Page 35 of The Secretary Volume II

He smiles.

Not big.Not forced.Just the slightest curve of amusement.

And I know—he’s not really asking for an answer.

It’s not about the question.It’s about seeing if I’ll play along.

At home, I drop onto my couch, still in my heels, the weight of the night settling heavily on my shoulders.

The Holloway is everything I thought I wanted.

Big windows.Good lighting.A kitchen that doesn’t feel like it belongs in a dorm room.

A fresh start.

I should be happy.I should feel safe.

Instead, I feel like I’m waiting for something to go wrong.

The night replays in my head.

The watchful glances.The subtle shifts in conversation.The way people waited for cues before speaking.The way Ellis looked at me—not hostile.Not warm.Interested.Like he’s considering something.

I reach into my pocket.The note is still there.Crinkled.Tangible.Real.

I exhale slowly.

I didn’t want work to bleed into my evening, and I sure didn’t want it to follow me home.But it did, like a shadow I can’t shake off.

Something tells me I’m not going to like where this is heading.

18

Gillian

Iwake up in Ellis’s bed alone.He is gone.

Not surprising, but it still stings.

There’s a note on the pillow next to me.Folded neatly, edges sharp enough to draw blood.I rub my eyes and read it twice, hoping the second glance makes it feel less cold.

See you at the office.

The driver will take you wherever you need to go.

Your car is parked in your spot in the garage.

Your keys are on your desk.

Nothing personal.No “good morning,” no “I hope you slept well.”Just business.A reminder that I’m disposable.

I set the note aside.Smoothing the creases won’t change what it means.I pull the sheet tighter around myself, scanning the room.My shoes, lined up neatly by the door, and my purse, placed carefully on the nightstand.

But the dress isn’t here.

My pulse quickens.He took it.Or had someone else take it.Either way, it’s gone.The realization is slow, but inevitable.It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.I swallow hard, trying to rid myself of the taste, but it lingers.

There’s a knock at the door.Before I can say anything, it opens.

---