“No,” he rasped, fists crumpling the flimsy pages.

Stephen clapped him on the shoulder. “Brilliant move. Brilliant.”

Anthony shook his head. “I didn’t…”

Son of a bitch.

Joan Bateman was going to have him fired. No. Joan Bateman was going to have him killed. The only thing she’d asked in all these years was that Anthony protect her true identity.

Stephen pulled back in obvious surprise. “It wasn’t you?”

Anthony’s voice went up an undignified octave. “Of course it wasn’t me.”

Stephen hesitated. “Maybe it was Joan.”

“Not a chance in hell.” Then Anthony’s brain suddenly engaged. Clarista. Clarista must have found a way to access the confidential files.

“I fired Clarista on Friday,” he told Stephen, squeezing his eyes shut for a split second and pinching the bridge of his nose.

His boss raised a bushy eyebrow. “What for?”

“Inappropriate use of the interoffice mail.”

“That’s a firing offense?”

“It was on Friday.” Anthony quickly scanned the rest of the article.

“And you think…”

“Of course I think. She swore up and down I’d regret it.”

Stephen snorted. “Well, I don’t regret it one little bit. The woman did us a favor.”

“This is not a favor.”

“Sales are skyrocketing.”

“And Joan’s going to fire me. In fact, Joan’s going to fire the whole damn agency.”

Stephen’s expressive brows knit together. “You know you can’t let that happen.”

As if Anthony would be able to stop it.

“Anthony?”

“I don’t control her, Stephen.”

“Well, you’d better figure out how to control her. Get your ass to Indigo.”

“So she can flip me off in person?”

“So you can put those good looks and charm to use.”

Right. Stephen was really scraping the bottom of the barrel with that strategy.