Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(80)

“No,” I gasped to myself. He wouldn’t. The photos were of Parks and another woman, naked and in a dark room. There was one of them having sex, one where he was using a whip across her backside, and another with her tied up. I couldn’t help but study them carefully, even though my heart was heaving, my fingers a trembling mass of nerves. My erratic thoughts ran like wildfire. No. No way. He would never do something like that to me.

Would he?

After a couple of minutes remaining immobilised, my feet sprung into motion, taking me out of the room and almost running to the lift. I needed to get to Parks.

Bolting out of the lift when I arrived to the top floor, I ran past an alarmed Joanna and pushed my way through the glass doors.


Parks rushed to his feet from behind his desk about to greet me, but his smile faded when he spotted the horror on my face, which his own face quickly mirrored. “Princess, what’s wrong?” Urgently, he rounded the desk and took my shattering body by the shoulders. I pushed him away, shoving the photos against his chest.

“What are these?”

Blinking and taking a step back to support the shove I gave him, he pulled the photographs out of my hand. The instant his eyes focused upon the images, his complexion paled.

“Where did you get these?” His voice was a threatening whisper.

“Someone sent them to me. Was this what you were doing last night?”

His gaze shot up to mine, a deep and unforgiving frown dominating his forehead.

“Excuse me?”

“Look.” I pushed the note into his face, making him read it hastily. He snatched it from my hands and ripped it up along with the photographs.

“Do you have any idea who sent you these?” he barked, an angry vein pulsating in his neck.

“No. But you’re not answering the question.”

He caught me by my forearms, speaking clear and wounded. “Don’t you ever question my devotion to you. Ever. Do you understand?”

I wasn’t sure as to why I questioned it. Deep down, I trusted Parks with every inch of my being. However, seeing him in those private and explicit circumstances with another woman made my judgment take flight for a mere moment.

“Yes,” I breathed, almost on the verge of tears.

Parks plunged into his pocket and took out his smartphone. “Get me Nixon,” he barked, then hung up.

“Nixon?” My voice was hoarse as I tried to push words past my swollen throat. “The guy who came to the club with you?”

“Yes. The man I employ to take care of all this shit. He and I are going to be having words.” Taking my hand, he quickly fired off questions. “Princess, who gave you that letter?”

“Clarke. It arrived this morning.”

“Did he say who from?”

“No.”

“Where is he now?”

“In a meeting.”

“Shit.” He ran a firm hand through his hair. His agitation got me panicking because he was normally so calm.

“Are they from an ex? Is that who’s been following me?”

He gasped. “Following you?” His eyes hardened. “You’ve had someone following you?” I nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I could deal with it. Never mind that. Is there some kind of psycho ex I should be looking over my shoulder for?”

His eyes passed mine and focused on someone coming into the room from behind me. I followed his gaze.

“Sir.” A mountain of a guy come into view. Tall, stocky, with a dark goatee and a serious look on his face. It was Nixon. I just never really took notice of him the last time we met.

“Evelyn, Cleaver is waiting for you downstairs.” Parks moved forwards, edging me out of the door, but I dug my heels in.

“Don’t I get an explanation? I just asked you if it was an ex.”

His jaw clenched at my defiance. “No. I don’t think so.”

I hated that he was acting shifty. “It’s either no or you don’t think so.”

“Sir,” Nixon quickly butted in, “may I ask who this woman is?”

Parks glared at Nixon, silently warning him they were going to be having words. It’s not the poor bloke’s fault.

“Raquel,” Parks told him quietly. “Explicit photographs.”

Nixon nodded, sure of himself. “Then the woman in those photographs wouldn’t have sent them to you because—”

“Because?” Parks questioned, and Nixon glanced at me, asking silent permission from Parks to continue the conversation in front of me. Parks nodded coldly. “What’s happened to her?”

“She committed suicide two weeks ago, sir.”

“What?” I gasped, not having a clue who this woman was or what was troubling her so much that she had to take her own life. “Then how did they happen to land on my lap?” I questioned Parks.

“I don’t know, and neither do I know how many copies of these are flying around,” Parks barked. “But I intend to get to the bottom of this.”

Parks took my hand, marching me out of the room. “Cleaver is waiting to take you home.” He punched the Call button on the lift furiously. When the door opened, he waited until I climbed in.

“Why are you treating me like this is my fault?” I snapped. “Why are you hiding things from me?”