His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection)

by Melanie Marchande

  I’m starting to feel the distance I’ve allowed to grow between us, fostered by my workaholic tendencies and general asshattery. If she doesn’t want to be around me in a time of crisis, that’s nobody’s fault but my mine.

  I try to focus on her words. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her talk about the shelter like this, with so much passion. Not that I ever really asked her about it. Her volunteer work was always just a part of her life, one of the many casualties of the demands I made on her time and energy when she worked for me. Now that she’s back to it, though, some of the light seems to have gone from her eyes. She so often seems tired when she leaves and tired when she gets home, like the emotional demands of the job are starting to wear on her.

  Of course, she worries about me, too. I don’t know what I can possibly do about that. She’s right, I don’t know how to focus my time without the structure of a corporate job, and I can feel myself spiraling into a Hemingway-esque insanity. I know I’ve got to pull myself out and act like a mature, responsible adult, but since when has that been my M.O.?

  “So, that went pretty well.” Meg’s changing into her workout clothes. “Right? I mean, it certainly could’ve been a lot worse.”

  “I’m still waiting for the other shoe to fall,” I tell her. “I feel like it’s only a matter of time.”

  She shrugs. “No reason to borrow trouble. If Cassie’s right, we’ll be absolutely fine. If she’s wrong, well, we’re no worse off than we were before.”

  “Yoga class?” I suggest, as she gathers up her keys.

  She hesitates for a second, and then nods.

  It’s not one of the times she usually goes to yoga, but I’m not being suspicious. I’m not.

  But until recently, it’s never occurred to me that I ought to question where she’s going when she leaves the house. It’s never mattered before. But now, for the first time, I’m wondering things I never wanted to wonder.

  I’m not suspicious.

  I know she would never do anything to hurt me. She would never betray my trust. Five years around my private, confidential information, and she never did a single thing to try and damage me or my reputation.

  With an effort, I push out every recent memory of the times I’ve brushed her off when she begged me to come to bed and keep her company. All those times she had to repeat herself, because my brain drifted off to another world while she was trying to talk to me.

  You’re losing her, Risinger.

  You’d better do something about it, before it’s too late.

  Two Years Ago

  “Did you see the job postings?”

  Meghan pauses, my coffee mug in her hand, like she’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of trick. “Um…yes?”

  “There’s an analyst position opening up at the satellite office upstate,” I point out. “Did you see it?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.” She’s distracted by something, and it’s not just getting a refill on my coffee. I wish I knew what was going through her mind.

  No you don’t. That’s trouble, and you know it.

  Obviously, I have to be more blatant. “Why don’t you apply?”

  She lets out a soft huff of almost-laughter. “Yeah. I’m sure the board would be all over that.”

  “You don’t need the whole board. Just a majority. Anyway, you could always ask someone for a personal recommendation.” I shrug, looking around the room as if I’m searching for a suitable candidate. “Oh, right, you work for the boss! That’s probably useful, right?”

  “I don’t even want to imagine what you’d say about me.” She smirks. “I’m not exactly executive material, anyway.”

  “It’s a step up. A big step up. And it’s nothing I haven’t seen you do a thousand times before - aren’t you always saying you want some recognition for your work?”

  “Yeah, from you. I’m not a…business analyst. I didn’t go to business school.” She says business like it’s a foreign language.

  I lean forward, whispering conspiratorially. “Neither did I.”

  “Shit, no wonder you’re so bad at it. Well, you know, billionaire’s kids get away with that kind of thing. Me, not so much.” She picks up a handful of my outgoing mail. “Why are you suddenly trying so hard to get rid of me? Did you see that email where I talked about poisoning your coffee? That was just a joke. I mean, you know. Mostly.”

  Getting rid of you?

  Don’t you realize how valuable you are to me? How important?

  I don’t ever want to lose you, but you deserve better than this.

  It’s a cruel joke, really. If there were a just God in the world, I would’ve ended up with her brains, or she would’ve ended up with my ambition. Not the way it is now, with each of us missing a crucial piece. If I had her smarts I would be running for president, not tap-tapping away outside some asshole CEO’s office.

  “Meghan, sit down.”

  Instantly, she’s on guard - more so than usual. “I thought you wanted more coffee.”

  “In a minute,” I tell her. “Just sit.”

  She sits down, slowly, eyeing me with more than the usual amount of suspicion. “Seriously, did I do something? I checked the employee handbook, there’s nothing in there about death threats.”

  “Relax,” I command her, which seems to have the opposite of the intended effect. “Meghan…do you want to be my secretary for the rest of your life?”

  She sighs a little. “I’m your…”

  “Administrative assistant, yes,” I cut in, impatiently. “But for the purposes of this discussion, I’m trying to make the job sound worse. Answer the question.”

  Meghan shakes her head. “No. I mean…of course not.”

  “So when do you plan on advancing, then? In another five years? Ten?” I tap my pen against my desk. “You’ve got to take your future into your own hands, at some point.”

  She shifts uncomfortably in her chair. “I don’t know, Mr. Risinger,” she says, finally. “You keep me pretty busy. I guess I don’t think that much about my future.”

  I’ve worked her into the ground. I know that, I can see it every day. She gets more tired and bitter every single day, but I’ve finally managed to suppress the urge to comfort her. For a long time, it was hard. I bought little gifts for her, I planned different seductions, different confessions, but at the last minute I’d back away.

  I was a coward.

  Now, I keep my distance, as much as I’m able. But I don’t know why she won’t take the opportunity.

  Unless…

  I shake my head, quickly, to dislodge the thought. She doesn’t. She can’t. She would never. She’s lost pieces of herself working for me, years of her life.

  She can’t love me.

  “You should think,” I tell her, instead of everything that’s rushing through my head. “You should think about it, and don’t be afraid to tell me if there’s anything I can do to help. I would never hold you back.”

  She looks perplexed.

  “Okay,” she says, after a few moments. “Thank you, sir.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MEG

  I really do go to the gym, but after that, I see my dad.

  He saw the Mike Morgan interview, and now he’s even more worried about me than he was before. Like I need that in my life. But I have a feeling he’s just going to worry more unless I take the time to grab a cup of coffee and show him that I’m not curled up weeping in a corner.

  “We’re dealing with it,” I promise him, after an extra-long hug. “Tomorrow they’re airing another episode, except with me and him talking about an adoption drive at the animal shelter. We’ve got one of the best PR reps in the city working on it, and she gave us some really good advice. The lawsuit’s ridiculous, and Mr. Morgan knows it. He’s going to drop it. We just have to play our cards right.”

  “I hope you’re right,” my dad says, with a little sigh. “This is exactly the kind of thing I worry about, with you dating…” He pauses, correcting h
imself pointedly. “…being married to a guy like that. So maybe he usually lies low in the media, but he’s always going to be a target.”

  I just shake my head. “That doesn’t affect how I feel about him, Dad. I’m not going to stop loving him because it’s inconvenient.”

  “I know,” he says. “I know. Just be careful, sweetheart.”

  He has no idea.

  With every day that passes, it feels more and more difficult to broach the subject with Adrian. We’re playing the waiting game now, while Bob pesters the opposing counsel, trying to get them to concede something. A couple times, it’s on the tip of my tongue. But it still feels like more stress than he needs right now. I mean, if I repeated half the shit my father said to me, implying that me and Adrian were an odd couple because of my body type, Adrian would probably want to kill him. It’s better to keep this to myself, until things calm down. Until I can figure out the best way to handle it.

  Mike Morgan doesn’t do another video interview. Instead, a block of text in Q&A form appears on the website that spun off from the blog that spun off from the show, or however the hell that works. Most of it’s a rehash of what he already said, except for one thing.

  Q: So, you have to admit that he no longer appears to be hiding from the spotlight.

  A: I don’t have to admit anything. Actually, to be honest, I’m kind of offended that you allowed him on the show without demanding some accountability for what he did to me.

  Q: Mr. Risinger’s attorney has instructed him not to say anything.

  A: No doubt. Listen, people can believe whatever they want to believe. He comes across very charming, he’s good at that, but you don’t want to be on his bad side. Trust me. And you don’t really want to be on his good side, either. I put up with his inappropriate advances for way too long, because I needed the job.

  Q: To clarify, you’re saying the alleged behavior predates your firing?

  A: Oh, yes. By a long shot. He’s got a pattern of this. Most people don’t speak out, of course. They don’t want to admit they ‘let’ it happen. He uses intimidation, and he uses it well.

  Q: Did he harass women, or just men?

  A: Just men, as far as I know.

  Q: Are you suggesting Adrian Risinger is gay?

  A: I’m not suggesting anything. But, I mean - you’ve seen his wife, right?

  I become aware of the article because Adrian is shouting down his phone at an ungodly hour of the morning. Bob doesn’t seem too amused by the proceedings, but Adrian is threatening all kinds of creative acts of violence.

  After he hangs up, he looks at me, jaw twitching, slightly wild-eyed. It actually turns me on, a little bit, but I have a feeling he’s not going to be in the mood.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  “A new interview with Fucking Fuckface,” he says. “Don’t you dare read it.”

  I just roll my eyes at him, and bring it up on my phone.

  And yes, briefly, I feel a little sick to my stomach. A tiny pain in my chest. But I just shake my head and look up at Adrian. “He’s got to be the grossest human being I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting.”

  “Now he’s brought you into this,” Adrian growls. “That’s beyond the fucking pale. I’m not standing idly by while he…while he says…”

  “Hey.” I touch his arm. “Relax, okay? I heard much worse in high school. He’s being childish, and he wants to rile you up. That’s the whole point. Don’t let him get to you.”

  “You shouldn’t be the one comforting me.” He shakes his head. “Fuck the lawsuit, I’m sending hired goons to his house.”

  That one makes me laugh. “I promise you, that’s not going to make anything better. You’re no good to me in prison.”

  “I’d never get caught,” he says, suddenly pulling me into a hug. I’m not actually sure how long it’s been since he held me. “I hate this. I hate this so much, you have no idea, Megs.”

  “Well, don’t hate it on my account,” I tell him. “Seriously. I’m going to be just fine. I put up with your ass for five years, I can put up with a couple months of Fucking Fuckface’s frivolous lawsuits and character assassination.”

  Taking a deep breath, he squeezes me tighter. “I love you, Meg.”

  “I love you too.”

  I have a feeling he’s aching to say something else, but the moment passes, and he doesn’t.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  ADRIAN

  Cassie is not pleased.

  She’s “not pleased” in the way that The Bride in Kill Bill was “not pleased” to have been shot in the head.

  I sit quietly in her office, waiting for her verdict, as she vibrates with sub-verbal rage. Meg couldn’t make it. She told me she wasn’t feeling well.

  Lately, she answers a lot of text messages that she doesn’t tell me about. She rarely answers her phone in front of me anymore. I can’t allow myself to put the pieces together, because it’s all adding up to something I refuse to believe.

  “I might’ve misjudged him,” Cassie says, quietly. There’s a pencil sitting on her desk, conspicuously snapped in half. “That’s not like me. I think I owe you both an apology.”

  “Don’t worry about that now.” I reply, through clenched teeth. “Just tell me what to do next. Because if you don’t have something good, I’m going after him myself, and it’s not going to be pretty.”

  “You have to take the high road,” she insists. “I know that’s what I said before, but it’s doubly true now. You just have to accept that he’s going to sling some arrows, and you have to let them bounce off of you.”

  “I don’t care what he says about me, but Meg…”

  “I know.” She nods. “But you don’t need to worry about her. She has a good head on her shoulders. Besides, waking up next to a guy like you is pretty good for the old self-esteem, I imagine.”

  She says it very matter-of-factly, but seems to realize a moment later that she might be misinterpreted.

  “I’m not flirting with you,” she says. “I’m not like that - and also, I’m perfectly happy with my cats and my Netflix subscription.”

  That makes me chuckle a little, despite the thrumming tension in my head. “Meg would’ve said the same thing, before I grew a pair and told her how I felt. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

  She gives me a withering look.

  “Or not,” I amend, quickly. “If your cats are the jealous type.”

  “All cats are.” She grins. “But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “Actually…”

  She frowns. “I thought you said Meg had cats.”

  “Just one. Years ago. But not anymore.”

  “What, are you allergic?” She frowns.

  “No. Well - not as far as I know. I probably would’ve had a reaction at the animal shelter, if I were.” I shrug. “She’s never mentioned wanting another cat.”

  Cassie scoffs. “Trust me, she wants one. They’re like Pringles. Once you pop, you can’t stop.”

  “That is…” I interlace my fingers, thoughtfully. “A very strange analogy.”

  “I’ve got a lot more,” she says. “If you want to make your wife forget about all this bullshit, go down to the shelter and ask the woman who runs it about which cat she’s the most attached to. I guarantee you she’ll have an answer. Bring that cat home with you. Normally I don’t advocate animals as gifts, but this is a special case. I guarantee you she’s mentally ‘adopted’ at least one of the misfits there, and she’s only refusing to bring it home because she thinks you’re not gonna like it. It will absolutely make her entire year.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” I lean forward. “So, what the hell do I do about Mr. Morgan?”

  “Nothing,” says Cassie. “Absolutely nothing. Until the deposition, there’s nothing else you can do. He’s clearly demonstrated that he’s willing to hit below the belt, and until the deposition you can’t really hit back.” She sighs heavily. “As much as this pains me to s
ay, Adrian, I don’t think I can help you any more. I’d hoped this would be a lot more simple, but this guy is very determined. Your lawyer will be better able to advise you, but…get some good character witnesses. Depose every single one of them. Mr. Morgan will be there, he’ll want to see it. Wear him down. Make him realize he can’t take you in court. I’m sure you’re going to own his ass, but it’s going to take a lot of red tape.”

  Mike Morgan isn’t the first person to sneer at my taste in women. I’ve been dealing with it for a long time, a very long time, to the point where it’s almost just part of the white noise that is my life. Almost.

  Looking back, I can’t really explain where my interest started. You’d think it would stick in my memory, but it doesn’t - not as much as the times when I didn’t feel what other men were obviously feeling. I remember watching the Olympics with a friend when I was eleven or twelve. He was so infatuated with the women’s volleyball event, and I pretend I was too. It was easy enough to see the appeal. They were lean, tanned, beautiful - and they sure made a lot of interesting noises. But it wasn’t the sexual awakening you might expect.

  At some point, I must’ve caught my first glimpse of paradise. Soft thighs, softer breasts, just softness all over, how could anyone not want that in their bed? Then, and only then, I understood true lust for the first time. There wasn’t much to see back then, no specialty websites, and precious little on TV or in movies - at least, not just played for laughs. I couldn’t understand why. Surely, it wasn’t just me.