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

by Melanie Marchande

“…so long as he feels the same way about you,” my dad finishes, finally. There’s a barely-veiled skepticism in his eyes.

  I take a cautious sip of my coffee, but it still scalds my tongue on the way down. “Duly noted.”

  “Meg, come on. Don’t be mad. I’m just doing my duty as a father. I don’t want you to get hurt. Rushing into marriage is never a good idea.” He smiles wryly. “Take it from me.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not you. Or mom,” I point out. “And we didn’t ‘rush.’ We knew each other, for a long time.”

  He nods. “I know. But you…” Sighing, he sets his cup down. “I know how flattering it is when somebody comes into your life like a whirlwind. Your mom was like that. Believe it or not. I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. She was way, way too good for me. I ignored every single red flag, because I thought it was the only chance I’d ever have at happiness.”

  My mouth is thinning without any conscious effort on my part. “What are you trying to say, Dad?”

  “Nothing,” he cuts in, quickly. Too quickly. “I just want you to be careful. You’ve always been clever, honey, but you have a big heart. It makes you vulnerable.”

  I don’t know why I have to keep poking at this, like a sore tooth. My phone starts buzzing in my pocket, but I ignore it. “So that’s it, huh?”

  He looks pained. “Come on, Meg - I’m sure you can see it.”

  I’m tapping my fingers on the counter. I’m not sure when I started, or where I picked up the habit - except I do. This exact rhythm is one of Adrian’s tells. Roughly translated: I am fucking furious.

  “Let’s pretend I don’t,” I say, calmly. “For the sake of argument.”

  Sighing, he folds his hands on the table. “I just want you to know you have options, Meg. More options than you think. Don’t let yourself believe he’s your one and only, just because he’s your only.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, Dad, but he’s not exactly my only.”

  He presses his lips together tightly, grimacing a little.

  “You brought it up,” I point out.

  “That’s not what I meant,” he mutters. “Sometimes the world just…narrows down, and it feels like we only have one option. For whatever reason. Either because we think we’re not good enough, or because we don’t fit in to certain…” He clears his throat. “Societal standards.”

  My phone keeps buzzing. I silence it without looking at the screen.

  “Adrian loves me the way I am,” I tell him. “He’s not settling for me, and I’m not settling for him.”

  “All right,” he says.

  Clearly, he doesn’t believe me. But this is the best I can do to convince him.

  Once we say our goodbyes and I’m back out on the sidewalk, headed home, it takes me a while to remember the calls I got while I was talking to my dad. I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything he said, everything he implied. Me and Adrian, the odd couple - for so many reasons, but primarily because of what I look like.

  My father doesn’t see it. Not that I’d expect him to. And I know he just wants to protect me, to absolve the guilt of all the times he failed to shield me from Mom. But he’s so wrong about Adrian, and me.

  I’m halfway home before I remember check my phone. Three missed calls from Adrian, and a text.

  Where are you? Call me when you get this.

  I tap on his name. It rings a few times and then goes to voicemail, but as soon as I hang up, he’s calling me back.

  “I’m on my way home,” I tell him. “Sorry. I set my phone down and forgot about it until I was leaving. I just got your message.”

  Why lie? I could just tell him I cut out early from work, and not the part about my dad. But then he’ll probably wonder why I didn’t come home. No, this is better.

  He hesitates for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “Well, we’ve made a little bit of progress. Bob’s not letting me say anything about it publicly yet, but he did have a pretty good suggestion. The tabloids are going to pick this up, and we could ignore it - but we can show him we’re not intimidated by getting out there, not with anything about the lawsuit, of course - he recommended hiring someone who’s good at PR. I mean, really, really good at PR. If we have a strategy, we might be able to intimidate him into dropping the lawsuit even faster.”

  “I don’t get it. So he wants us to go on the news and talk about…adorable puppies?”

  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” he says. “But we’ll have to run it by a professional. The idea, as far as I understand it, is to dismiss his claims that I’ve disappeared into the woodwork, and demonstrate that I’m not afraid. It’ll force him to come up with something better. And he’s got nothing to stand on.”

  “Great, so what’s the urgency?”

  “I’m trying to get us an appointment with someone,” he says. “But she’s supposedly out of the business. I have a connection, and I’m hoping he’ll be able to introduce us. Nick Douglass, noted philanthropist and party animal. When he’s not saving orphans, he’s experimenting with hallucinogens that even the CIA won’t use anymore. But almost nobody knows about it, thanks to his PR spokesperson.”

  “Nobody except you,” I point out.

  “And you, now,” he says. “Keep it to yourself, hmm?”

  “Sure thing.” My stomach is still twisted from my lie. I think I got it out pretty smoothly, but I still get the sense that he knows something’s wrong. “So I should be there?”

  “Bob thinks we should present a united front. Just try not to make that face that politician’s wives always make after they get caught with seven prostitutes.”

  That makes me smile a little. “You seem like you’re in a better mood.”

  “I’m just punchy,” he says. “The bastard’s not going to take me down. It’s decided. The only question is how far I’ll have to go to stop him.”

  “How far we’ll have to go,” I remind him.

  Again, he hesitates. “Right. Of course.”

  “I’m almost home. See you in a minute.”

  I hang up at the crosswalk near our building, feeling heartsick and worried and guilty.

  After some finagling, we manage to get an appointment with Cassandra Kirkland, PR rep extraordinaire. Nick meets us outside her office - he’s young, handsome with a touch of goofy, and generally seems too sharp for someone leading the lifestyle that Adrian implied.

  “Thanks for this,” he says, shaking Nick’s hand. “So, what color are the spiders today?”

  “Jesus,” Nick complains. “You drop acid one time, and suddenly you’re ‘the acid guy.’” He glances at me. “Hi, you must be Meg.”

  I nod, smile, and shake his hand too.

  “Trust me, it was less about the acid, and more about your reaction to it,” says Adrian, grinning.

  “Watch it, Risinger. Don’t forget you were at most of those parties, too. I could start spilling all kinds of fascinating information to your bride.”

  “Go ahead,” says Adrian, even as some of the color disappears from his face. “I’m not hiding anything. Experimenting with the occasional recreational drug isn’t a crime.”

  “Actually, I’m pretty sure it is,” I point out.

  Nick shrugs. “Not if you’ve not enough money to throw around.”

  “Gross,” I tell him. “Also, I worked for Adrian for five years. There’s absolutely nothing you could say that would surprise me. Although I’ll admit he seems to have downgraded to bourbon breakfasts since I met him. Not so much with the tripping of the balls.”

  “Fair enough,” Nick says. “All right. Here’s the thing - Cassie can be a little bit prickly, but she owes me a favor. I’m sure she’ll be happy to help you. Eventually.”

  Right. That’s encouraging.

  Ms. Kirkland appears to be working out of a half-finished high rise, which Nick explains is due to her attempts to start an entirely new business. “She’s sick of cleaning up other people’s messes, but I thought this might be kind of a fun
last hurrah for her.”

  “Fun,” Adrian repeats. “Right. I’m sure it’s going to be an absolute blast.”

  “Hey,” says Nick. “Be grateful there are people who thrive on this kind of drama, they’re the ones who will dig you out of the mud - every time.”

  Cassandra’s office is the most completed part of the whole place, which still isn’t saying much. The sofa in her waiting room still has plastic on it, and the receptionist’s desk is empty. “Don’t worry, she’s expecting us,” Nick assures me, but that doesn’t really make me feel better.

  The woman herself is seated behind a huge desk, with her laptop open. She’s got glossy hair in a bob cut that just brushes her shoulders, and when she stands up, it’d be impossible for me not to notice how her skirt cuts in at just the right angle to accentuate her hourglass curves.

  I glance at Adrian, but if he likes what he sees, he’s hiding it well.

  Good.

  “Thank you for meeting with me,” Adrian says, but she only halfway acknowledges him before she turns a sour look on Nick. “You owe me for this, you know.”

  “Um.” He clears his throat, glancing at us. “I thought you might…enjoy the challenge?”

  Cassandra sighs. “A, I’m not taking on any new clients. You know that. B, the only reason I still answer your calls is because I’m hoping you’ll finally confess that you’re in love with my sister, so we can end this decade-plus saga of pining. I know it’s probably very poignant and romantic for you, but for the rest of us, it’s just getting really, really old.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Nick, with an expression on his face that suggests he knows exactly what she’s talking about. “I’m just trying to help out a friend.” He glances at Adrian. “Well. An acquaintance. I don’t mean to get too familiar.”

  “Yeah, God forbid.” Cassandra rolls her eyes. “Don’t want to rush into anything. You might actually connect with another human being, and then where would we be?”

  I jerk my head in Adrian’s direction. “This one took five years to tell me how he felt.”

  “You’re one of the lucky ones,” she says. not looking up from her screen. “See, the first thing human beings are supposed to learn is how to negotiate with other people so you both get what you need. When you grow up rich, you just buy everything. Billionaires are emotionally impaired. It’s a fact.”

  “Sorry,” says Nick, quietly, glancing at us.

  “Don’t apologize for me,” Cassandra snaps. “I’ll do it. But only because I read your email, Mr. Risinger, and this Mike Morgan sounds like a horrible person. But I won’t be able to devote much time to your situation, I’m trying to start a new business of my own.”

  “We understand,” I tell her, quickly. “Thank you so much for taking the time to help.”

  After a moment of silence, broken only by the tap-tapping of Cassie’s keyboard, Adrian speaks up. “My lawyer felt like it might be a good idea to put myself out there,” he says, sounding a lot less excited about it now.

  Cassie hesitates. “A public appearance wouldn’t be bad. But you can’t address the lawsuit directly. Best not to address it at all. There needs to be something else you can go on TV and talk about, a charity drive maybe? Just to show you’re not in hiding. He does have a point…about you disappearing, I mean. It doesn’t look good.”

  “Who cares?” Adrian is barely concealing his irritation, and I can’t figure out why it’s suddenly bothering him so much. “Who’s looking? I’m not here to gladhand and entertain the masses. I didn’t even do that when I was running a multi-billion-dollar company, why is it suddenly so crucial now?”

  “Well, you’ve been dragged into the limelight whether you like it or not,” she says, sensibly. “He’s calling you out. Trust me, I’ve got enough experience to know how these things shake out. The best thing you can do is put yourself out there, be likable, be charming, demonstrate that you’ve got nothing to hide. Once it becomes obvious that you’re winning in the court of public opinion, he’ll back down. On the other hand, if you don’t, he’s never going to let go. He won’t let you ignore him, and he won’t settle out of court. He wants a spectacle. He wants to humiliate you, like he feels you humiliated him. You might not care what anyone thinks of you, but he does. That’s his endgame. If you want to beat him, you have to understand that.”

  “Are you a publicist, or a general?” I raise my eyebrows at her.

  “I just read Sun Tzu’s The Art of War,” she confesses. “I find it’s strangely applicable in cases like these.”

  “So…I volunteer at an animal shelter, if that’s helpful,” I offer.

  “Great!” Cassie grins, fiercely. “That’s perfect. Everybody loves animals. Get a basket of puppies, plop them in front of a camera. I can get you on that bullshit show he was on, just promise me you won’t talk about anything but adorable furry creatures and whatever charity drive you’re presumably going to line up for this.”

  “My lawyer would have me drawn and quartered,” says Adrian. “Trust me. I’m not saying a word, as much as it kills me.”

  Two Years Ago

  “My hand is literally cramped into a permanent claw.” I glare at Mr. Risinger, and he just stares impassively back. “That’s it. That’s my line in the sand. I’ve already typed up too many letters to count since I got here. Twelve hours ago. You’re perfectly capable of typing yourself, I see you doing it every day.”

  “Yes, but my time is more valuable than yours,” he says, smiling. “By the unfair vagaries of the universe. I don’t make the rules, I just delegate. Dictate it if you have to, send it down to the transcription department to get it in print.”

  “Dictate it? Are you serious?” I gape at him. “Can this really not wait until tomorrow?”

  “It certainly can’t wait until after your impending carpal tunnel surgery, so you might as well do it tonight,” he says, calmly. “Don’t you have some sort of, I don’t know, voice memo nonsense on your phone? Use that. I’m sure they’ll love you down on the third floor. Make sure to chew gum into the microphone.”

  There’s no point in arguing with him.

  And that’s how I find myself talking like a robot into my phone, with the eerie hum of a mostly-empty office around me.

  “…and pursuant to the terms laid out in the letter you’ll find dated five-six-twenty-twelve, we will provide the requested information…”

  “Hey, sweet cheeks.”

  Oh, fuck me.

  Mike Morgan sidles his way up to my desk.

  “Transcription, ignore that, please.” I just keep staring down at the screen. “Mr. Morgan, I’m very busy, as you can see. I need to keep this recording as clean as possible for the transcribers.”

  “Oh, well, in that case.” He chuckles. “I better not say what I’m thinking, huh?”

  “I’d certainly recommend against it,” I tell him, coolly. “Did I mention this is being recorded?”

  “Kinky.” He grins, disappearing back down the hallway.

  God damn it, I hate that slimeball.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ADRIAN

  It’s been a long time since I’ve appeared on TV. I’ve forgotten the unpleasant feeling of makeup caked onto your skin like Spackle, the blinding glare of the lights. I’ve spent way too much of my life discussing what tie colors apparently come across as “respectable” and “trustworthy” with Cassie, and she gave Meg a similar treatment.

  “As one woman of substance to another, just remember that the camera adds ten pounds,” she said, dryly. “Adjust your expectations accordingly. Or, just refuse to watch footage of yourself - that’s how I deal with it.”

  “Thanks, but I doubt ten pounds is going to make much of a difference on me either way,” Meg replied.

  Cassie just gave her a sympathetic smile.

  Now, we’re here. There’s no turning back. I’ve been assured a dozen times that no one is going to bring up the lawsuit, or the accusation, or anythi
ng except the adopt-a-thon that Meg and Shelly pulled out of their asses at the last minute.

  There is an actual, literal basket full of squirming puppies involved. Meg made sure there’s no less than two PAs assigned to their care and comfort. I’m afraid they’re somehow, mysteriously not going to make it back to the shelter when we’re done, and my life will suddenly become a whimsical animated kid’s film.

  Well, I suppose that would be better than what I’ve got going on now.

  Before I know it, we’re getting the countdown from the cameraman. “On you in three…two…” One.

  The host starts his opening babble, and I arrange my face into something that I hope looks pleasant and neutral.

  “…welcome our guests, Adrian and Meghan Risinger. Thank you so much for coming on the show!”

  “Thank you for having us, Cole,” says Meg, with a dazzling smile.

  “Yes, thank you.” I didn’t expect to be playing second fiddle, but then, I suppose it makes sense. She’s the one who can really speak for the shelter. I’m just here to look pretty.

  “For those who don’t know, Adrian Risinger is the billionaire CEO turned romance novelist, and Meg is the woman he credits as his muse. After working as his secretary, she then became his wife. It’s quite the life story, but today I understand you want to talk about something to do with these adorable little guys.”

  One of the cameras obediently pans down to the Basket o’ Puppies.

  Meg starts to talk about the event, and her work at the shelter, and my mind wanders far away while I watch her and nod occasionally, just in case the camera cuts to me.

  I know she wasn’t at work when I called. Since I knew Cassie was trying to squeeze us in to an already-packed schedule, I was trying to get ahold of Meg as quickly as possible to make sure she could get there. When she didn’t answer, I called Shelly.

  Shelly didn’t know where she was either, but she knew Meg wasn’t at the shelter.

  So, there’s that. I don’t know what to make of it. Meg doesn’t lie, if anything she tends to over-share, as far as I know. But even if I hadn’t known, I would have been able to hear it in her voice. She was holding something back from me. But why?