Page 63 of The Secretary Volume II

“Good to see you settling in,” he says eventually, leaning in my direction.

I nod, trying to keep my hands steady.I don’t respond; I just keep pretending I belong here.

The meal unfolds in courses.Words are exchanged that mean everything and nothing.Numbers.Projections.Promises.The client leaves first.Then Stewy.Andra stands, smooth as ever.“Our first meeting is tomorrow at seven,” she says, before turning on her heel.No confirmation.No eye contact.Just the sound of her fading.

Ellis doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, doesn’t even look at me—at first.

“There’s something I’d like to discuss,” he says finally.“You’ll stay a bit.”

And just like that, I do.

36

Lena

He doesn’t ask.He just stands there, one hand in his pocket, like the night is waiting on me.

“We’ll go to my room,” he says.“It’s more private there.”

It’s phrased like logistics.A follow-up to dinner.But the subtext is louder than the words.

He turns and starts walking.

And I follow.

Not because I’m flattered.Not because I’m curious.But because I want to know what it feels like to walk into something you already know is a mistake—and do it anyway.

The hallway is long.Quiet.Carpeted in the kind of way that eats the sound of retreat.His room is exactly what I expect: top floor, corner suite, designed to look expensive without being memorable.

He opens the door, stepping aside to let me pass.

I enter the room, and he follows me in, closing the door behind him.

He doesn’t speak.Doesn’t touch me.Just shrugs out of the performance of dinner like it was never the point.

I don’t sit.I stand there in this strange moment of silence, waiting, until I finally break it—like a kid who’s been told not to touch the cake but can’t stop poking it.

“I assume this is the part where you give me the illusion of choice.”

“No.”He turns toward me.“I don’t believe in illusions.”

He says it calmly, like he’s bored with the idea that I might need to be convinced.That I might want to be chased.

“What do you want, then?”

“You,” he says.

Not romantically.Not breathlessly.Just like it’s the next logical step on a checklist he’s already halfway through.

“For the night,” he adds.“No confusion.No complications.”

I lean against the desk.“That’s a big promise.”

He doesn’t smile.“I don’t make promises.Not if I can help it.”

I look at him, this man who moves through the world like gravity works differently for him.Like consequences are things other people have to survive.

The room is quiet.I could still leave.I know that.And he knows I know.

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