Page 232 of The Rebel Billionaire

“I don’t understand. What was Brooke?”

I run a hand through my hair, my chest tightening every time I say the words.

“Brooke was our mole.”

Elise looks at me, the lines on her forehead deepening, her expression one of complete disbelief.

“Why on earth would you think Brooke was the mole?”

“You might want to sit down,” I say, motioning to the chair opposite me.

She walks into the room, her face a picture of confusion.

“I don’t understand,” she says, taking the seat opposite me.

“I know you were fond of her, but she played us… me especially.”

The words physically hurt as I say them, like I’m betraying her. All those nights wrapped in each other’s arms. I’m a sad, nearly forty-year-old man whose head was turned by a beautiful young woman who lied to him.

“You’ve lost me. Maybe you need to start at the beginning,” she says. “Because I think you’re wrong.”

I reach into my drawer and pull out Brooke’s folder, sliding out the designs and placing them in front of her.

“The design drawings. The ones you showed me. I found copies hidden in a file in her desk.”

“Can I see?” Elise asks, leaning forward and picking up the sheets of paper. She shakes her head.

“No, no, no,” she says. “Brooke didn’t steal these, Alex,” she says, her eyes meeting mine. “They’re her designs. She has remarkable potential, a natural talent… even greater than yours was.”

She smiles across the desk at me, but whatever she sees causes her smile to drop.

“Please tell me you didn’t fire her, or worse, have her arrested?”

I stare at the woman opposite.

Some of the tension in my shoulders loosens, only to return with my next thought.

If that’s the case, my mind races back to what Brooke said about Elise knowing. But Elise would have told me, not kept it a secret. My thoughts descend into chaos as I try to uncover the truth.

My stomach drops, sweat breaking out along my spine.

“Do you care to elaborate?” I say, leaning back and steepling my fingers.

She mirrors my position, although her hands remain in her lap.

“I found out not long after Easter. You know I work as a guest lecturer at the night school downtown. Brooke was a student there, studying fashion. I’d suspected there was more to her when we were in Italy. Her eye for detail and her fabric selections amazed me.”

I sit back and stare at my friend and colleague.

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?”

Elise closes her eyes. When she reopens them, they lock on mine.

“She asked me not to say anything,” she says. “I shouldn’t have listened. I’m sorry.”

My stomach drops as the enormity of what I’ve done begins to sink in.

“Did she say why?”