Page 90 of Best Kept Secret
My heart does a somersault. A somersault over a kitschy little keyring. I am done and dustedover Logan Cullen.
My cheeks heat as I make my way through the trade floor to theassistant hole, and I keep my head ducked low, ignoring everyone I pass, because I’m just not in the mood to deal with the finance bros today. They’re insufferable at the best of times, but it’s day two of my period, and I am not in the mood for this shit.
Caroline asked me to see her after lunch for a new assignment—some bullshit, no doubt—and I continue past theholeand down the corridor for her office, but when I see that her door is shut, I pause. It’s never shut. I check the time on my phone, and my lunch hour is well and truly over, and although a closed door usually means something private is happening on the other side, I decide to knock anyway, because the last thing I need is for Caroline to try and accuse me of not reporting for duty straight after lunch like she asked me to.
“Um… j-just a sec…” The voice that comes from the other side sounds like Caroline, but it’s different, strained and rattled, and so unlike her.
I see the blur of a shadow move about through the frosted glass, and I press my ear against the door, but all I can hear is some shuffling on the other side, and a low whisper, and I don’t know why, but something doesn’t feel right.
“Caroline?” I call back, knocking again. “Is everything okay in there?”
“Just a minute!” A deep, gruff voice snaps back in response.
I pull back, gawking at the door because is that?—
Suddenly the door flies open and Caroline’s boss, Jonathon, who I’ve only ever seen in passing, strides out. He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even look at me, his chin held high as an air of arrogance swirls around him. He passes by me, adjusting his tie, and I watch him disappear down the hallway.
Confused, I peer in through the door, scanning Caroline’s office, noticing a mess of papers lying on the floor, which is strange in itself because this place is usually immaculate.
“Caroline?” I call out, tentatively stepping inside, finding herin the corner with her back to me, my brows knitting together. “Caroline? Are you okay?”
“Oh, my God,” she huffs, shaking her head before turning quickly with an incredulous look on her face. “I don’t remember telling you to come in.”
And it’s then that I see, despite the annoyance that masks her face, her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, mascara smudged beneath them, and a few of her blouse buttons are fastened through the wrong holes. I glance back at the door where Jonathon just exited, and I recall the way he was adjusting his tie, and it suddenly dawns on me. She’s screwing her boss. Gross.
“What is it?” Caroline asks, smoothing her hair back from her face as she breezes past me, stopping only to collect the papers from the floor.
“Um…” I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me after lunch?”
I watch as she places the papers into a neat pile on her desk, straightening them a few times before reaching over to adjust the pen holder that appears to have been knocked slightly askew. And as the sleeve of her silk blouse pulls up her arm, I don’t miss the painful red welt that circles her wrist. And I know what it is. Finger marks.
Before I can stop myself, I grab her arm carefully. “Caroline, what happened?”
Startled, she gapes at me before quickly yanking her arm away. “Do nottouchme!”
“Did something happen?” I press, ignoring the warning glower in her eyes. “Did Jonathon… hurt you?”
Caroline tugs her sleeve down, folding her arms across her chest and, with an exasperated laugh that is void of humor, she shakes her head. “God, you really don’t get it do you?”
I blink at her, confused by her words.
She rolls her eyes, smirking to herself. “I thought you were playing the innocent little intern part knowing the men here getoff on that shit, but you really are clueless, huh?” She cocks her head to the side with a patronizing tsk. “It’s actually pathetic.”
I don’t say anything in response. Sure, I can tell she’s trying to hurt me right now, but there’s more to it. She’s the hurt one. And as much as I dislike her, I feel like she needs to let this out.
“I used to be just like you,” Caroline says with a malicious smile. “Thought I’d come to New York and take Wall Street by storm. I have an MBA from Wharton, for Chrissake.”
My eyes widen at that because I honestly had no idea.
“And look at me now.” She throws her hands out mockingly, indicating her office. “I’m a glorified assistant with a corner office and an account at Bergdorf’s simply because I let my married boss fuck me whenever he wants.”
“Caroline…” I try to placate her because I can see she’s on the verge of tears. Again.
She interjects. “Remember on your first day how you said you thought you’d be sitting out on the trade floor? And I laughed?”
I nod.
She laughs again. Another hollow sound, laced with nothing but bitterness. “There are eight hundred employees here in the New York Headquarters, and only five of them are women. Five. And you’re one them. It’s a well-known fact that women only come here to meet Hyde and Mercer men. That’s it.” She shrugs, matter-of-factly. “That’s why Michelle and Steph are here. And the twit on the front desk who’s screwing three of the dealers in an attempt to try and figure out which one she wants to commit herself to. I thought I’d be different. I thought I could come here and wow them with my intelligence and mygo get ’emattitude and be the one to finally break the mold and earn my spot on the trade floor.” She scoffs, shaking her head at herself. “That was twelve years ago. And in those twelve years the things I’ve seen…” Trailing off, she shakes her head again, sadness flashing in her eyes.
