Beautiful Secret

by Christina Lauren

  Spring had just begun in London, but the little courtyard across Southwark Street was still dismal and bare. I’d been told that in summer it was filled with pink chairs and small tables belonging to a restaurant near the back. Right now it was all concrete and mostly naked tree branches, damp brown leaves blown across the stark ground.

  Around me, people continued to voice their displeasure with the weather as they opened up their laptops and finished their tea, and I blinked away from the window in time to see the last few stragglers rush in. Everyone wanted to be seated before Anthony Smith—my boss and the firm’s director of engineering—made his way down from the sixth floor.

  Anthony was . . . well, okay, he was a bit of a jackass. He ogled the interns, loved to hear himself speak, and said nothing that sounded sincere. Every Thursday morning he relished making an example of the last person to walk in, sharply commenting with a saccharine smile on their outfit or their hair so everyone in the room would have to watch in leaden silence as they found the last empty seat and sat down in shame.

  The door squeaked as it opened. Emma.

  Emma lingered, holding the door open for someone. Gah. Karen.

  Voices sounded from outside the room, growing louder as they came in. Victoria and John.

  And then, there he was.

  “Showtime,” Pippa muttered next to me.

  I saw the top of Niall Stella’s head as he stepped in just behind Anthony, and it was as if the air had been sucked from the room. People and chatter blurred around the edges and then it was just him, expression neutral as he seemed to instinctively take in who was there and who was missing, his shoulders wrapped in a dark suit, one hand tucked casually into the pocket of his dress pants.

  The urgent, fiery feeling in my chest grew.

  There was something about Niall Stella that made you want to watch him. Not because he was boisterous or loud, but because he wasn’t. There was a quiet confidence about him, a way he carried himself that demanded attention and respect, and a feeling that while he wasn’t talking, he was watching everything, noticing everyone.

  Everyone except me.

  Having come from a family of therapists that discussed everything, I’d never been the silent type. My brother, and even Lola probably, would start calling me a chatterbox when I really got going. So the fact that I of all people couldn’t manage a single articulate thing when Niall Stella was within touching proximity made absolutely zero sense. What I felt for him was a distracting kind of infatuation.

  He didn’t even have to attend Thursday meetings; he just did, because he wanted to make sure there was “cross-departmental consensus” and so his planning division “could at least have a working engineering vocabulary” since it was Niall Stella’s responsibility to coordinate engineering with public policy and his own planning division.

  Not that I’d memorized everything he’d ever said at this meeting.

  Today he wore a light blue shirt beneath a dark charcoal suit. His tie was a mesmerizing swirl of yellow and blue, and my eyes moved from the double Windsor knot at his neck to the smooth skin just above, the heavy curve of his Adam’s apple, the sharp jaw. His normally impassive mouth was turned down in consternation, and when I made it up to his eyes . . . I registered with horror that he was watching me eye-fuck him like it was my job.

  Oh, God.

  I dropped my gaze to my laptop, the screen blurring out with the intensity of my stare. The flurry of telephones and printers from the outer office flowed in through the open door, seeming to reach a crescendo of chaos, and then someone closed the door, signaling the start of the meeting. And as if the room had been vacuum sealed, all noise came to an abrupt stop.

  “Mr. Stella,” Karen said in greeting.

  I clicked on my mail folder, ears ringing as I strained to hear his reply. One breath in, one breath out. Another. I typed in my password. I willed my heart to slow down.

  “Karen,” he said finally in his perfect, quiet, deep voice, and a smile spread unconsciously across my face. Not just a smile, a grin, like I’d just been offered a giant slice of cake.

  Dear God, I am in so deep.

  Biting the inside of my cheek, I worked to straighten my expression. Judging from the way Pippa’s elbow connected with my ribs, I was pretty sure I failed.

  She leaned toward me. “Easy, girl,” she whispered. “It was only two syllables.”

  The door opened and Sasha, another intern, slipped in with a wince. “Sorry I’m late,” she whispered. A glance at the clock on my laptop told me she was actually perfectly punctual, but Anthony of course wouldn’t let it slide.

  “All right, Sasha,” he said, watching her squeeze awkwardly between the long row of chairs and the wall as she made her way to the empty seat in the far corner. The room pulsed with silence. “Lovely jumper. Is it new? Blue is a great color on you.” Sasha took her seat, her cheeks brilliant red. “Good morning, by the way,” Anthony said with a wide smile.

  I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. He was such an asshole.

  Finally, the meeting started in earnest. Anthony went down his list of questions for each of us, papers were passed around, and as I swiveled in my seat to hand the stack to the person on my right, I glanced up. And nearly swallowed my tongue.

  Niall Stella was only two seats away from me.

  From beneath my lashes I looked at him, the angle of his jaw—always clean-shaven, never even a hint of scruff—his thickly lashed eyes and perfect, dark brows, his impeccable shirt and tie. His hair looked so smooth in the dim light of the conference room. I actually frowned when I noted it would probably be soft, too—because of course it would be—and I wondered for the hundredth time what it would be like to run my hands through it, tug him down, and—

  “Ruby? Did we hear back from Adams and Avery yet?” Anthony asked.

  I straightened in my chair and blinked down to my laptop, having stayed up late with this file just last night.

  “Not yet,” I said, with barely a waver in my voice. “They have our plans, drafted and ready for signature. But I’ll double back with them if I haven’t got a call by the end of the day.”

  And okay, yeah, that was startlingly articulate considering how Niall Stella had turned his full attention to my face.

  Pretty damn happy with myself, I typed up a quick reminder and propped my elbow on the table, tugging on a strand of hair as I scrolled through my calendar.

  But something felt off. I sat in this chair for one hour every week, and I was almost certain that I’d never felt what I was feeling now. It was a pressure on the side of my face, the actual physical weight of someone’s attention.

  I twisted the hair around my finger and casually glanced at Pippa. Nope, nothing.

  With what I assumed to be a subtle lean forward, I craned my neck farther, glancing to my right, and immediately froze.

  He was still looking at me. Niall Stella was looking at me. Really looking. Light brown eyes met mine and held what could never be called a glance, but a full-on look. His expression was curious, as if I were a new piece of furniture someone had just randomly placed in the room.

  My heart took off, pulse pounding in my veins. Inside my chest, everything felt liquid and wild, and if someone had yelled Fire! I’d have gone down in flames, because there was absolutely no way I could control even a single thing happening to my body.

  “Niall,” Anthony said.

  Niall Stella blinked before looking away from my face. “Yes?”

  “Do you mind giving us the status from Planning on the Diamond Square proposal? I want my team to get you some specs by the end of the week but we don’t know the dimension of their shared space . . .”

  I zoned out as Anthony, predictably, phrased his question in a way that made it about seven times longer than it needed to be.

  When his question drew to a close, Niall Stella shook his head. “The dimensions,” he said, and began shuffling through a stack of papers in front of him. “I’m not altogeth
er sure I’ve got them—”

  “The dimensions were set to be finalized this morning,” I answered for him, and explained that the permits would be delivered no later than tomorrow. “I asked Alexander to send a copy of the blueprints this afternoon.”

  The room went so silent I worried for a minute I had simply lost the ability to hear.

  Except everyone was staring at me. Oh my God, what had I done?

  I’d interrupted without thinking.

  I’d answered a question clearly not meant for me.

  I’d answered a question he definitely knew the answer to.

  I felt my brows pull together. But then, why hadn’t he answered?

  I leaned forward and looked at him.

  “Good,” he said. Quiet. Deep. Perfect. Shifting in his chair, he met my eyes and gave me a flicker of a grateful smile. “Forward it along?”

  My heart had completely left my body. “Of course.”

  He was still looking at me, clearly as confused as I was over what had just happened, but pleased in a mysteriously lingering way. I wasn’t even sure what prompted me to speak up. One minute Niall Stella was looking at me, and the next he was fumbling as he tried to recollect data and answer a question I was sure he could have answered in his sleep.

  It was almost as if his mind was elsewhere. It was something I’d never seen happen before.

  “Now for the big news,” Anthony said, glancing through a stack of papers before handing them off and getting to his feet. I looked up, jarred by the change in his tone. Anthony loved having the attention of the room, and from the sound of it, he was gearing up for something big.

  “The New York subway system was built with the idea that one-hundred-year storms happen only every hundred years. Unfortunately, that is not reality. Disasters like Hurricane Sandy have proven that what was once planned for once every century, has happened every few years. The US is spending billions, with talk of raised entrances and floodgates, and given that we’ve worked extensively with the London Underground, they want our input, too. So I’ll be gone for one month to attend an International Summit on Emergency Preparedness for public transport, air travel, and urban infrastructure.”

  “One month?” a senior engineer asked, echoing what we all had to be thinking. I wondered if anyone was also echoing my mental fist pump at the idea of an Anthony-free office for so long a stretch.

  Anthony nodded in her direction. “There are three separate summits taking place. Not everyone who is invited is staying for the duration, but given that our firm specializes in both public transport and urban infrastructure, Richard decided that he’d like us there for the lot of it.”

  “ ‘Us?’ ” asked one of the executives from Niall Stella’s department.

  “Right,” Anthony said, tilting his head to the left. “Niall will be accompanying me.”

  “You’re both going away for a month?” I blurted, instantly wishing I could take my words back and shove them down my throat. I was an intern. One of Anthony’s unspoken rules seemed to be that we didn’t speak at this meeting unless asked a direct question. I could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me again. Even worse? I could feel his, pressing on my skin, probing.

  “Er, yes, Ruby,” Anthony said, clearly a bit confused. He walked around his chair to stand beside me, hands tucked into the front pockets of his pants. “But no worries, I know you’ve got the Oxford Street project nearly wrapped up, and my being gone won’t affect signing off on that in any way. If you need anything from me, you can always call.”

  “Oh,” I said, feeling the heat slowly fade from my face. “That’s good to know, thanks.” Of course Anthony thought my burst of word vomit was because I was worried that he was leaving—you know, my boss?—and that perhaps his absence might somehow interfere with my work.

  “Smooth,” Pippa said, as her long oval nails clicked across her keyboard.

  “Shut uuuup,” I moaned, sinking lower in my chair.

  I had no idea whether Niall Stella was still looking this way, and the twelve-year-old part of me wanted to drag Pippa into the ladies’ room and have her replay the scene, moment by moment.

  But I knew that would be a mistake. The first day he seemed to actually notice me and I blew it, acting like some kind of psycho. I couldn’t take her telling me that he’d made that face in my direction, the one where he frowned and looked like someone had just spilled cream on his hand-tailored suit.

  I’d rather we go back to him not knowing I was alive.

  The end of the day found me at our long, shared desk, sorting through a stack of permits. My Diet Coke had grown warm, and I was counting down the minutes to a hot bath and a hotter book when my email chimed, signaling an incoming message.

  “Finally,” I sighed. I’d been waiting for a confirmation number all day, and now—maybe—I could go home.

  Or maybe not.

  Pippa yawned next to me and stretched her arms over her head. It was already dark out and the walk to the Tube would be cold and wet. “Can we go now?”

  My shoulders dropped. “Actually, that was an email from Anthony,” I told her, frowning at my screen. “He wants to see me in his office before I go and I can think of at least a hundred other things I’d rather do instead.”

  “What?” she said, leaning over to peer at my monitor. “What does he want?”

  I shook my head. “No idea.”

  “Doesn’t he have a watch? We were supposed to be gone twenty minutes ago.”

  I typed out a quick reply, letting him know I was on my way, and began shutting things down for the night. “Wait for me?” I asked Pippa.

  Pausing mid-drawer slam, she gave me a sad little frown. “I’ve got to hustle, I’m sorry, Rubes. I waited as long as I could, but I’ve loads to do tonight.”

  I nodded, feeling somehow uneasy being left in the offices alone this late with Anthony.

  The halls were empty as I stepped into the elevator and headed to the sixth floor.

  “Ruby, Ruby, come in,” he said, pausing where he’d been pulling a few things from around the room and arranging them in a box on his desk. Had he been fired? Dare I hope?

  “Close the door and take a seat,” he continued.

  I felt a frown tug at the corner of my mouth. “But nobody’s here,” I said, leaving the door open.

  “Why did your parents name you Ruby?” he asked, eyes making a slow circuit of my face.

  My frown deepened. What? “Um . . . I’m not actually sure. I think they just liked the name.” Anthony clung to several old business rules, one of which included keeping a crystal decanter of scotch on a table behind his desk. Had he been drinking?

  “Did I ever tell you that my gran was named Ruby?”

  I eyed the scotch, trying to remember how full it had been the last time I was in here.

  Anthony walked around his desk and took a seat on the corner nearest me. His thigh pressed against the side of my arm and I shifted in my seat.

  “No, sir. You didn’t.”

  “No, no, don’t call me ‘sir,’ ” he said, waving a hand in protest. “It makes me feel like I could be your dad, remember? Call me Anthony.”

  “Okay. Sorry . . . Anthony . . .”

  “I’m not your father, you know,” he said leaning forward, and there was a pregnant pause. “Not nearly old enough.”

  I tried to be subtle about the full-body shudder that rolled through me. I’m fairly certain that were it possible, Anthony would literally ooze over the desk, to pool at my feet. And then he’d look up my skirt.

  “But that’s not why I called you in here.” He straightened and pulled a file from a stack on his desk. “I called you in here because there’s been a change in plans.”

  “Oh?”

  “As it happens, something’s come up and I’m not able to go to New York.”

  What did this have to do with me? Did he really think I’d been so worried about him being gone that he needed to personally update me?

&nbs
p; I swallowed, trying to look interested. “You’re not?”

  “No,” he said, smiling in a way I assumed was meant to look generous, indulgent even. “You are.”

  TWO

  Niall

  I adjusted the phone so I could hold it between my ear and shoulder and tapped a stack of papers together, placing it neatly in front of me. “I see.”

  Static vibrated across the quiet line.

  “You see?” Portia repeated in a voice that had grown tight and thin. “Are you even bloody listening?”

  Had she always sounded so impatient with me?

  Sadly, I think the answer to that was yes.

  “Of course, I’m listening. You’ve told me you’re stuck. But I don’t see what I can do about it, Porsh.”

  “It’s what we agreed, Niall. You agreed to let me keep the dog if I agreed to let you watch him when I went on holiday. I am going on holiday and need you to watch him. But if it’s a bother . . .” Portia’s voice trailed off but the echo sizzled across the phone line like acid dripped on metal.

  “Under normal circumstances, taking Davey is no bother,” I answered calmly. Always calm, always patient, even when we were discussing who should care for her pet while she went to Majorca for a week to recover from the stress of our divorce being finalized. “The issue is simply that I will be out of the country, love.”

  I swallowed back a curse, wincing.

  Love.

  After nearly sixteen years together, some habits died hard.

  Her answering silence was weighted, dense. Two years ago, the quiet ticking across the telephone line would have had me in a panic. A year ago it would have made my stomach sour and tight.

  Now, nine months after I’d moved out of the home we’d shared together, her angry silence simply made me weary.