Their Secret

by Cassandra Dee

  But unfortunately, my co-worker has never been known for her discretion. Instead, she carried on in a loud voice.

  “And rich too, this ‘Tucker McGrath’ is a rich man,” she said out loud, looking at the Visa admiringly again, watching as the sunlight glinted off the metal surface. “Man, you got yourself a good one, only millionaires carry this baby.”

  I sat stock still for a moment, unsure of what I’d heard.

  “Excuse me?” I asked slowly. “What do you mean, ‘millionaires’?”

  And Tanya looked up at me.

  “Oh Laurie, you’re so naïve,” she cackled. “Seriously, you’ve never seen this card before? Well, I guess not, there aren’t too many people in city government who’d qualify for this gem. This is a J.P. Morgan Palladium card, honey, the real deal. You can only get this if you have ten million under management with the bank.”

  I was completely still, completely silent, my heart beating hard.

  “Ten million?” I repeated, my mouth dry.

  “Ten million,” confirmed Tanya. “And the average cardholder has a net worth of something like a hundred million. Trust me, I’d know,” she said ruefully. “My first ex had one, and I used to get to use it.”

  My mouth dropped open now, looking like a dead fish, lips blubbery and wide. Slowly, I took the card from Tanya’s hands, my fingers sliding over the cool metal, the deep grey burnished with a rose hue.

  “It must be called the Palladium because it’s plated with palladium metal, isn’t it?” I asked, more to myself than anyone else. “That’s what gives it this pink color.”

  And Tanya nodded sagely.

  “Yep, you don’t know much about money but at least you know your periodic table,” she smirked. “Look it up on Wiki, you’ll see. But honey, I thought you said you were dating your delivery man. How in the world did a delivery guy get a card like this? It’s his name on it, right?”

  And I shook my head, my brain going at a hundred miles an hour, the world dropping out from under my feet. Because how did Tucker have this card? How in the world could a humble delivery man be a millionaire, if not a billionaire?

  “Let’s go,” I said tightly, getting up from the table, not answering her question.

  And we walked back to work, my head down, striding as fast as I could with Tanya trailing me, peppering me with questions that I couldn’t answer, didn’t want to hear.

  “Where does Tucker live? Oooh, is his apartment fancy?”

  “Does Tucker have any rich male friends? Do you think he could set me up with someone? I’d really appreciate it.”

  And the questions just made me angry. Because the fact is, I wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Was the apartment in Tribeca some fake, just a prop he used to seduce women? And who were Tucker’s friends? The people in the Mediterranean had never shown up, never called as far as I knew, maybe they didn’t even exist.

  Fuck, I felt so stupid, so dumb. I’d been so trusting, just a naïve girl who’d been taken by a handsome man again, a master who fed me whatever I wanted to hear. Most likely Tucker had been spinning a web of lies and I’d believed it all, eating it up, no questions asked, living in my own personal La-La Land.

  Why hadn’t I learned? The terrible experience with Gary had been so recent, burned me so deep, and yet here I was, making all the same mistakes just months later. Suddenly, I hated myself, loathing everything that made me me, filled with disgust for my body, my mind, my behavior.

  Sitting at my desk seething, I trembled, shuddered and jerked, trying to keep my emotions subdued. But there was a tidal wave welling up inside, the bile rising bitter and venomous in my throat, my stomach churning and heaving uncontrollably. I couldn’t take it anymore and jumped up, shaking, almost coming apart with rage. I was going to confront Tucker right now, this was a fucking emergency, and there was nothing more important. So grabbing my purse, I rushed out of the building without a second glance, if I got fired, then so be it, there were other jobs out there.

  With my brows drawn, face set, I strode to the subway with purposeful strides. Because I was headed to the offices of NYC Concierge, goddamn if I waited until getting home to confront the big man. And if the blow-up was in front of his unsuspecting co-workers, then so be it, they’d be getting an eyeful and an earful up the wazoo because things were volcanic now, and I didn’t care who knew.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tucker

  My feet up on my desk, I chewed on a pencil thoughtfully as I read through a four hundred page report. This white paper about the market for elite delivery services was so fucking off that it made my eyes bleed. The supposed “consultants” we’d hired for the study didn’t understand the sector at all and had put together a four hundred page pile of shit, a tome that I’d skimmed the first ten pages of and then put down, disgusted.

  I wiped a hand over my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fuck, I was so tired. I worked like a dog during the day and then beat feet to get home to see my best girl. But it wasn’t like I got a ton of rest and relaxation once the sun set. Fuck no, I was fucking Laurie all night, two, three times before dawn, sometimes even four.

  And it was good, real good. I couldn’t get enough of her, couldn’t shoot enough sperm into that tiny pussy, couldn’t bobble those breasts enough times, lick her asshole and make her scream, it was that amazing. And fuck, but even the impossible had come to pass. Walking home one day, I’d passed by a fine jewelry store, its goods gleaming in glass cases and something made my feet turn as if magnetized, my hand opening the door and stepping in.

  I wasn’t sure what I was doing, a man in a trance. But when the saleslady came up, my mouth opened automatically and I said the words “engagement ring.” Can you believe it? Tucker McGrath, confirmed bachelor and complete asshole, was shopping to get married. And when the sales associate brought out a velvet tray with a couple different selections, there was a feeling of rightness in my gut. Because Laurie and I belonged together, she was the white to my black, the yin to my yang, the soft to my hard. And the best thing I could do, probably the smartest thing I’d ever do in my life was to put a ring on it, make her mine in every way possible, mark her before the world.

  So the ring sat in my desk drawer even now, locked up, buried among a ton of useless crap. It was a beauty, I’d spent seven figures on a seven carat heart-shaped diamond, it’d probably weigh her hand down, it was that big. But that’s how serious I was about making her mine. I wanted every fucking male in the City to see that diamond and know that Laurie belonged to me.

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear our receptionist Nora tiptoe over.

  “Mr. McGrath,” she said quietly, standing next to me. “There’s a young lady here to see you.”

  That was weird. Usually Nora emailed if we had a visitor, there was no need to make the announcement in person. And if you’re wondering about our office space, yes, it’s an open plan. We don’t have separate offices, just long rows of desks, the set-up modern, roomy, eco-friendly with both a foosball table and a ping-pong table. Yeah, we’re that start-up, the one with all the free food and games, impossibly hip, all our employees young and brainy.

  And even I, as CEO, worked out in the open, there was nothing to distinguish me from anyone else except the fact that I had two monitors, one right next to the other. But hey, even that wasn’t a dead giveaway. After all, this was a progressive workplace where people had standing desks or sat on yoga balls, so my double monitors didn’t stick out that much.

  But as I looked up, I saw why Nora had made the announcement in person, practically whispering next to me. Because Laurie was here, and she looked fine. My girl was like a dream materializing in our offices, curvy, jiggly, that curly brown hair tied behind her head, everything accentuated with a pencil skirt and turtleneck sweater. I’d begged Laurie to buy more form-fitting stuff, I loved seeing her breasts and ass outlined in tight clothes, couldn’t wait to rip them off when we were home.

  But the brunette had seen me
now and was shooting daggers across the open work space, her brown eyes darkening to black, furious in their glare. Oh shit. What had happened? Had she gotten fired? Had that bitch Tanya at work been snooping in our business? I’d heard enough about this person Tanya to hate her, I bet she’d been spreading some poison somehow or other.

  And I wasn’t wrong. Laurie came marching over, not caring that my employees were staring from the corners of their eyes and came to stand by my desk, hands on her hips.

  “Tucker,” she said. “What is this?” she demanded, holding out the Palladium card.

  I grabbed her hand.

  “Honey, let’s go to a conference room, we can have some privacy,” I rumbled, exerting some pressure. “Come on.”

  But she resisted, shaking her head furiously, those brown curls bouncing.

  “No,” she said flatly. “I want some answers. What the fuck is this?”

  I took a long look at her, then another long look at the card.

  “It’s my credit card,” I said slowly. “Remember, I gave it to you? To buy yourself some clothes.”

  “I know that,” she spat. “But why, on Wiki, does it say that only millionaires can get this card? That it’s for ultra high net-worth clients of the bank, who on average are worth one hundred million dollars?” she demanded, hands on hips, chin jutting out. “Are you even Tucker McGrath?” she demanded again hotly, shooting sparks. “Who the fuck are you?”

  Now I knew I had to get her into a conference room, my employees were openly staring now, not even bothering to pretend to work. So instead of trying to persuade her nicely, I took things into my own hands. With one fell swoop, I picked her up in my arms and strode over the conference room, kicking the door shut behind us and pulling down all the shades.

  “What the fuck?” the brunette sputtered, struggling to get down. “Let go of me, fucker!”

  I growled then.

  “That’s right, I’m a fucker because I’m the man who fucks you,” I said threateningly. “Every day, every night, I fuck that pussy so go ahead and call me fucker,” I rasped.

  That made Laurie pull back a bit, still hissing. I’d put her down and she was a glorious sight to see. Her hair had fallen down and curls trailed around her face, framing it, highlighting the flush, her lips rosy and parted, breathing hard.

  Plus her breasts were magnificent. In the tight sweater they were like a ship’s prow, jutting out, bold, beautiful, heaving as she stared at me with accusatory eyes. Plus, that ass. Fuck, she’d taken my advice, wearing tight clothes and the effect it had on me was electric, my cock jutting like a hammer ready to slam.

  Except there was the problem of my identity.

  “Laurie, I can explain,” I began, hands up, a conciliatory look on my face.

  “You better!” she shrieked, this time hurling the Visa at me. I ducked in time, the rectangle bouncing off the wall with a chink, falling to the floor. But I didn’t care, the Palladium Visa meant nothing to me, was nothing but an accoutrement to my massive wealth.

  “Are you even the delivery man?” the brunette shrieked again, staring at me with accusing eyes. “Or is this, is all this, a lie?” she said, gesturing to the conference room, the office beyond.

  “It’s not a lie,” I said slowly, “and yes, I am the delivery man. It’s just that I wear a lot of hats. I’m not just the delivery man, I’m the CEO, the boss, the task master, the guy who runs this place,” I said, staring into her eyes. “I play a lot of roles and delivery man happens to be one of them.”

  Laurie just shook her head.

  “But I don’t get it,” she said, lips pursed. “I mean, why were you making deliveries that first night to my apartment? And if you are the CEO, why didn’t you tell me?”

  I began slowly.

  “Honey, part of my job is to understand the concierge business through and through. There isn’t any way to make informed decisions unless I get my hands dirty, get into the nitty-gritty of things. So yeah, I make deliveries on occasion, putting on the jacket and hat, going up and down stairs, getting a feel for the job itself. Because how can I understand the job unless I actually do it myself?”

  And that seemed to penetrate the fog of rage surrounding her.

  “Okay, I get it,” the brunette panted softly, still angry. “But why didn’t you tell me? What was the point of this charade? Did you not trust me or something?”

  And this was gonna be the hard part.

  “Of course I trust you,” I said, warmth in my eyes. “But honey, when women get a whiff of how much I’m worth everything changes. It’s hard to describe but there’s a breed of women in Manhattan who are all about the money. I could be a complete fuck, treat them like shit, and they wouldn’t care so long as I gave them an allowance, bought them clothes and jewelry, set them up in an apartment. They’re after one thing only, and it’s called cold, hard cash.”

  She paused for a moment.

  “And you thought I might be one of them?” she asked tightly.

  I shrugged.

  “Honestly, yeah. I’ve gotten burned from experience, I’m thirty-five now, it’s not like I’m an untrained newbie going out on a couple dates, getting my dick wet for the first time. These women are all over Manhattan, and the minute they get a whiff of a dude like me, the claws come out, they’re in it to win it.”

  Laurie paused, thinking.

  “But what does that have to do with me?” she asked again, tilting her head to the side, eyeing me speculatively. “Why did you have to ‘test’ me?” she said neutrally. “I live in a tiny walk-up on the Lower East Side, I’m poor, it’s obvious.”

  And that was it exactly.

  “Honey, you’re assuming that the only women with their claws out are rich bitches, women with designer clothes and shoes, skinny and mean. But the fact is that women of all stripes, of all economic means are after me. Trust me, I’ve had poor women come after me too, girls who worked as nannies, who were struggling students. Just because you’re poor doesn’t make you a saint.”

  And something changed in the brunette then.

  “So you thought I could be one of them, that maybe I just wanted you for your bank account, huh?” she said softly. “Maybe I was just another girl out on the hunt.”

  And I had to be honest.

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted. “I mean, I’m thirty-five, I’ve been dating in NYC for decades now. Trust me, I know women.”

  And that final statement broke the camel’s back. Because all the light went out of my best girl’s eyes, her shoulders slumped, her vivacious energy shut off like a light socket gone dark. Instead, Laurie was subdued now, not meeting my eyes. She fingered the cuff of her blouse, biting her lip.

  “Thanks Tucker, I get it,” she said softly, still not meeting my gaze. “I’ll let you get back to work now.”

  I strode over to the brunette and grabbed her chin in my hand, forcing her to look at me. But the brown eyes were shuttered, shielded, and gave nothing away, merely reflecting my own.

  “Listen,” I growled. “This isn’t over, we’ll talk more when I get back tonight, alright? I promise.”

  And she nodded slightly before breaking free, smoothing her skirt and taking a deep breath.

  “Sure, no problem,” she said with a slight smile. “I’ll see you at home okay?” And was it my imagination, or had Laurie’s lip trembled on the word “home”? But I couldn’t focus on that now, there were a million things to be done at work, investors were coming later today and we still had a shit-ton of prep to do. So I watched silently as the curvy girl left the conference room, slipping out and shutting the door quietly behind her. This wasn’t how I wanted to end the conversation but at the moment I didn’t have a choice. Come eight p.m., we were going to have a real conversation to set things straight, get everything in order … because Laurie was mine and that was that.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Laurie

  I sat in the library, my laptop open on a huge, wooden desk, far from any other
users. I typed in “Tucker McGrath” and held my breath as the machine hummed. And sure enough, a dozen results popped up.

  “Internet billionaire bad boy does it again!” screamed one headline.

  “Will McGrath break the new economy?” blared another.

  And the worst: “Tucky Tuck gets his duck on with Laurel Hardy,” read the caption with a picture of Tucker, handsome and arresting, blue eyes piercing, in a tux with a beautiful woman on his arm. The skinny blonde was the opposite of me, ten miles tall, thin as a whip, with perfect make-up, perfect hair, her lips painted in a wide crimson smile.

  And I died inside, absolutely shriveled up and withered to nothing. It was like Tucker had had been playing with me, stepping out of his “real” life to have some fun. Because the real Tucker seemed to be someone else completely. The “real” Tucker was a self-made entrepreneur with more money than God and a taste for fancy things, be it the latest sports car, luxurious yachts, or expensive vacations. And there were pictures of all this on the web, all of them with a different woman, a different perfectly made-up, camera-ready model with a set of manicured fingernails and a smiling, lipsticked mouth.

  I’d never felt more dumb. Why hadn’t I googled Tucker earlier? Why hadn’t I done like normal people do and get on the internet immediately, searching for anything and everything about my new guy? I guess it was because I didn’t want to jinx myself, I was so traumatized from my marriage and divorce that I didn’t want to open up any closets and face the skeletons, I wasn’t ready for that. So instead I’d gone the opposite route, sticking my head in the sand, seeing only what I wanted to see, willing myself to believe in the fairy tale.

  But I cursed myself because there’d been so many signs, the luxury apartment, the friends who didn’t exist, the way Tucker never batted an eye about money. I shook my head, defeated. Even the wine we drank each night was expensive, there was no way a delivery man could afford even that. Shit. It was my own fault, and I only had myself to blame.