Page 6 of One Small Secret

“Cadence, you can’t be late for work.” Mom’s voice is full of concern. Most of the old locals hate what Palmer Hotels did to our town, but Mom took her parents’ love for Ben and his work to heart. Benjamin Palmer started the company thanks to their parents, and now it’s our job to make sure Ben’s legacy takes over the world. I grit my teeth. This isn't the time for me to get a lecture from Mom about what an honor it is to be working for Palmer Hotels.

“I know I need to get to work. I don’t know if you heard what I said a minute ago, but Moira left a baby in my bed.”

I hear the clinking of Mom grabbing her keys. “Why didn’t you call sooner?”

I rub a hand down my face. “Your phone went straight to voicemail all night. Trust me, I tried. And without a car seat or a car, I couldn’t drive him to your house, or I would have.”

Mom is quiet for a beat. “Moira told me I shouldn’t drive with my phone on—that it could be a distraction.”

I raise my head to the heavens. “Yes, especially if your real daughter calls and tells you your stepdaughter left a baby in her house…without asking.”

“I’ll be right there.”

Mom lives on the outskirts of town, on the land Grandpa bought from Ben, but Rosco is small and it typically only takes her fifteen minutes to get here. I throw on a skirt and tennis shoes. Today I’m packing my heels. I slick back my hair as quickly as possible and wipe off my makeup, reapplying it as well as I can with shaky hands.

Mom never told me where Moira went.

And more importantly, how long she would be gone.

I hear beeping at my front door. Mom is punching in the door code. I throw on my coat, grab my briefcase, give her a peck on the cheek and run out the door. Just before the door closes, I hear Mom make a cooing sound. She must have found the stinking little cherub.

I run north. The office is only three blocks from my apartment. Three blocks have never felt longer. But at least I’m not weaving in and out of people packed together in the Vietnamese heat. At least here I can sprint.

CHAPTER FOUR

My running shoes squeak over the marble floors. I wave to the first floor receptionist and scan my badge for the elevator. No one else is waiting. Who would be, at 10:30? The conference room is on the 14th floor. I’m half an hour late for the planning meeting. Maybe I should go to my desk and pretend I forgot?

But then they might plan something without me. I didn’t come back to the corporate office just to miss out on meetings that could shape future projects. I’m sick of my idea for the Luang Prabang region in Laos being ignored. I want a green light on this project even more than I wanted to sleep last night. I push the button for the 14th floor, tapping my foot as I wait.

No one gets fired for being late to one little meeting. I’ll be laughing about this with Christian and Rebecca next week. Once I’ve proven how indispensable I am to the company, no one will care.

The door opens and I wave at a surprised receptionist and flash my badge. There are no open offices on the 14th floor. It's meant to be a show space with models of future and current projects scattered about the open floor. At the back is the main conference room—the first room I’ve seen that hasn’t had its walls replaced with glass. Apparently large meetings are allowed privacy.

I crack open the door and see Mr. Auger sitting on the opposite side of the large, 40-person conference table. His eyes widen when he sees me. I look down at my watch and bite my lip. “Sorry.” I mouth quietly. Luckily, there are several seats open right in front of the door. I sneak into one. I’ve probably long since missed my opportunity to be introduced.

I shrug out of my coat. The room is silent. Maybe they're waiting for me to give my excuse. Can’t they just get on with whatever they were talking about?

I reach down for my briefcase and curse under my breath.

It isn’t my briefcase.

It’s Moira’s flipping diaper bag, with Marilyn Monroe’s sparkly face and all.

Could this day get any worse?

I look up and motion for everyone to continue, and only then do I notice who else is here.

First of all, this is no development planning meeting. Sure, Mr. Auger is here, but he's literally the lowest ranking person in the room. There are three VPs, the head of marketing, two women and one man I don’t recognize, but based on the sharp style of their suits, they're probably not from the States.

I mutter another curse, and Mr. Auger motions with his head toward the door. The message is clear.

Get. Out.

I’ve stumbled upon a meeting way above my pay grade. I’m still sweating from my run, my hasty make-up has probably already worn off, and I’m wearing sneakers and carrying a black Marilyn Monroe bedazzled bag. I look so much like a joke, everyone here is probably quiet because they’re waiting for the punchline. I give the three people I don’t recognize a quick smile and then murmur, “Sorry, wrong meeting.” I jump out of my chair and rush to the door without making eye contact with anyone else.

What are the chances I’ll be laughing about this with Christian and Rebecca in a week?

About zero.

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