His Secretary: Undone

by Melanie Marchande

  He gives the woman a smile that I distinctly dislike, and I catch the way his eyes follow her rear end as she sways back to the galley. This should not be bothersome to me, except that I find myself wondering if she's included in the fare.

  Okay, that's pretty low of me. I'm sure she's a very nice person, and she's just hoping for a generous tip. But Adrian really needs to pop his eyes back into his head, before I do it for him.

  "Money," he says, slowly. "That's the thing you exchange for goods and services, right?"

  "I'm going to throw my champagne on you." I make a face. "It sucks, anyway."

  "It doesn't suck," he says. "You suck."

  "That's real mature." I kick him under the little table that separates us. It's an impulsive move, but I'm drinking champagne at eight o'clock in the morning on a private jet with my asshole boss. If not now, when?

  And he's right. It doesn't suck.

  He laughs, trapping my foot between his. "Ouch, Ms. Burns. But you'll have to strike a little quicker than that to get the best of me."

  I wriggle my foot free. "I'm rubber, you're glue…"

  "You know, a good employee would thank me for taking them on this wonderful adventure," he says, gesturing to our surroundings. "Instead of acting like a little brat."

  "And yet, going on five years, and I'm the best you can do." I pout at him. "It's a sad, sad story, Mr. Risinger."

  ***

  I step out onto the tarmac in Austin, and I don't feel the instant prickles of sweat on my scalp that I expect. It's hot, sure, but it's not inhumanly hot.

  Adrian's insisted that we arrive the day before the conference actually starts, so we've got time to "settle in." I don't know what that means, but I've saved all of my really nice outfits - including the silky underwear - for the actual conference. I'm hoping that we don't run into anyone I'm supposed to impress, but part of me suspects it doesn't really matter. Nobody actually expects writers to dress like models, do they? Don't most of them wear bathrobes and slippers?

  I glance sidelong at Adrian, trying to picture him in a bathrobe.

  Danger! Abort abort abort. Okay, yeah, picturing him in anything that can be removed easily with a single flick of the wrist probably isn't good for my sanity.

  The ride from the airport seems to take forever, following a complex grid of side streets and alleyways that make me wonder where the hell all those massive highways go. Clearly, not wherever we're headed. But I start to enjoy the local color as we creep our way from stoplight to stoplight; the psychic palm reader across from the expensive-looking luxury homes, the taco trucks with the neon lights, the city bursting with a joyful energy that defies any thoughts of beige gentrification.

  We've got adjoining rooms at the hotel, both under his name. I wonder what the clerk's thinking, as she checks us in. I wonder why I care.

  The first thing I do, after dropping my bags, is make sure the connecting door is locked. He made a big deal about the adjoining rooms when we checked in, and I can't figure out why he thinks it's going to matter. Unless he thinks we'll have a reason to travel back and forth without being presentable enough for a hotel hallway.

  Stop it.

  It's a pretty nice place, but I'm guessing it's a far cry from the ultra-luxury hotels he's used to staying at. I wander over to the picture windows to draw the curtains back, only to discover that the windows are actually sliding glass doors.

  The midday heat is really starting to settle in now, but curiosity draws me out of my air conditioned oasis to explore the little balcony. It extends much further than I expect - and I soon realize that's because it connects to Adrian's room, as well.

  He's pulled his curtains back, too. I can see him pacing, with his tie undone, talking animatedly on the phone with someone. I immediately feel like a creep. He probably hasn't realized yet that our balconies are attached. He's got no idea anyone can see him, least of all me. This is the tallest building in the block by far.

  Face burning, I creep back to my room and make sure to lock the the sliding glass door behind me, and close the curtains again. I don't know why. It's not that I actually think he has that little respect for my privacy, but I feel better anyway.

  I flop down on the bed and start flipping through the channels. There's nothing on TV here, either. The streets below us are bustling with activity, and when I was outside I could hear the thudding of live music starting somewhere down the street. A few years back, I would have thrown on a cute dress and gone down to wander the streets, stopping into any bar that had the doors open to see how cheap their beer was. I've heard Austin is a friendly city, and nothing I've seen so far can contradict that. Back before Adrian, I probably would have tried to pick up one of those hipsters with a handlebar mustache and rolled-up jeans, riding a rental bicycle to the Alamo Drafthouse. And I would've had a good time, too.

  But that was me, then. This is me, now. I hardly recognize myself anymore.

  The fact that I've agreed to speak on a panel is proof enough that I'm not even recognizably Meghan anymore. Of course, I didn't really have a choice. But something that would've put me in a cold sweat, once upon a time - suddenly it doesn't feel like such a bad idea. Maybe because I'm not me, I'm Natalie. And Natalie knows how to speak to a crowd. It's something about romance trends or whatever - basically, I feel like I can reasonably fake my way through it, especially if I let everyone else do the talking.

  My stomach's growling. I frown at it, trying to remind it that I just ate on the plane. But traveling always makes me ravenous, and as usual, it's not listening to reason.

  I pull out my phone and text Adrian.

  Any plans for dinner?

  He starts typing back quickly, but it takes him a while to actually finish the message.

  Got reservations with Kara actually. Feel free to order whatever you want from room service.

  My heart sinks. Kara's here? I don't know why that surprises me, but it does seem odd that she didn't fly with us. I'm grateful, but disappointed that she'll be monopolizing his time like this.

  Great. I don't want to be around him, but I can't stand to be without him. This is shaping up to be a fantastic trip.

  I don't answer his text. Fucking room service? Really? I'm about ten feet from some of the country's best barbecue restaurants. I realize he was just offering to pay, but I'll fucking buy some brisket myself if I want to.

  I'm overreacting. I know I'm overreacting. But there's something rude about the way he told me, isn't there? Not even letting on that Kara was here, until he absolutely had to. He knew I wouldn't react well. Why do men always try to hide things until the last possible second, thinking it's going to be better that way?

  It's never better that way.

  I run a brush through my hair, grab my purse, and stalk out into the lobby. I'm going to find some good barbecue, damn it. And I'm going to do it without Adrian.

  ***

  I'm sitting on a crowded deck with the smell of hickory smoke all around me. I've got a plate of melt-in-your-mouth barbecue and my new favorite side dish, green chile mac and cheese, sitting in front of me. But I'm not smiling.

  Fucking Adrian. Dragging me down here, and don't get me wrong, it's nice - people in this city are so friendly I'm starting to get suspicious - but now he's ditched me for his publicist, and since when do authors even have publicists? I guess he doesn't need an agent, seeing as he publishes under an arm of his own damn company.

  I guess a part of me has always believed that what I share with Adrian is unique. Special. Why, I don't know. It seems stupid now that I'm really examining it. And why do I care? The man's heart is constructed from splinters and rusty nails. His approval shouldn't mean so much to me.

  But it's all I have.

  "You want another beer, hon?"

  The server is beaming at me. I put on a smile, with a supreme effort, so she doesn't worry about me too much.

  "Yes, please," I say. "Please keep them coming until you're legally obligated to cut me off
."

  Her face contorts in sympathy. "Rough day?"

  I nod. "Travelling."

  "Oh, I gotcha. You from out of town?"

  I nod again.

  "Welcome to Austin! I hope you have a great time, once you've had a chance to rest up."

  "Thanks," I tell her, sincerely. Because it really is nice to hear a friendly voice, even from a stranger.

  I hear a familiar voice over the noise of the crowd, and it makes my heart skip several beats. Which is completely ridiculous. I know he's here, but what are the odds? Sure enough, moments later, I see Adrian round the corner with Kara. Immediately, I avert my gaze, feeling awkward and guilty like I've done something wrong.

  They're seated where I can just about see them, out of the corner of my eye. Something about the angle must be blocking their view of me. Kara looks very put-together as usual, but relaxed and smiling in a way I'm sure she wouldn't be if she spotted me. I've got no idea what her problem is - like I could possibly compete for Adrian's attention with the likes of her. He once claimed he wasn't interested, but I don't believe that for a second. A woman who looks like her, she gets any man she wants.

  And right now, she's got Adrian. He's listening to her with rapt attention, smiling occasionally, even laughing. Having a good time.

  When the server brings me my beer, I ask her for the check. I've got to get out of here before I lose what little is left of my mind.

  ***

  After a fitful night's sleep, I take a long, scalding shower and actually blow-dry my hair. Usually, this backfires, but I manage to tame it into something presentable. I know it's going to be a long day. After the signing, which is the only part of this event that's open to non-industry people, there will be panel presentations and workshops I'm expected to attend, not to mention the after-hours events. I've got no idea what I'll be expected to attend, but I'm bracing myself.

  I haven't heard anything from Adrian since yesterday afternoon, but I've already checked out the conference schedule and I know where and when I need to report for the signing. If he doesn't want to show up, then he doesn't have to. I'll just improvise.

  I stop by the mirror on my way out the door. Yeah, I look pretty damn good. Professional, but imaginative. Perfect. Every part of my outfit is absolutely flawless. I wouldn't change a thing.

  When I leave my room and start walking down the hallway, a problem becomes immediately apparent.

  There's one thing I didn't realize about silky underwear.

  Veterans of the silky underwear experience will almost certainly be aware of this, but I'm a virgin. Metaphorically speaking.

  Ten steps into the hotel hallway, and I can feel them slipping. Oh, shit. Unlike the plain cotton variety I'm used to, these don't really stay where they're put.

  But I'm fully committed. I brought nothing but silky underwear for this trip, and I'm going full speed ahead, damn it.

  I breathe a silent prayer of thanks that I'm alone in the elevator, so I can discreetly adjust them. They've slipped so far down that they're practically garters. Shimmying a little, I pull them up so they're sitting more securely on my waist.

  There. That'll do.

  Halfway to the main convention hall, I've transitioned into some kind of weird shuffle-step to keep them from falling around my ankles.

  Well, this is just great. I slip into the ladies' room and survey the situation a little better. They're practically brand new, for God's sake. The elastic is still…elastic-y. What am I doing wrong?

  I know the answer, I just don't want to admit it to myself. The softness of my belly and thighs doesn't give them anything to grip onto. This is not a skinny girl's problem.

  Frustrated, I consider my options. I could ditch the underwear entirely, and pray that I don't step near any air vents. I could keep trying to make them work. Or, I could try to find the nearest Walmart and grab a three dollar pack of cotton briefs.

  Fuck no. You're Natalie Fucking McBride. You make these panties your bitch.

  Determined, I re-situate them on my hips and return to the main hall. Already, I can feel them working their way down, but I can deal with it. I'll be sitting down for most of the day, anyway.

  I know what quadrant of the room I'll be in, so I start heading that direction, walking as carefully as I can.

  Before I reach the tables, I have to pinch the waistband to hold them in place. I grab a handful of my skirt along with them, and pretend like I'm holding it down against some imaginary breeze.

  A woman with long, silky dark hair and an accommodating smile comes over to shake my hand. Her name tag says Siobhan.

  "Welcome, Natalie," she says. "We're so glad to have you here. Your editor's already here, he's been helping us set everything up the way you like."

  So he is. I see him now, in the crowd, and he narrows his eyes as I approach. Probably because I'm holding the side of my skirt again, to cover up for the fact that I'm actually holding my panties. Whether or not he's clued in to the impending wardrobe malfunction, he knows something is wrong. But there's no way in hell I'm confiding in him about my panty problems.

  I sit down quickly, hitching them up as I do, hoping it's not noticeable.

  "There's already a line forming around the entire hall," Siobhan beams. "Most of them are here for you."

  A terrifying prospect, to be sure.

  "Don't worry, we'll manage the lines and make sure that no one hassles you. Take breaks whenever you need them. You'll be talking a lot, so it's not uncommon to start losing your voice by the end of the day. I got you some Halls, but I recommend hot tea with lots of lemon and honey before bed tonight."

  I nod, trying to take it all in. I haven't even considered the possibility of losing my voice - that might get in the way of my panel tomorrow.

  "Most importantly, have fun!" She's practically squealing. "You're going to love this, Natalie. I'm so glad you came."

  I force a smile, hoping that my awkwardness comes across as…well, awkwardness. Not deception. The last thing I want to do is fuck up this thing. Adrian's already boring holes in me with his eyes.

  "What's wrong?" he mutters, as Siobhan runs off to settle someone else in.

  "Nothing," I tell him, rolling my shoulders back and cracking my knuckles. "Why would something be wrong?"

  "First of all, you shouldn't wear a skirt that short if you're going to act like you're afraid it's going to fly up." His voice is low and captivating, even though he's trying to tell me off. Or maybe that's why it's captivating. "It's like wearing a strapless dress and constantly tugging on it. Looks amateur. You don't want to look amateur."

  "Who pissed in your Cheerios?" I mutter, even though I'm pretty sure I know the answer. Kara's nowhere to be found. They must've had some kind of disagreement that's led to his enchanting mood this morning.

  "Secondly," he says, ignoring me, "I had no idea where you were this morning. You didn't even text."

  "Uh, neither did you." Are we really having this conversation? "I read the schedule, I read the emails, I knew where I had to go."

  "I shouldn't have to check in," he hisses. "You're here working for me. Don't forget it."

  Oh my God, he's acting like a child. But at least this version of Adrian, I know how to deal with.

  "I'll make sure to keep that in mind." I test out one of my pens.

  A bubbly, smiling blonde takes her seat at the table a few feet from mine. Her name tag says Isabella Duncan, Paranormal Romance.

  "Hey!" She sticks out her hand to me. "Natalie McBride, wow. It's so great to meet you! I'm Izzy. I'm actually moderating your panel tomorrow."

  "Call me Nat," I tell her, almost solely because I feel like it'll annoy Adrian. "That's great - it's nice to meet you."

  "Is this your first rodeo?" she asks me.

  "Kind of. I did one signing before. A small one. Not like this." I can already hear the echo of many voices as the line starts to get rambunctious.

  "Oh, you're gonna love it. Everyone's just so happy to
see you. But don't let it go to your head." She winks at me.

  Oh, if only you knew.

  ***

  I think my hand might be permanently cramped into a claw.

  The crowds have dissipated, and I'm trying to forcibly remind myself that I am Not. Natalie. McBride. In spite of everything, Izzy was right to warn me. It's hard to see that many people so excited to meet you, without letting it go to your head a little bit.

  Adrian's stepped away to mutter on his phone to someone, most likely Kara, so I turn back to Izzy with a rueful smile. "Well, we survived."

  "See? Wasn't it great?" She's shaking some feeling back into her hand. "So are you going to the party tonight?"

  "There's a party?"

  She nods vigorously. "Oh, yeah. My publisher's sponsoring it, but it's open to everybody. There's going to be some cover models there taking pictures, and you can even get custom poses done. Super hot guys, free booze, it's a win all around. Everybody's gonna be there."

  "Um, I don't know." I clear my throat, and reach for one of the cough drops Siobhan left for me. "I do have that panel…"

  "Not until the afternoon." She rolls her eyes. "Come on, you can have a few drinks."

  "Okay. I guess."

  "Great!" She bounces to her feet. "I'll see you there. I gotta run - I have to meet someone for lunch."

  Adrian's missed all this conversation, which I'm grateful for. I know, without having to ask, he'll have some choice words if he finds out that I'm planning on attending. It's none of his business, really, I'm doing everything he's told me to do, and I'm doing it well. But he's already irritated over something else, so this is almost guaranteed to become a thing.

  Just once, I want to have a little fun without Adrian somehow ruining it. Is that too much to ask?

  ***

  The last panel session of the day has just ended. It's not quite dinnertime, so I'm having wine and tapas with Adrian, at the overcrowded hotel bar that seems incredibly ill-prepared for this event, like someone just reminded them about it yesterday. We haven't managed to get table service once, but Adrian doesn't seem to mind going up and flirting with the bartender to get things. Doesn't even have to wave his wallet around for special treatment, that one. It would be impressive if it wasn't so disgusting.