Page 32 of Scandalous Secrets

I watched the three dots bounce on the phone.

Troy:I’m up. I’m up. Christ, I forgot.

Me:What would you do without me?

Troy:Get more sleep.

I laughed before typing out a response:See you soon.

I poured a mug of coffee and took the steaming cup to my bathroom to finish getting ready. I applied the basics. Concealer, blush, mascara. Then I pulled my wet hair into a low bun. In my closet, I picked out a matching white set from La Perla and put on the cream skirt suit from my very first day at work. Satisfied with what I saw in the mirror, I drank the last of my coffee and headed downstairs to get a cab to work.

A few minutes after nine, I arrived with an iced Americano in hand, shocked that I hadn’t been any later. Kathy gave me a small nod of acknowledgment as I walked past her, and for some reason I felt like she knew the reason I was late. I knew I was being paranoid. I looked up and spotted the security cameras that I was so blissfully unaware of last night and swallowed hard. I would have to ask Troy about those.

I walked into his office and set his coffee on the coaster. I looked around quickly to make sure there was no evidence from last night, but there was nothing other than the memories in my head. I ran my hand over the glossy finish of his desk, biting my lip.

It was like I could hear his low groan in my ears. Feel his fingers eagerly exploring.

“Good morning, Monica,” said Kathy, breaking me from my thoughts. My cheeks blazed as I turned around to find her standing in the doorway eyeing me curiously.

“Good morning, Kathy,” I said. “Just dropping off Troy’s coffee.”

“I see he’s late. Again.”

“Mmm.”

“Big meeting today,” she said, rapping her knuckles on the doorway before walking out of it.

I let out a breath that I didn’t know I had been holding and followed her out the door, taking a seat at my desk across the way. I opened my emails and found one from Troy with his usual list of things to do for the day. I looked for an innuendo or a flirty signature, but there was none. I felt stupid for the disappointment that pulled at my heart. But then I realized our emails were probably monitored. He was just being smart. He was a businessman after all.

A businessman who had done this before with another personal assistant, if not more than one, I reminded myself. The thought gnawed at me annoyingly. I shook my head slightly as I tried to convince myself I wasn’t like the others. But wasn’t that what every girl told herself? I couldn’t help but believe it. Our chemistry. The way our bodies moved as one. It was too good that it had to be more than me just being another personal assistant passing through.

A few minutes later, Troy strode into his office and I felt my stomach do a somersault. He was here earlier than I expected. I sat up straighter in my chair and pretended not to notice, but I felt his eyes on me. I didn’t dare look up, thinking I might spontaneously combust right there from the heat of his stare.

My phone pinged on the desk.

Troy:Playing shy, are we?

I bit back a smile and typed out a quick response.

Me:I’m working. You know, it’s a thing people do sometimes when they’re not sleeping in.

Troy:You’re feisty.

Me:You have no idea.

Troy:I think I do after last night. And this morning.

I sunk a little further in my chair, using my computer as a way to cover the burning of my cheeks that matched the heat rising through my body. I swore I heard him chuckle from his office.

This is different,I told myself.

And I kept telling myself that over the next two weeks, as we spent practically every waking hour together. I went wherever he needed me to, for business or pleasure. I didn’t care that I was at his beck and call. That was the job. The rest of it was just a perk.

There were hardly any more menial errands. I had been to the dry cleaners maybe one time. I didn’t have to trail any imaginary clients trying to get a signature for a made-up document. Troy wanted me with him, and I wanted him to want that. Because I wanted to be with him. I craved it. Almost obsessed over it.

We went on long, expensive lunches and indulged in champagne, careful to keep our distance just in case someone were to see. But under the table, we always found a way to touch each other, whether with my ankle sliding up his leg or my hand grazing his thigh. It was thrilling to pretend, when the sensation of his touch made me want to tear out of my skin.

Our car rides together were less restrained in the bit of privacy we found in the backseat of a cab. His hand wouldn’t stop at a simple graze of my thigh. Instead, his fingers would trail up my leg until he reached what he sought most. He liked to feel what I had on, knowing he would take it off later. I never wore pants anymore because of it, and sometimes didn’t wear anything underneath at all. Usually, on those days we didn’t make it back to the office.

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