An actual blizzard, I mean. As in the winter storm. Although an extra-thick milkshake certainly wouldn’t go amiss.
I’m about to page Carol again and ask her if we can order out, then I remember it’s nine in the morning.
Right. Maybe after lunch, then.
I’m sitting there fanning myself with financial reports and daydreaming of cookies ‘n cream when my phone dings with a calendar alert. Right. That fucking keynote.
Okay. I need to pull myself together. I’m supposed to be there by 11:30 so I can speak over lunch. It’s some “women in business” summit or other, I was going to do a little more research about it last week so I could throw in a few customized lines in my usual keynote speech, but then Felix happened and I sort of forgot about...everything.
Right. Okay. No thinking about that now. Just focus on pulling yourself together and getting to the venue.
All I want to do is dunk my head under a cold faucet, but there’s absolutely no way I’m redoing my makeup today. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I settle for just running my wrists under the cold water, and that helps a little.
Shit, do I have a fever? I wasn’t lying to Carol, I honestly never get them. My body temperature is like some kind of universal constant. And I feel a little tired, but not sick. I poke at the sides of my neck - my glands aren’t swollen either. What’s wrong with me?
It must just be the stress.
I wait until the absolute last minute to pull on my jacket and go outside for my car.
“Aren’t you cold?” the driver immediately asks me, and I realize I forgot my winter coat. All I’ve got on is my blazer, and that’s only because it ties the outfit together.
“Not really,” I reply. “Can we just get going?”
I roll down the window and let the cold air rush over my face. The driver frowns at me in the rearview and rolls up the partition.
When we finally arrive at the hotel, I stand out in front until the chill starts to creep through my jacket. I’m finally starting to feel comfortable. Is it warmer out today? Judging by the attire and the overall bearing of most people walking past me, not really.
Fine, so it’s just me. Whatever. I’m just running hot today.
I have to stop and ask three different employees to point me towards the right conference room. By the time I get there, the winter chill has completely worn off and I’m already starting to feel like I’m melting.
This is ridiculous. I take a minute to slow my breathing before I walk in through the side door of the conference room and seek out the person who looks like they’re in charge.
“Meghan, thank you so much for coming! You look…”
Please don’t tell me how I look.
“...radiant,” she finishes, with a smile that suggests she means something else.
I stand next to the small stage, fanning myself with my speech in a manila folder. My hair’s starting to stick to the back of my neck, and I can only hope the lights are bright enough that nobody will be able to see me that clearly. So far, it’s looking good. I practically need sunglasses to look at them.
Someone’s talking into the microphone. I perk up, forcing myself to focus on hearing my name so I don’t miss my cue. I ascend to the stage over the sound of polite applause and the clinking of plates.
The lights sure are bright. They’re also hot. I don’t know how I didn’t anticipate that. As soon as I get up there, sweat drops fall off my face and splatter on my papers. They’re vaguely the color of my foundation.
Great. Just great. I actually am melting.
I’ve given this speech four times already this year. I basically have it memorized, but I always keep the written version with me just in case. Speaking in public has never really bothered me, which I know puts me in a rare breed. Even Adrian, who’s more experienced by far, is likelier to get a case of the nerves than I am. Even so, I want to be ready for that time when I freeze up and panic.
That’s not exactly what’s happening now. But whatever it is, it’s not good.
I’m not sure how long it’s been since I was introduced. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here. The lights are beating down on me like I’m in a damn cartoon crawling towards an oasis in the desert. I keep staring at the words on the paper, but I can’t make my eyes focus.
Why is it so damn hot?
“When I…”
My own voice sounds strange to me. My head’s swimming, and I can see black dots in front of my eyes.
“I…”
I got my wish - nobody’s close enough to see my face, so they can’t tell something’s wrong until they hear my voice. The conference organizer rushes up to me and grabs me by the arm, leading me away. I try to protest, but my vision briefly goes black and I stumble.
I don’t lose consciousness, not all the way, but it’s enough to make me realize I need to sit down.
We leave the room quickly, and she leads me...somewhere. My eyes are only half-open, or maybe my vision’s only half-working. I can’t be sure.
A while later, I realize I’m sitting in one of those odd little lounge areas near the bathrooms in nice hotels. The organizer’s dabbing my forehead with a paper towel, and she’s taken my blazer off and draped it across the back of the chair.
“Here,” she says, handing me a chilled water bottle. For one mad, impetuous moment, I think about asking her to make a run to Dairy Queen instead.
“Thanks,” I say instead, taking the bottle from her.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Absolutely,” I lie. “I’m sorry, this usually doesn’t happen to me.”
“It’s perfectly fine,” she assures me. “You just go home and relax, I’ll make your excuses.”
It’s just nerves. It has to be. At any rate, she seems to be assuming that it’s just panic and nothing she needs to call an ambulance for. Thank God. I can’t stand people fussing over me.
And then I try to stand up.
The next thing I know, I’m staring at the ceiling.
I don’t find my voice again until the paramedics are there. They won’t let me try to stand again, won’t let me walk, but they keep asking all these questions, it feels like the same ones over and over and over again. Do I have diabetes. Do I have any autoimmune disorders. Do I ever test my blood sugar. Is there....
The question doesn’t fully land with me until the nurse is asking me again, in the clinic.
Is there any chance I might be pregnant?
“I’m on the pill,” I tell her.
She nods. “Well, sometimes it’s less effective in women who weigh more than a hundred and eighty pounds.”
She hasn’t weighed me yet. She doesn’t need to.
“I know, but it’s always worked for me. Or at least...I guess I just assumed it was working.”
“Well, let’s go ahead and run a few tests.”
I sit in the waiting room for what feels like hours, alone. Silent except for the ticking of the novelty Garfield clock on the wall. I’m still so hot.
That nurse doesn’t come back. It’s someone new, a doctor or a nurse practitioner I guess, who walks into the room and shuts the door carefully behind her.
And then she speaks.
“I’ve got some exciting news for you, Mrs. Risinger.”
-
I take a cab back to the office and walk through the doors, completely in a daze. In the hallway, I pass the maintenance team poking at the thermostat and frowning. There’s nothing wrong with it, I want to tell them. But my tongue won’t move.
I sit in my office, completely still, for almost an hour before I remember that I run this place and I can go home if I want to.
I send Carol a message that I’m not feeling well and I’ll be heading home. I’m sure she’s not surprised.
The cool shower at home is the nicest thing I’ve ever felt in my life. I just stand there and let myself enjoy it, trying not to think about what I’ve just learned.
It’s not that it’s b
ad. It’s just too much. I can’t process this right now.
The doctor told me that it was actually quite typical for women in early pregnancy to run a higher body temperature, not to mention occasional lightheadedness. It all made sense now. Things had been tasting different, smelling different, feeling different. It wasn’t my imagination. My hormones were all out of whack.
Adrian comes home early to check on me. When I hear the door click open, my heart jumps into my throat and I don’t know why. He’s going to be so happy. I’m so happy. Aren’t I?
We always knew we’d get around to it eventually, on our own time. I just wasn’t in a hurry. So the timeline was a little off, so what. We’d make it work.
He walks into the bedroom, taking in the dim lights and my still-damp self wrapped in a bathrobe. Carefully, he sits down on the edge of the bed.
“Hey,” he says. “Are you feeling okay? Carol said you went home right after your keynote.”
I nod silently. I’m still formulating a speech in my head.
He kisses my forehead and wraps me up in a hug.
“Did you go and get the test done with Felix?” I ask him, because God knows I can’t just leave well enough alone.
He sighs. “I did.”
“And?”
“I did. Felix didn’t. He ghosted.”
Of course he did.
“Go on,” Adrian continues. “You can say it. You told me so.”
“Maybe he had to deal with an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency that he couldn’t drop me a line?” Adrian grumbles.
I think about it for a second. “So, I ran into him the other day. I was running some errands and I saw him...carrying a baby.”
“A baby?” Adrian repeats, confused. “No. Not his baby, surely. He must’ve been taking care of it.”
“I don’t know. It looked like the baby lived with him.”
“But why wouldn’t he tell me?” Adrian demands, pulling back from the hug. “That doesn’t make any sense. He told me he’d never even had a serious relationship.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
“This is ridiculous.” Adrian gets to his feet and pulls out his phone. “I’m getting to the bottom of this, now.”
“Why?” I ask him, my head spinning again. I force myself to breathe slowly and stay calm. “He’s a liar. It doesn’t matter why. He’ll leave you alone now.”
“Because I want to know,” he says.
“You’re still going to help him.”
Adrian pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “He’s got a baby, Meg. I have to.”
“A lot of people have babies.” This would be the moment to segue into my news, if I were a psychopath. I decide to save it.
“And he’s the only one who asked me for help. I don’t fucking care about his past, Meg. I truly don’t. I finally have the chance to tip the scales a little bit back towards someone who’s never been as lucky as I have. I’m going to do it.”
I’ve got nothing to say to that.
-
Adrian’s been hiding in his home office for a few hours when I hear the doorbell chime. I’ve at least changed into pajamas by this point, but I put on one of the nicer dressing-gowns over the top just in case it’s someone other than the UPS guy.
Out in the hallway, I almost collide with Adrian. I didn’t even know he could hear the doorbell from his office.
I hang back while he answers the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” my husband demands.
Felix’s voice comes a moment later, softer. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to…”
“No. You don’t get to come to my home. I gave you this address for emergencies only.”
I poke my head around the corner. “You gave him our address?”
Felix clears his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m sorry about everything.”
“Come inside,” Adrian barks. “Standing out there where anybody can see you, for God’s sake.”
Felix does, politely wiping his worn boots on the doormat until the last flecks of snow are gone.
“I tried to come up with a clever plan,” he says, softly. “But I ended up just...panicking.”
“You lied to me,” Adrian says. “How did you even know about Vanessa?”
Felix takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. He’s still just standing there in our foyer, looking younger and more vulnerable than ever. But there’s a sense of determination in his eyes.
“She gave an interview to some tabloid a while ago. It ended up as a blind item in a couple of the gossip blogs. You probably didn’t even see it.”
He was right. Secretly, I have a Google alert set up for anything involving us. I know we’ve got a publicist for that, but I still like to have my finger on the pulse. But now that I know about this, I can search for the specific story, and it doesn’t take me long to find. Without Adrian’s name attached directly, I never would’ve seen it. But the circumstances match exactly what he told me about his past with Vanessa.
“It’s true,” I say, looking up from my phone. Both men are staring at me expectantly.
“That’s a dirty trick,” Adrian says, looking back at Felix. “Why on earth…why me?”
Felix shrugs. “I guess I thought you’d see yourself in me. I don’t know.”
“Meg says she saw you with a baby. Is it yours?”
Felix’s gaze falters for the first time. “Yes,” he says, at last. “Isabella. I’m all she’s got. I’m just trying to do right by her, and I’m running out of options.”
My stomach flips.
“It was still a dirty trick,” Adrian says. “Why not just ask me for help?”
“You never would have picked my letters out of the slush pile. You know that as well as I do.”
A long silence before Adrian speaks again. “Felix, where were you born?”
He finally looks up, a flash of fire in his eyes. “Why does it matter?” he demands, with a quiver in his voice.
“I want to help you,” Adrian says gently. “But you have to...you’ve got to tell me the truth, Felix.”
“The truth is that I was born here, but my parents weren’t. The truth is that I can’t prove it and the courts want to send me back to a country I’ve never been to, with a language I don’t speak. I won’t go. I can’t leave Isabella.”
At that, my heart cracks in two.
Tears are streaming down my face before I even realize what’s happening. I’m shaking, angry, devastated, the full weight of Felix’s situation finally crashing down on me.
Slowly, the realization sinks in. I’ve been so driven, so unwilling to stop and take a breath. Because if you stop, you start to notice things. You start to ask yourself questions that you’d rather not answer.
For most of my life, I looked up at people like Adrian with a sharp envy. I never truly thought I’d be one of them, but now I am. And ever since that happened, ever since I married into this incredible fortune, I haven’t taken even a second to stop and question my place in this.
Of course I’ve done good. There have been charities, fundraisers, millions and millions of dollars funneled towards helping the people who need it. But it’s not enough, is it?
I can plainly see that it’s not enough. I’m confronted with the evidence every single day. Why is it so easy to ignore?
“You don’t have to,” says Adrian, putting his hand on Felix’s shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”
“Thank you,” says Felix, his voice breaking.
I drift into the kitchen and sit down. My head’s spinning again and I don’t want to end up like before.
Adrian and Felix say their goodbyes, but I can hardly hear it over the buzzing in my head. I try to just focus on breathing. In, out. In, out.
A soft meow comes from somewhere by my feet. A moment later, two paws press against my thigh as Chester cranes his neck to investigate what I’m up to.
I stroke his head and he
purrs loudly.
Adrian sits down in a chair across from me, sighing.
“I have no idea how to help him,” he admits.
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out.” I straighten up a little, and Chester takes the opportunity to jump into my lap. Circling around a few times, he finally settles nestled up against my belly.
“That’s new,” Adrian comments.
I look up at him, my eyes still wet. “I think he knows,” I whisper.
“Knows what?” Adrian tilts his head a little, frowns in confusion. I can see the gears turning while I try to find the words. “Knows what, Meg?” His tone’s more urgent now, as he crouches down in front of me. He’s figuring it out.
“Meg?” he says again, and his breathless tone says everything.
I’m nodding, and crying, and he’s clasping his hands around mine and Chester doesn’t even flinch. Just sits there, purring away happily as we embrace around him.
A little family. Everything we need, we have right here.
“I love you,” Adrian murmurs into my neck.
“I love you too.”
I don’t know what our future holds. Not for us, not for our child. Not for Felix and Isabella. But I know I’ll do anything, and I won’t forget how lucky I am. I won’t be content to sit on the sidelines and watch the rest of the world struggle and strive while we live in luxury. It doesn’t sit right with me. It never did.
I’m going to start listening to that voice in the back of my head. I’m going to change things.
One day at a time, I’m going to change.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
ON HITTING ROCK Bottom
Here's the thing: I know I don't have to explain myself. It's not unusual for authors to take the occasional long hiatus, only coming back to write another story about their old faves many years later.
I never wrote a third His Secretary book. Honestly, it was never my plan to write a second one. Unplanned sequels to standalone books are really one of those things where you feel like you can't win. Fans will, understandably, ask for more stories if they like your characters. But if you're active on social media at all, new readers will constantly ask you "is this a standalone book? I don't want to start a new series right now." Also a very understandable thing.
His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection) Page 47
