Page 12 of His Little Secret in Discretion
I rolled my eyes, leaning back in my chair.
And because I was apparently untrustworthy now, he had me on 24/7 surveillance. If it wasn’t Killian breathing down my neck, it was my traitor of a secretary keeping a daily report of my failures.
Monday:
8 AM: Mr. Porter is not in the office. After calling his cell, I was told to give him a few more minutes of beauty sleep. Will update in a few minutes’ time.
10 AM: I was not able to update the report as Mr. Porter silenced his phone. It is now 10 AM, and he has walked in with a box of donuts and a chocolate bar.
12 PM: Mr. Porter has since returned the paperwork given to him this morning. He has not reviewed it or signed any of the documents. While returning the files to my desk unfinished, he stated, "What was all of this doing on my desk?" He has since taken a nap on the sofa in his office. Will update as needed.
What was her name again?
Didn’t matter. She was detailed, too damn detailed.Wondering when I'll be able to fire her.
Something hard cracked against the top of my head. I hissed, snapping my gaze up. Killian stood there with a rolled-up magazine like I was a misbehaving dog.
“What the hell was that for?” I barked.
“Get to fucking work.” His glare didn’t waver.
I groaned, turning back to my computer. The contract blurred, my elbow propped on the desk, cheek resting in my palm. Every few lines, my eyes drifted to Killian pacing the office, barking into a call with some overseas investor. He responded to my stares by glaring back like I was a child.
Then, every few lines, my mind drifted to her.
Sunshine.
Fuck, she was ruining me.
By the time Killian and my tattletale secretary bullied me into finishing, it was 10 PM. I should’ve gone home. Should’ve slept. Instead, my car took me where my heart already was.
Illusive Night.
The bouncer waved me through without question. The music hit first, then the perfume, cigar smoke and heat. My eyesswept the lounge. Servers weaving through tables, dancers shimmering under the lights. No Sunshine.
I stalked to the bar. The bartender looked up, already reaching for a shaker. “The usual, sir?”
“Yeah.”
He slid the whiskey sour across, but his eyes flicked at me, wary.
I scanned the room again. Still no sign of the little blonde.
The bartender hesitated. “Is everything all right, sir?”
“I’m looking for a server I met,” I said finally. “Maia.”
His jaw ticked, tension flashing across his face. “Maia… is not working right now. But—” He slid a tablet across the bar. “Sunshineis working her first shift for the backrooms tonight. And she’s already fully booked.”
My brow furrowed as I glanced down. Her name. A list of clients. Timeframes.
I stared at the screen, stunned. I wanted to laugh. This had to be some sick, twisted joke, even by my standards.
“You’re fucking with me, right?”
“I wish I was, Mr. Porter.” He exhaled heavily. “Yesterday was her last shift as a server. First private session’s in ten minutes.”
“I almost can’t fucking believe this,” I muttered, rage crawling up my spine. Not at her, but at the men whose eyes I wanted to fucking tear out. If my Sunshine wanted to give privates dances, the only person she'd ever fucking give one is me... Before the end of the night, I’d clarify that for her.
