Page 26 of Best Kept Secret
“So,” I begin, averting my gaze downwards to my omelet. “What happened with your internship?” I glance up as I cut into my food. “When’d you find out?”
She wipes her mouth with a napkin as she finishes chewing. “I only found out a couple of weeks ago.” She takes a sip of her Sprite, wincing at the taste and wiping her mouth with her napkin again. “Apparently it didn’t work out with their first pick, so…” She shrugs. “I was next in line.”
“I miss you.”
When I realize what I’ve just said—out loud—I fumble my fork, the silverware falling against my plate with a loud clang. Looking across at Millie, she seems just as surprised. But there’s also the hint of flush that dusts her cheeks, so I know I haven’t completely fucked things up.
Millie releases a heavy breath, her shoulders falling, and I can tell she’s ready to object, or say something sassy, or mention mynon-existentgirlfriend again. So, before she can, I take a deep breath and go for broke. “I miss our late-night phone calls. I miss waking up to a text message from you every morning. I miss you telling me about your day.” My gaze dips to her lips. “I miss your cherry-flavored lips. I miss—everything.”
She stares at me for a long moment, eyes bouncing between mine as a plethora of different emotions flash in her gaze. And I’m almost certain she’s about to relent, about to give me the chance I’ve been dreaming of for the last three months. But then my phone shudders on the table right next to my coffee, and I see her green gaze flit to the device, her face falling the second she sees it. I look down to my phone to see a new text messagenotification illuminated on the screen, and my stomach falls into the pit of my ass.
Hannah.
Millie scoffs, and I look back up at her to see that same betrayal flicker in her steely gaze. “Well played, Logan Cullen,” she chides, tossing her balled up napkin onto her plate of food. “You almost had me fooled. Again.”
Grabbing her purse, she heaves herself up and out of the booth, and on a heavy sigh I close my eyes and allow my head to fall forward, chin to chest, with a muttered, “Fuck.”
CHAPTER 12
MILLIE
As I stand outside the sky-scraping building, looking up at the sleek lobby entrance, I’m so nervous, I feel physically sick.
“Watch out,” someone utters, pushing me as they pass.
I stumble ever so slightly on my black stiletto heels, collecting myself at the last minute, and step out of the way of the chaotic Monday morning throng filing out of the Wall Street subway station.
Taking a big, fortifying breath, I clutch the strap of my bag, closing my eyes a moment and reminding myself that I belong here before walking through the glass doors and into the art deco foyer, taking it all in. A Starbucks is tucked away to the right. To the left there appears to be some sort of lounge bar that’s obviously closed at this time of morning, and straight ahead, situated between the two banks of elevators, is the security desk I’m to report to.
Tugging down the slightly too-tight pencil skirt Fran and Emily suggested I wear for my first day, I click-clack my way toward the security desk, smiling at the man as he looks up at me from his computer monitor.
“Name?” he grunts on my approach.Friendly.
“Millie Shaw,” I say with a warm smile.
The man clicks his mouse a few times, scanning the screen. “Company?”
“Hyde and Mercer.”
He taps something into the keyboard.
“It’s my first day,” I continue for some reason, despite the man’s obvious disinterest.
“Use this.” He slides a plain white card across the desk. “It’ll get you up to the thirty-second flooronly.” God, the way he looks at me, you’d think I was the Unabomber. “They’ll get you checked in up there.”
I look down at the card, glancing over to the left bank of elevators. “Do I just use any elevator?”
With a frustrated sigh, the man rolls his eyes, pointing upwards to a sign I didn’t see earlier. “You want to go to floor thirty-two,” he says slowly, his smile sickeningly patronizing. “See how that sign is clearly marked for floors thirty and above?”
What a dick.
“Thank you,” I mutter through gritted teeth, turning away and following the crowd.
When I step off the elevator and onto the thirty-second floor, I’m met with a blinding all-white lobby, complete with a drop-dead gorgeous blonde perched behind a glossy desk.
“Hi, welcome to Hyde and Mercer.”
I grip the strap of my bag so tight I can feel my nails cutting into my own skin, my best smile set firm. “Hi, I’m Millie Shaw. I’m here for my first day.”
