Okay," Colin said at last, cutting into the tense semi-silence of my harsh, too-fast breaths. "You talked to him. That was fucking stupid, Newt. Like he was going to admit anything over the phone. And now he what—he fucking knows he has you by the balls?"
"Yeah," I whispered. "Basically. He's going to ruin my career if I don't give him "my research. Get me fired, make sure no one else will hire me—and yes, he probably could do that. If he has some pull, he can do it."
Colin frowned at that. "You telling me you're not actually in any danger? Your career? Newt, I don't get it. Why the photos? And why the fuck didn't you tell me right away?"
I winced and ignored the last question. "He didn't admit to sending them."
"Of course he sent them!"
I rolled my eyes at him. "Yes, of course, he sent them, but he didn't admit it, so I couldn't ask him why. To intimidate me? Prove he knows everything about me and can easily screw me over? It worked, didn't it?"
