Page 1 of A Convenient Secret (Merged #3)

Lily

V oice.

His voice.

It always wraps around me like velvet, its timbre reverberating through every inch of my body. It speaks to all my desires. Desires I’ve not experienced before.

It’s really quite ridiculous.

Confident, and often with a tinge of annoyance, his baritone has become my safety blanket. Like listening to him is the safest thing in the world.

My rational mind recognizes the madness of it. If I could afford a therapist, they would probably charge me double.

I’m twenty-five, and I’m infatuated with my client’s voice.

It’ s pathetic.

There should be a support group for addicts like me. I can’t shake it. Whenever his number flashes across the screen, all my previous self-pep talk goes down the drain.

He hasn’t even said anything nice to me. I’m addicted to the melody, I guess. Because, for all its deep rumbling quality, his tone is aloof, most of the time, and quite often obnoxious.

Grumpy. Demanding. Brooding.

My colleagues hate him, and keep forwarding his calls to my line.

Outwardly, I roll my eyes, but secretly, I appreciate the opportunity to listen to him.

Not even a therapist could save me.

He’s a single dad with a high-demanding job; he must be overwhelmed. That’s my explanation for his abrupt behavior. Yes, I’m making excuses for him. I’m aware.

But if I was kind to myself about this thing, it’s not like anything could ever happen between us, so my little crush is harmless. It makes the dull day at work more exciting.

Let’s face it, being a concierge to the rich and powerful may sound thrilling, but it is not. Not at all. Most days, I keep answering the phone and cater to the whims of people who can throw money at any problem .

Not all of them are completely disconnected, but many are, which makes this gig a challenge.

Unlike my colleagues, I understand their needs, and I’m fairly good at providing solutions, so I guess my position here is safe.

Which is good, because as someone who needs to remain under the radar, I need a job that helps me blend into the crowd, remain fairly invisible. Beggars, choosers, and all that.

“Yoga and drinks tonight, bitch?” My colleague Aaron leans on the beige partition between our cubicles.

It took me a moment to get used to this open concept. But I appreciate the human interactions. It’s something that has increased in value in my lonely life.

The beige monolithic decor, however, is worse than the open concept.

While our furnishings are comfortable, and there are chill areas and a well-stocked cafeteria with mismatched, comfortable, wing chairs, reminding me of a hipster bistro, the concept itself just sucks your energy if you have to stay here longer than five minutes.

Or maybe it’s the job that drains me.

At least Aaron is one of those people who brightens one’s day.

“My friend has a barbecue, sorry.” I shrug .

“Lily Thorne, I’m starting to think you don’t want to hang out with me.” He mock-scoffs.

I swallow, heat rising to my cheeks. “That’s not true.”

It’s mostly correct. I don’t mind Aaron at all. He’s a great colleague. The problem is me. Or rather, my hermit ways.

Ever since I arrived in New York almost eighteen months ago, I’ve been looking over my shoulder. Like the past will catch up with me. It probably will, and I’m not ready to risk it.

Will I ever be?

“Even those friends of yours are probably made up,” Aaron deadpans and taps his headset. “Summit Solutions, Aaron speaking.” He dives back into his chair.

And now, I feel like shit. This is not the first time Aaron has voiced his opinion about my need to keep things private. As always, his words drop into my stomach like a lead ball.

I don’t want to be that girl. But I don’t have a choice.

Besides my three girlfriends, a group of women who accepted me, despite the odds, into their circle, Aaron is the only person who brings a bit of normal and a lot of fun into my life.

And yet I’m not ready for normal, or for ordinary. I need to stay on the down low. Until I learn to trust again. Until I find my footing, and my purpose.

In the meantime, I have to do what I have to do. Be small and invisible. Be someone else. It’s been eighteen months, and I’ve built a home here. A very fragile and not necessarily desired home.

But I have my friends and this work. Things that anchor me. For now.

My line blinks, and when I see the name, my heart rate spikes immediately, heat spreading across my face.

“Summit Solutions, Lily speaking. How may I help you today?” I smile. Not that he can see me, but I know a smile comes across in my voice.

“I need a sitter. Urgently. Full time,” he spits out without a greeting.

“Of course. Have your needs changed since last time?”

Poor man hired a nanny not even six weeks ago. I know this, and not only because it’s recorded in his file. I don’t need to open his file to remember everything about him. I helped him with the task last time, and four times before.

I wonder if his kids are next-level brats or if he’s an abusive employer. The turnover seems unreal. But perhaps the agency hasn’t matched him with the right fit. He should be demanding when it comes to his own kids .

He sighs, and the load of it carries through the line, spearing me. I inhale and straighten my spine, like I can possibly carry his burden. I can’t. And, more importantly, I shouldn’t want to.

“Same prerequisites,” he says.

Children’s laughter echoes in the background. He must be home. Of course he is. It’s a Saturday. Is he wearing a suit? Or what is his casual wear?

Stop it, Lily!

“I’ll have an agency send you suitable resumes—”

“I don’t have time for that,” he interrupts. “I need someone to start on Monday at seven sharp.”

“Understood.” I run my fingers over the keyboard to open his file. “I see you had a runner-up selected last time. I will try to get them to start on Monday.”

“Try isn’t good enough,” he snaps. “I need a nanny on Monday.”

I close my eyes briefly and try to embrace his frustration with a smile. “Of course. We’ll make sure a qualified nanny is at your house on Monday morning.”

“Good. Do a thorough reference check.”

“Daddy, Daddy—” a girl’s voice interrupts.

“It wasn’t my fault…” a boy cries.

“I need to go. Can I rely on you?” His voice is laced with something I haven’t heard before.

It’s not his usual don’t-bother-me attitude; it’s that tired and resigned voice parents have when they’re at the end of their rope.

A cry for help. Or I’m just projecting, probably.

“Of course. Is there anything—”

The line dies. I sigh and open the contacts to dial the childcare agency.

“You wouldn’t believe what that old hag wanted.” Aaron’s head pops up again.

“Aaron!” I widen my eyes, grinning. “We don’t gossip about clients.”

He waves his hand. “It’s not gossip if it’s true. Listen to this: she requested I get her a new pool boy with a large dick.”

I burst out laughing, and a few heads emerge from the cubicles around us. “She didn’t,” I laugh-whisper.

“Keep it quiet.” Aaron glares at me and looks around, waiting for our colleagues to return to their jobs. “She sure did,” he says through his teeth, his lips quirking up. “Like, what the fuck, that’s not exactly on their resume.” He shimmies his shoulders.

I turn my chair to him, chuckling. “What did you tell her?”

“That perhaps she should consider an escort service, and she got upset because she wouldn’t want that on her husband’s credit card.”

I giggle again.

“Don’t laugh, bitch; she’s going to get me fired. What was I supposed to do? Hire a pool boy and risk he has a small package?”

I can’t hold it anymore and double over, laughing. We get eccentric requests often, but Aaron seems to get the best of them. “You could have screened the candidates for her.”

“I’m in a committed, monogamous relationship with Jack. I’m not going to check other dicks.”

I wipe a tear. “I don’t know how you attract these demands.”

“I can’t wait to quit this place. I don’t know how you maintain such a level of understanding with their fancies.”

“They don’t know any other way of life. Or they are unhinged, but that is not exclusive to the rich. There are worse jobs.” Not that I would know. “Did you resolve her request at the end?” I try to divert his attention away from me.

“At the end, she agreed to interview ten candidates.”

“Ten? They should be warned.”

“Yeah, I hope she at least has a pool.”

Another laugh escapes me, but it dies on my lips as a loud shrill fills the room. My body freezes completely, my eyes darting around.

On the edges of my paralyzed mind, I see everyone standing up and heading toward the exit .

“What are you doing, Lily? Move.”

The words reach me, but I’m unable to execute the command.

There is a fire.

Fire.

Fire.

Someone yanks me to stand up and ushers me forward. I’m pulled into the staircase. I want to inhale and take charge of my body, but it’s like I’m submerged underwater.

Unable to breathe. Unable to act. Unable to think.

The air outside is hot. Fire. Fire. Fire.

“What’s wrong with you?” Someone shakes me, and I finally focus my sight.

“There is a fire.” I’m pretty sure I said the words, but I don’t recognize my voice.

“There is no fire.” Aaron grips my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. “You’re safe.”

“There is no fire?” Oxygen floods my lungs, and I gasp.

“What the fuck, Lily? It was probably only a drill, and you completely panicked.”

“I’m sorry. I-I—”

“I grabbed your purse. Your shift is over anyway. Are you okay?” He hands me my bag.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that. It’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, thank you.” I take the bag from him.

As my nerves and heart resume their normal function, I know I need to say something, but I don’t want to lie to Aaron.

There have been enough lies in my life.

I ring the bell for the third time. My friend Saar and her husband, Corm, are hosting a barbecue I’m late for. Perhaps they all are in the back and don’t hear the bell.

But I hear a commotion, and finally the door opens. Saar smiles at me.