hesitated. She remembered the name—Tony Barlow. He'd been CFO before Michael took over and rooted out the rot in the finance division. Tony hadn't gone quietly, and there were still whispers he'd been trying to sabotage Yinix from the shadows.
"You think he's behind this?" she asked carefully.
Michael's mouth curved into a humorless smile. "I think he has motive. I think he has connections. And I think he's exactly the sort of man who would forge approvals and leak confidential contracts."
Annabell looked down at the folder, her pulse skittering. Inside was a photo—Tony, older than she'd expected, with a neat beard and hard eyes.
"You'll go to him," Michael continued. "I've arranged a cover. You'll pose as a freelance consultant offering discreet audit services. He'll want to brag—he always did."
Her throat felt dry. "You want me to spy on him?"
"I want you to confirm what I already suspect."
She nodded slowly, trying to ignore the strange ache in her chest. All she'd wanted since last night was for him to say something—anything—about the way he'd touched her. About the way she'd stripped under his gaze.
But he remained steady, professional. As though she hadn't been naked in his arms only hours ago.
She closed the folder, steeling herself.
"When do I leave?"
Michael's eyes met hers, dark and searching. For just a moment, something in them softened—just enough to remind her he hadn't forgotten at all.
"Tonight," he said quietly. "I'll have the car bring you to the address. Annabell—"
She looked up, heart hammering.
He hesitated, as if weighing every word. "When this is over," he said, voice low, "we will finish what we started."
A shiver danced down her spine.
And then, as if he'd revealed nothing, he looked back at the papers on his desk.
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