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

by Melanie Marchande

  “Well, I can’t,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”

  I don’t often take a hard line with Adrian, but in a fight between him and my mother, my mother wins. Every time. She makes him look like Mr. Rogers.

  “Meghan, come on. I’m giving you the perfect excuse to avoid it.” He looks back down at his paperwork. “Just make sure to arrange everything. I don’t want to deal with your family drama when the time comes.”

  I scowl at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish, but…”

  “It doesn’t matter what I’m trying to accomplish,” he growls. His eyes flash, and I swallow hard, finally seeing some hint of the passion I got to know last week. Not exactly how I wanted it, but at least it’s a reaction.

  A moment later, he calms down. “Just make arrangements, Meg. I’ll call you if I need you again.”

  It’s the longest workday of my life.

  When I get home, as I’m finally dropping my purse on the sofa, making all kinds of murderous plans in the back of my head, I hear my phone buzzing. My heart leaps into my throat, hoping against hope that it’s Adrian, calling to apologize.

  Seriously? What universe do I think I’m living in?

  Toto, we’re not in Austin anymore.

  I smirk to myself as I pick up my phone, but my smile quickly dies.

  Mom.

  “Hi, I just walked in. I can’t talk long.” I’m hoping my brusque demeanor will actually have an effect this time.

  “Don’t worry. I just need to know when you’re getting off for Thanksgiving.”

  Fuck.

  “I told you, I’m taking care of my own tickets.”

  She laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, I need to plan everything. You must know by now - haven’t you asked Mr. Risinger?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut tightly before I answer her. “Actually, I might have to work through Thanksgiving this year.”

  “What?” She’s so shrill that I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear. “That’s ridiculous. Tell him you can’t.”

  “It might not be an option, Mom.”

  “How is it not an option? There’s always an option. If you’re really so important to him, he’ll find a way to forgive you.”

  I’m pissed off at Adrian, I’m royally pissed off at my mom, I’m pissed off at the world - but right now, my mom trumps everything. The last thing I want to do is defend his power play, but fuck me, I’m going to.

  “I want to do this, Mom. It’s important for the company. It’s important to me. It’s not going to kill me to miss a Thanksgiving.” I take a deep breath. “And it won’t kill you, either. I’ll see you at Christmas.”

  Her voice is pure venom. “This conversation isn’t over, Meghan.”

  She’s not lying.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I MISS YOU

  That’s all it is. Three little words, on the screen of my phone.

  I stare it them, my heart pounding. It’s been a week since Austin, I’m just starting to wonder if the whole thing was some kind of insane fever dream.

  Another message comes in.

  Can we talk?

  I sigh, tapping out my answer before I have a chance to think about it too hard.

  About what?

  He answers quickly.

  You know what. I’m sorry, I’m an idiot. But don’t torture me.

  At that moment, my doorbell goes off. Seriously?

  Swear to God, if it’s my drunken neighbor who forgot his front door keys again…

  I look through the peephole, and my heart drops through my stomach. There’s no point in ignoring it - she’ll just keep on ringing.

  Even though I’m in my pajamas, I yank the door open.

  “Mom. Dad. So great to see you, and so unexpected.” I offer them a frozen smile. My mom is fuming, my dad lurking in the background with that hollow look in his eyes. She wore him down, like she always does.

  “Meghan.” My mom breezes in, planting a chilly kiss on my cheek. “Dressed for bed already? Don’t you ever go out?”

  “Not every night, Mom.” I’m hovering in the middle of the room as she wanders through the living room, running her finger along the shelving.

  “Do you ever dust?” she asks, her nose wrinkling slightly.

  I let out a sigh, because it’s all I can do. “So let me guess, you’re here to talk about Thanksgiving, huh?”

  She sits down, gingerly, on my sofa. “Yes. Have a seat, Meghan.”

  This is my place.

  I do what she asks.

  “I thought you might listen to reason if I could speak to you, face to face,” my mom says. “Besides which, your father and I haven’t seen the city in a while. We’re looking forward to playing tourist for a few days. I’m sure you’re busy with work, but I hope you’ll join us whenever you can disentangle yourself.”

  “I’m very busy these days,” I tell her, feeling my phone buzz in my hand. Shit. “Excuse me, Mom. I just have to use the restroom.”

  Hurrying down the hall, I shut the door behind me and stare at my phone.

  I’m coming over.

  Shit. Shit shit shit.

  It text him back hastily.

  Please don’t

  I can’t explain why. I’ll never hear the end of it if I do. He doesn’t answer for a moment, and I’m pretty sure I have several small heart attacks waiting for his response.

  Too late.

  The doorbell rings. My pulse hammers so hard it hurts, and I run to the front hall, pulling the door open with such force that it slams against the wall.

  Adrian’s standing there with his hands behind his back, still dressed from work but slightly unraveled. His tie is loose, his jacket gone, and his sleeves rolled up, and if my fucking parents weren’t here I would have immediately jumped on him.

  The look on my face gives him pause, just seconds before my mom’s voice echoes through the hall.

  “Who on earth is that, Meghan?”

  For a moment, he looks like a deer in the headlights, but he recovers quickly and steps inside. “I’m so sorry,” he says, as my parents approach like they’re on a lion-hunting expedition, and my boss is Aslan himself. “I didn’t know Meghan had company. How are you? Adrian Risinger, Meghan’s boss.”

  He sticks his hand out, and my dad goes first, hesitantly.

  “We know who you are,” says my mom, in a tone that lowers the temperature of the room by about twelve degrees. “Five years, and never once did you ask Meghan to work Thanksgiving. Now, all of a sudden, you need her all week? It’s completely unheard-of.”

  Adrian’s still got his other hand behind his back, holding a small white box. I have an inkling of what it might be, and it’s certainly nothing work-related.

  “Yes, well, I’m sorry about that,” he says, smoothly. I’ve seen him put on this face before in front of the senior partners, but they’re not my mom. “But, you see, working over Thanksgiving gives us a distinct advantage with the Japanese company I’m trying to partner with. My competitors won’t get to them until after the holidays, so if we strike while the iron is hot-”

  My mom closes her eyes, doing that angry, dismissive hand gesture she’s so good at. “No, no, no. I don’t want to hear it. If you’re determined to do this, that’s fine, but leave my daughter out of it. She will be at our family Thanksgiving.”

  Adrian cocks his head. I can feel something changing in the air, like he’s bristling a little.

  “With all due respect, Mrs. Burns, your daughter’s absolutely indispensable. I need her.” He glances at me, and his eyes momentarily storm with a thousand secrets. “It’s not my intention to ruin your family celebration, but can’t you perhaps postpone it?”

  My mother lets out a shrill laugh, and I cringe. “I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me how to run my family affairs?”

  “Are you trying to tell me how to run my business?” Adrian counters, taking a step towards her.

  My heart stops.

  “You do
n’t own my daughter’s life, Mr. Risinger.” My mother stares him down, but the expression on her face isn’t one I’ve seen before. “And I don’t need you to tell me how indispensable she is. I know she’s smart, I know she works hard. She’s too smart to be working for you. If you’re going to keep her as a secretary, the least you can do is respect her personal obligations.” She takes a deep breath. “Meghan, if you don’t stand up to him, he’s never going to respect you. No man will. You’re never going to get a decent job on a music major if you can’t act like a force to be reckoned with.”

  “Fine, Mom. Fine.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’ll come to Thanksgiving! Okay? I’ll come. But I’m getting my own tickets. Now please, I need to go over something with Mr. Risinger. I’ll call you in the morning, okay? We can make plans.”

  “Oh, I think your father and I will be just fine,” she sniffs. “Don’t put yourself out.”

  “I thought you said you wanted…”

  She waves her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not all that important. Obviously you’re very busy.”

  The look that she shoots me with makes it very, very obvious that Adrian’s lie didn’t go over quite as well as I’d hoped.

  “Sleep tight,” is her parting shot, before she shuts the door.

  I take a second to just breathe.

  “Good God.” Adrian collapses on the sofa, staring at me with wide eyes. “Should I call a priest?”

  A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest. “Oh, she’s not…she’s not that…”

  “See, you can’t even say it.” He chuckles. “It’s all right. You’re allowed to agree that your mother might be a demon, so long as you’re not the one who actually said it.”

  Sighing heavily, I walk into the kitchen. “All I have is rum, but at least it’s good - and ninety proof. Is that okay with you?”

  “Unless you have something stronger,” he says. “Like heroin. Or bath salts.”

  Snickering, I pour us each a glass and bring them over, sitting down beside him. “I’m sorry you walked into that.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I mean - I came over here to apologize, but I didn’t anticipating having to apologize for this.”

  I give him a look. The softness is back, in his face, his voice - it came on so gradually in Austin that I almost didn’t notice the change, but now I can see it clearly. “You do have a few apologies to deal out.”

  He drinks the whole glass in one swallow. “I know. Would you like a refill?”

  I manage a giggle. “Haven’t even started. Plus, I’m afraid that was the last of it. I haven’t hit up the liquor store lately.”

  “Shit. Anything else?” He’s already headed into the kitchen.

  “Just some wine I got. Haven’t tried it yet. It’s some seasonal new harvest thing.”

  He’s pulling the bottle out of the fridge. “Beaujolais nouveau? Oh, well - it’s a little juvenile, but it’ll do.”

  I roll my eyes. “Christ. You really don’t know how to do apologies, do you?”

  Adrian pours two glasses. “I’m teasing you. Mostly. I like it, myself.”

  I make a face when I taste it. It’s bright and fresh, but there’s a little too much of a vinegar aftertaste for me. Or a lot too much. I smack my lips, trying to figure out how it hits my palate.

  Adrian’s smiling, and it’s wicked.

  “What?” I ask him. “It’s just not my…”

  But he’s not reacting to me, he’s reacting to the wine.

  “This reminds me of something,” he says, licking his lips. “Something very specific.”

  “Oh yeah?” I lean back on the sofa.

  “Mmmhmm.” He looks me up and down. “A very particular flavor that I’ve developed a taste for recently.”

  I’m starting to blush. “I don’t know if I’m prepared for this conversation right now,” I admit.

  “Me neither,” he says. “But I gave it a shot. Too creepy?”

  I shake my head. “If my mother hadn’t just barged into my apartment, it probably would’ve worked a lot better.”

  “I didn’t know you majored in music,” he says, setting his glass down on the coaster. I’m not surprised he has good breeding, but I am kind of surprised that he’s not leaving a ring on my Ikea coffee table just to prove a point.

  “I started leaving it off my resume after I realized how it sounded.” I shift in my seat, eyes wandering to the box he’s set down on the table.

  He raises his eyebrows slightly. “How does it sound?”

  I shrug. “Flighty. Like I don’t really want a corporate job. I dunno, but I got a lot more callbacks when I left it off.”

  “Hmm.” He’s leaning back on the sofa, stretching his legs out in front of him. His slacks are so well-tailored I can see the muscles bunch and release under the finely-woven fabric. “I think it shows discipline.”

  He glances at me, and of course I’m bright red, thinking of his hand connecting with my ass. “Well, I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I finally grow a pair and quit on you.”

  Adrian is laughing. “Oh, Meg.” He slides one foot closer towards the sofa, leaving the other leg outstretched. “We both know that’s never going to happen.”

  I scowl at him. “How can you be so confident about everything all the time?”

  “It’s easy,” he shrugs. “Just make more money than anyone else you know.”

  I grab a throw pillow, and hurl it at his head.

  Grabbing it out of the air, he tosses it into the armchair across the room. “Pillow fight? That’s not very mature.”

  “Yeah, well.” Now I’m blushing even deeper than I ever thought possible, and wishing I could just disappear into the sofa. I know he came here for sex, and I’m wishing he’d just get on with it, because it’s much easier than talking. “You deserve something a lot heavier, but I don’t have any large rocks handy.”

  “Do you still play anything?” he asks me, and it takes a second to switch gears. God damn it, why won’t be stop harping on my musical past? Hahaha, good pun. I don’t want to talk about this. I don’t even want to think about it; it’s depressing.

  “Not really,” I deflect. “You didn’t come here to talk about my lack of a musical career, did you?”

  “No,” he admits, glancing at the box. “But your mother’s steely gaze may have derailed me just a bit.”

  I can’t help letting out an undignified snort. “I hope it doesn’t cause you any permanent damage.”

  “Don’t worry.” With a lightning-fast motion he’s upright again, his body turning towards mine, not actually closing the distance between us, but making my pulse quicken nonetheless. “I’m already starting to forget the details.”

  Licking my lips quickly, I glance at the box again. “Uh, so, in the words of the immortal Brad Pitt-”

  “What’s in the boooxx?” he intones, breaking into a grin. “You’ll find out in a minute, kitten. Are you sure you’re not too traumatized?”

  “Don’t tease me.” I’m pouting. I don’t know what it is about him that brings out my inner brat, but this is definitely more fun than interacting with him in the office. At work, I’ve got this compulsion to make myself heard, even when I know it’s not going to make a difference. I always feel silenced. But now, as he leans in to kiss me, to claim me, his hand on the side of my neck like a brand - I’m content to be silenced. More than that, I want to be silenced.

  Why? How is this different?

  Besides, the obvious, of course.

  The obvious is currently pressing against my thigh as he leans into me, flattening us both down on the sofa until my head hangs over the armrest and his body completely surrounds me, cages me in, somehow. It shouldn’t be physically possible. I’m wider than he is, but right now, I don’t feel it.

  His tongue plunders my mouth with the confidence of a man who knows he’s getting exactly what he wants tonight, and that probably shouldn’t be as sexy as it is. But holy shit, I’m turned on. Everythin
g about him turns me on, and I’m starting to question my whole history with Adrian, if maybe a good portion of my constant annoyance is just pure horniness.

  With an effort, he pulls away, and I realize I’ve clamped my thighs around him so he can barely move. Also, my arms are clasped around his back very tightly. Also, I might have been sucking on his tongue a little.

  Or - a lot.

  “Good god, woman,” he pants, swiping his sleeve across his mouth. “I know I’m good, but can’t you go a week without my dick and not end up a crazed sex fiend?”

  Yeah, no. He’s definitely legitimately annoying.

  And I definitely legitimately don’t care right now.

  “Let’s make a concerted effort to never find out,” I suggest, grabbing his face and pulling it back to mine.

  He chuckles against my mouth. “One or two visits to your place before a big business trip are easily explained away,” he murmurs. “After a while, though, people are going to talk.”

  My heart sinks. This is it. This is the conversation I thought we’d be having when we got back, just not in this context. Not right now. Please, not right now. I want to beg him to shut up, but instead, I just say: “No one’s gonna notice, you egomaniac.”

  Swiftly, he pins my wrists down, growling, “call me names again when we’re in bed together. I dare you.”

  “We’re not in bed,” I point out, innocently.

  “All right, that’s it.” He jumps to his feet, grabbing my hand and pulling me along with him. “Which direction’s the bedroom?”

  “The only direction there is in here,” I grouse. “Other than outside.”

  Adrian yanks me to him and swats me once, firmly, on my backside. “Stop it. What’s put you in this mood, all of sudden?”