The Assistant's Secret

by Emerald O'Brien

  He grabs my plate, and I sit back, avoiding his arm as he pulls it away. He grabs his own plate on the way back and sets them on the counter. He leans against it with his back to me and runs his fingers through his thick hair.

  Do I get up? Do I stay here?

  What does he really want? The best security in New Gilford has just been promised to him right there in writing, but he wanted to speak to someone who could put him at ease.

  And Cathrine sent me? Asking what Cathrine would do isn’t working anymore, and maybe that’s why I’m here.

  I’m doing this my way, and I’m not playing guessing games or being jerked around, led to believe I could earn something that’s not even possible.

  I stand, and he turns, watching me. I give my blouse a quick tug along the bottom and rest my hand on the back of the chair. “What are you worried about? What haven’t we covered in the contract?”

  He taps the island countertop with his knuckles and sighs as his fist falls against it.

  He’s exasperated. This is important to him, but not as important as it is to me.

  “What do you want, Mr. Tackman?” I try to keep my voice calm and even, but can he sense my desperation?

  He walks to the window wall and crosses his arms, his dress shirt tight against his muscles. He stares out at the trees. “You’ll be my contact?”

  I amble toward him slowly, folding my hands in front of me. “Yes, you’ll have direct contact with me for the duration of your contract with Locke Industries.”

  And I’ll have my first client and a paycheck to match.

  I stop at his side, staring at his strong profile, and he turns to me with a serious expression. Something in his eyes scares me, but I can’t look away.

  “Can I trust you, Josephine?”

  My gaze falls to his light pink bottom lip, the top covered by his well-maintained mustache.

  “Yes,” I tell him without hesitation, because he can. He can trust me, and he can trust the company. “No one will work harder for you, and no other company will keep you safer.”

  He narrows his eyes, and a twitch of his lips hints at a smirk, but it’s gone in seconds. “Follow me.”

  As he leaves my side, I hesitate.

  Follow him where? Have I gotten through to him? Does he believe me?

  I follow at a distance behind him, down the hallway to a door just before his study I hadn’t noticed before, with only a slight crack around it distinguishing it from the wall.

  He takes a white, plastic card from his pocket and, with his back turned to me, something clicks, and he pushes the door open. I approach him with caution, stopping before him, before I can see anything in the room besides the hint of another white wall.

  “You protect people, things, and so do I. Before you go in, you need to remember that.”

  “Okay.” A whisper is all I can manage as he walks into the room.

  I follow behind him, my heart pounding and my palms sweaty. As he steps aside, he turns to look at me as I take in the view, my eyes opening wide as I scan the room in shock.

  Chapter Three

  Powder and Lead

  My name echoes from somewhere beside me, out of focus, as I take a step back away from the tightly packed bags of white powder stacked high on the metal table in the middle of the room.

  More than I can count.

  Guns line the walls, mostly automatic, hung on metal racks.

  What kind of people are they? Where has the company sent me? To meet with a drug and arms dealer?

  Cocaine was Maggie’s drug of choice before she didn’t have a choice and took whatever she could get her hands on. I’d find little baggies in our room as teenagers, in her wallet, and even hidden in a plastic bag in the back of the toilet at our aunt and uncles’, where we stayed after our parents passed from an overdose together.

  It’s been years since I’ve seen the powder, but all the feelings of fear and anger I associated with it come flooding back.

  “Hey.” Tackman’s hand reaches toward me.

  I take another step back, out of his grasp.

  Drugs took my parents from me. They almost took Maggie countless times—and still could. And they want me to protect someone who’s dealing them?

  I shake my head, backing out of the room, and he follows me.

  I turn, my heels clicking across the black tile echoing in the foyer as I reach for the front door knob, sure someone will grab me from behind—stop me–but I open it and step outside in the fresh, pine air where I can finally breathe as I rush to my car.

  A tall, lean, blond man stands in front of my hood with his arms folded over his chest.

  “We can do this outside if you prefer.” Tackman’s gravelly, deep voice calls from behind me, and I swivel around to face him, suddenly recognizing the dangerous edge to it I hadn’t heard before—or hadn’t wanted to. “I told you, I have things to protect. I need to know if you’re the people who can help me protect them.”

  No. No way. This is illegal.

  I glance over my shoulder, sure the tall man is approaching me, but he’s still by my car, squinting through the sun peeking out from behind the clouds at us.

  Now I’m supposed to say no? I have to be the one to say no, when I’m alone with at least three strange drug and arms-dealing men?

  This can’t be happening. The blame can’t all be on me.

  “My company,” I stammer, “they won’t. We can’t—”

  Tackman stares at me from beneath his brow. “Cathrine knows.”

  “She knows… what? About the…” I can’t even say it because it can’t be true.

  But he seems confident about it, calm even, and we’ve protected people who own guns before. Just not that many and not the drugs… or not that I’ve seen.

  Could it be true?

  “She knows what I want to protect.” He looks over my shoulder and shakes his head at the tall man by my car.

  The tall man walks toward me, and I step back, creating a triangle of people, but he keeps his distance, keeps walking, and joins Tackman’s side.

  “I should have known,” Tackman says, not to me, or this man, but himself.

  Should have known I couldn’t handle this? Is that what Cathrine will say too, if she does, in fact, know about everything?

  Yes, she will. And my chances of advancing in the company escape me with the answer. The chances of getting out from under all our debt and of providing a stable home for Andy disappear too, at least for a long time.

  Could I lose my job over this if I deny him?

  “She was late.” Tackman leans closer to the man beside him, and the man makes a tsking noise. “She’s green.”

  The tall man nods and stares me down. Are they even going to let me go after what I’ve seen?

  Tackman leans over and mutters something to the tall man under his breath. The tall man goes inside, leaving us alone once again.

  Can I leave? Should I? What will I be going back to? Will the tall man be coming back with a gun or bringing the large man, Danes, out to deal with me?

  I take a step back toward my car, and Tackman raises his brow. “You sure?”

  Andy won’t be disappointed at least. He doesn’t even know I had the shot at giving him a better life. Of keeping the roof over our heads and buying him the clothes and toys he deserves. Of saving for his future and taking the financial burden off Maggie for long enough to keep her sober. If we lose the apartment, she could spiral...

  If I lose my job, I lose everything. The roof over our head, the food we eat.

  Everything.

  We’d be back to having nothing again, needing help until I can find another job, but there’s no one to help. No one to rely on. I won’t find a job that pays this much, and it could take weeks, months, to find a job at all.

  Tackman stares at me, but I don’t know what to say as all my fears engulf me. The tall man comes back out with the burgundy folder and hands it to Tackman. He holds it out to me, and I know once it’
s in my hands again, it’s over.

  They’re letting me leave, and it’s no relief.

  I can’t let everything go to waste.

  “Mr. Tackman, I apologize for running out.” I clear my throat and take a step forward. “I can handle this contract for you. Our company can protect your... belongings.”

  He stares down at me with a straight face. I’m not getting through to him, but what else can I say to convince him this is right? To convince myself this is right?

  If Cathrine agreed, this could be standard procedure. Maybe I’ve been helping her do this all along.

  She always says we keep the client’s business safe and stay out of their business at the same time.

  Turn a blind eye—is that what we do?

  “This’ll go one of two ways,” Tackman says in his slow, gravelly, sultry voice. “You’ll either agree to manage me, take me on as a client, and commit to managing the security of my property by the method and means deemed necessary in this contract, including abiding by the confidentiality agreement, or, you’ll leave here and tell your boss it’s not happening.”

  I could lose everything I’ve worked for in one afternoon or gain everything I’ve hoped for in less than a minute.

  He’s making me choose, but it’s my decision.

  And I’ll do what I’ve always done when it comes down to it.

  What I’ll always do.

  I’ll choose Andy, because I love him, and because if I don’t, no one will.

  I extend my hand, and he shakes it, his expression stoic, before opening the folder and grabbing the pen strapped to the inside.

  I’m making a deal with a criminal.

  Does that make me a criminal too?

  He scratches the pen across the bottom of each of the pages, folds it over, and does the same to the second copy before extending the pen toward me.

  I grab the pen, my fingers skimming his, and my hand shakes as it returns to the paper. I’ve read the terms of all our contracts so many times, I know them by heart. I’ll be committed to working with him until or unless I’m no longer working for Locke Industries, and I don’t plan on leaving them.

  No turning back.

  I put pen to paper and scratch out my own rushed signature on the bottom of each page, moving on to the second contract, and I can feel him watching me.

  Does he think he’s intimidated me into signing? Or shamed me by suggesting I’m too green? Does he think he can gaslight me into something like this?

  If he does, he’s wrong.

  This is for Andy.

  I sign the final page and hand Tackman a copy. He hands me back the folder and extends his hand once again. I can barely breathe as I make contact with his cool hand once more. A feeling surges through me, adrenaline pumping. It feels like something big.

  A big break or a big mistake?

  As I begin to release, he holds my hand a moment longer. “Please don’t be late again next week.”

  “Next week?”

  “You’ll be joining the installers, as per the contract, next Saturday. You’ll be here whenever anyone else from your company is.”

  I nod once. I come with the package now.

  He turns around, walking back inside, leaving the tall man still staring at me in the doorway.

  My legs feel weak beneath me as I walk back to my car. I should be thrilled, ecstatic I accomplished the task set out for me, but I want to get out of here, far from these people and whatever trouble they’re part of.

  I toss the folder and my purse on the passenger’s seat, start the car, and turn around. I drive back down the dirt road, past the tree line, out onto the open road once again, leaving a cloud of dust behind me.

  Chapter Four

  A Taste of Success

  Fern Bishop tosses her coffee cup with her dusty rose lipstick stain in the trash bin before buzzing me through the glass door. I’m clutching the folder with white knuckles, more frightened of losing the contract than I am of the mistake I might have made if Cathrine didn’t know about the drugs and guns.

  “She’s due back any minute from her meeting with the board.” Fern nods to the white couch across from her on the opposite wall. “Have a seat.”

  My nervous energy buzzes through me, but I do as I’m told. I always do what Fern tells me to because, although she’s not my boss, she never steers me wrong. When I do as she says, Cathrine’s always pleased.

  Fern’s fingers clack away on the keyboard, her eyes focused on the screen.

  Isn’t she going to ask me if I got the client? Does she even know what I had to do? Does she know about the drugs and guns? Does Cathrine?

  My heart races, and I squeeze the folder in my lap as the heavy metal of the elevator doors grumbles, parting to reveal Cathrine in her signature black bodycon dress, showing off her beautiful long legs. She’s holding another red folder of her own.

  Fern buzzes her through the glass doors, and I stand as she approaches. Our eyes only meet for a moment, barely acknowledging me before she turns to Fern.

  “Cancel my two-thirty,” Cathrine says in a huff, “push back the dinner to eight. I’ll be out of the office from three to four-thirty and try to get Mathison on the phone for me. Send him right through when you do, please.”

  Fern nods to me.

  Cathrine’s gaze follows, and her eyes open a bit when she notices me again. “Come on, then.”

  I follow behind her into her office once more. She stops in front of her mahogany desk, slides her folder across it, and leans her hip against it, folding her arms over her chest. “Well?”

  “He signed.”

  I don’t miss the slight arch of her brow as she reaches out for my folder, her nails shining by the crystal chandelier light above. I hand it to her; she unzips it and begins to scan the contract. Her thin lips twist into a small smile as she stares up at me once more.

  My heart races, but now from excitement. I’ve seen her smile like that at others, but never me.

  I don’t trust it.

  I stifle my smile, waiting to make sure she’s pleased, rather than amused at something.

  At my willingness to bring a drug and arms dealer on board at Locke Industries? Have I made a huge mistake? Was this a different kind of test than I thought?

  “Congratulations, Josephine.” She sets the folder behind her and turns back to me with a sparkle in her eyes accompanying the remaining smile.

  I search her face for a hint of the truth betraying her. That she’s not actually happy with me. That I’ve done something wrong.

  “I thought you’d be happy.” Her smile disappears. “Maybe you will be once you see this.” She picks up a small stack of stapled papers from behind her and hands them to me. “We’re doubling your salary, beginning with the next pay period, and the conditions of signing bonuses for next time are all laid out there in your promotion package.”

  I glance at it, but the words are a blur. I can’t focus on anything but my new salary, laid out in bold font.

  It’s real.

  This is really happening.

  If my calculations are right, I can pay off the rehab debt in three months.

  Three months and I’m out of debt, and then saving that much, minus some for Andy’s new clothes, shoes, laptop or iPad, whichever he wants...

  “There’s the smile I was expecting.”

  I look up at Cathrine, and she’s smiling again.

  “Thank you,” I hear myself say, but it still feels like a dream.

  “You earned it.” She stands up straight and walks over to her bar cart.

  I earned it. I worked my ass off for years to reach this point, to make Andy proud—make myself proud. Now Cathrine’s proud of me too?

  Cathrine turns around with two champagne flutes full of bubbly liquid.

  This is really happening.

  She hands me one, tilts her glass up, and I raise mine, but before they touch, she pulls hers back and takes a sip. I do the same, the bubbles nipping at my nose as
I tilt it back and swallow, taking it all in.

  “Mr. Tackman has not been an easy client to sign.” She sets her glass on her desk and rests her hand on her hip. “He approached us... but he was hesitant. How did you do it?”

  Is Cathrine really asking me how I did something she couldn’t?

  My chest swells with pride, but what do I tell her?

  The truth. She needs to know what happened.

  It all comes back to me, the bags of cocaine and rows of guns. Was it really that easy for me to forget about them? And if I tell her, could everything I’ve just been handed be taken away?

  Maybe. But if this is wrong, for the company, for me, I don’t want it.

  “He wanted to be assured we could be trusted—that I could be trusted as the manager of his contract.” Cathrine nods, and I continue, lowering my voice. “He wanted me to know what he wanted us to protect.”

  She tips her head back, elongating her neck, her gaze falling to the floor, then back on me. “I see.”

  Does she already know, like Tackman said?

  “So, he showed me—”

  She holds up her hand. “Josephine. What have I always told you?”

  “That we secure the client’s business and mind our own.” She nods. “But he made it clear he had to show me before he signed.”

  “And that happens from time to time.” She rounds her desk. “But if it’s not mentioned in the contract, it’s not something we discuss with the client unless necessary, and we certainly keep our end of the contract by keeping their business confidential. That goes without saying, doesn’t it, Josephine?”

  She stops in front of her wingback chair by the bookcase against the wall, raising her brow slightly.

  She doesn’t want to know? Doesn’t need to know? Already knows and doesn’t want it discussed?

  She’d ask if she wanted to know, and what she doesn’t want right now are more questions. If I ask more questions, I could ruin her trust in me, and what little faith I’ve earned.