Page 1 of A Convenient Secret
Chapter 1
Lily
Voice.
His voice.
It always wraps around me like velvet, its timbre reverberating through every inch of my body. It speaks to all my desires. Desires I’ve not experienced before.
It’s really quite ridiculous.
Confident, and often with a tinge of annoyance, his baritone has become my safety blanket. Like listening to him is the safest thing in the world.
My rational mind recognizes the madness of it. If I could afford a therapist, they would probably charge me double.
I’m twenty-five, and I’m infatuated with my client’s voice.
It’s pathetic.
There should be a support group for addicts like me. I can’t shake it. Whenever his number flashes across the screen, all my previous self-pep talk goes down the drain.
He hasn’t even said anything nice to me. I’m addicted to the melody, I guess. Because, for all its deep rumbling quality, his tone is aloof, most of the time, and quite often obnoxious.
Grumpy. Demanding. Brooding.
My colleagues hate him, and keep forwarding his calls to my line.
Outwardly, I roll my eyes, but secretly, I appreciate the opportunity to listen to him.
Not even a therapist could save me.
He’s a single dad with a high-demanding job; he must be overwhelmed. That’s my explanation for his abrupt behavior. Yes, I’m making excuses for him. I’m aware.
But if I was kind to myself about this thing, it’s not like anything could ever happen between us, so my little crush is harmless. It makes the dull day at work more exciting.
Let’s face it, being a concierge to the rich and powerful may sound thrilling, but it is not. Not at all. Most days, I keep answering the phone and cater to the whims of people who can throw money at any problem.
Not all of them are completely disconnected, but many are, which makes this gig a challenge.
Unlike my colleagues, I understand their needs, and I’m fairly good at providing solutions, so I guess my position here is safe.
Which is good, because as someone who needs to remain under the radar, I need a job that helps me blend into the crowd, remain fairly invisible. Beggars, choosers, and all that.
“Yoga and drinks tonight, bitch?” My colleague Aaron leans on the beige partition between our cubicles.
It took me a moment to get used to this open concept. But I appreciate the human interactions. It’s something that has increased in value in my lonely life.
The beige monolithic decor, however, is worse than the open concept. While our furnishings are comfortable, and there are chill areas and a well-stocked cafeteria with mismatched, comfortable, wing chairs, reminding me of a hipster bistro, the concept itself just sucks your energy if you have to stay here longer than five minutes.
Or maybe it’s the job that drains me.
At least Aaron is one of those people who brightens one’s day.
“My friend has a barbecue, sorry.” I shrug.
“Lily Thorne, I’m starting to think you don’t want to hang out with me.” He mock-scoffs.
I swallow, heat rising to my cheeks. “That’s not true.”
