Page 46 of Best Kept Secret (The New York Thunder #3)

MILLIE

S tepping off the elevator on my way back to the office after lunch, my phone vibrates, and I grin down at it like a lunatic when I see the notification is from Logan. He’s coming home tomorrow, and I can’t wait. Five days is way too long without him.

L: Got you something [image]

I gasp at the image of the tiny Nutella jar keyring he’s holding in the picture he just sent me, his smile proud, eyes sparkling.

Me: OMG I love it!

L: Made me think of you.

Me: You’re my favorite person.

L: Right back at ya, babe.

My heart does a somersault. A somersault over a kitschy little keyring. I am done and dusted over Logan Cullen.

My cheeks heat as I make my way through the trade floor to the assistant hole , and I keep my head ducked low, ignoring everyone I pass, because I’m just not in the mood to deal with the finance bros today.

They’re insufferable at the best of times, but it’s day two of my period, and I am not in the mood for this shit.

Caroline asked me to see her after lunch for a new assignment—some bullshit, no doubt—and I continue past the hole and down the corridor for her office, but when I see that her door is shut, I pause.

It’s never shut. I check the time on my phone, and my lunch hour is well and truly over, and although a closed door usually means something private is happening on the other side, I decide to knock anyway, because the last thing I need is for Caroline to try and accuse me of not reporting for duty straight after lunch like she asked me to.

“Um… j-just a sec…” The voice that comes from the other side sounds like Caroline, but it’s different, strained and rattled, and so unlike her.

I see the blur of a shadow move about through the frosted glass, and I press my ear against the door, but all I can hear is some shuffling on the other side, and a low whisper, and I don’t know why, but something doesn’t feel right.

“Caroline?” I call back, knocking again. “Is everything okay in there?”

“Just a minute!” A deep, gruff voice snaps back in response.

I pull back, gawking at the door because is that?—

Suddenly the door flies open and Caroline’s boss, Jonathon, who I’ve only ever seen in passing, strides out.

He doesn’t acknowledge me, doesn’t even look at me, his chin held high as an air of arrogance swirls around him.

He passes by me, adjusting his tie, and I watch him disappear down the hallway.

Confused, I peer in through the door, scanning Caroline’s office, noticing a mess of papers lying on the floor, which is strange in itself because this place is usually immaculate.

“Caroline?” I call out, tentatively stepping inside, finding her in the corner with her back to me, my brows knitting together. “Caroline? Are you okay?”

“Oh, my God,” she huffs, shaking her head before turning quickly with an incredulous look on her face. “I don’t remember telling you to come in.”

And it’s then that I see, despite the annoyance that masks her face, her eyes are glassy and red-rimmed, mascara smudged beneath them, and a few of her blouse buttons are fastened through the wrong holes.

I glance back at the door where Jonathon just exited, and I recall the way he was adjusting his tie, and it suddenly dawns on me. She’s screwing her boss. Gross.

“What is it?” Caroline asks, smoothing her hair back from her face as she breezes past me, stopping only to collect the papers from the floor.

“Um…” I clear my throat. “You wanted to see me after lunch?”

I watch as she places the papers into a neat pile on her desk, straightening them a few times before reaching over to adjust the pen holder that appears to have been knocked slightly askew.

And as the sleeve of her silk blouse pulls up her arm, I don’t miss the painful red welt that circles her wrist. And I know what it is. Finger marks.

Before I can stop myself, I grab her arm carefully. “Caroline, what happened?”

Startled, she gapes at me before quickly yanking her arm away. “Do not touch me!”

“Did something happen?” I press, ignoring the warning glower in her eyes. “Did Jonathon… hurt you?”

Caroline tugs her sleeve down, folding her arms across her chest and, with an exasperated laugh that is void of humor, she shakes her head. “God, you really don’t get it do you?”

I blink at her, confused by her words.

She rolls her eyes, smirking to herself. “I thought you were playing the innocent little intern part knowing the men here get off on that shit, but you really are clueless, huh?” She cocks her head to the side with a patronizing tsk. “It’s actually pathetic.”

I don’t say anything in response. Sure, I can tell she’s trying to hurt me right now, but there’s more to it. She’s the hurt one. And as much as I dislike her, I feel like she needs to let this out.

“I used to be just like you,” Caroline says with a malicious smile. “Thought I’d come to New York and take Wall Street by storm. I have an MBA from Wharton, for Chrissake.”

My eyes widen at that because I honestly had no idea.

“And look at me now.” She throws her hands out mockingly, indicating her office. “I’m a glorified assistant with a corner office and an account at Bergdorf’s simply because I let my married boss fuck me whenever he wants.”

“Caroline…” I try to placate her because I can see she’s on the verge of tears. Again.

She interjects. “Remember on your first day how you said you thought you’d be sitting out on the trade floor? And I laughed?”

I nod.

She laughs again. Another hollow sound, laced with nothing but bitterness.

“There are eight hundred employees here in the New York Headquarters, and only five of them are women. Five. And you’re one them.

It’s a well-known fact that women only come here to meet Hyde and Mercer men.

That’s it.” She shrugs, matter-of-factly.

“That’s why Michelle and Steph are here.

And the twit on the front desk who’s screwing three of the dealers in an attempt to try and figure out which one she wants to commit herself to.

I thought I’d be different. I thought I could come here and wow them with my intelligence and my go get ’em attitude and be the one to finally break the mold and earn my spot on the trade floor.

” She scoffs, shaking her head at herself.

“That was twelve years ago. And in those twelve years the things I’ve seen…

” Trailing off, she shakes her head again, sadness flashing in her eyes.

“Caroline, I?— ”

Holding her hand up, she silences me. “I have one word of advice for you, Millie ,” she spits my name like it’s vitriol, burning her tongue.

“Go home. Go back to nowheresville , Texas. And don’t ever come back here.

Sooner or later, this place will eat you alive and spit out your carcass for the scavengers.

It’ll take every last ounce of your drive, your ambition, and your innocence, leaving you a depleted mess of worthlessness.

You’ll be left to rot with the garbage that lines the streets in the early mornings waiting for the sanitation workers to collect it. ”

I swallow around the lump of emotion that clogs my throat.

I’m not upset by her graphic and specific words.

I’m upset by what this place has so obviously done to her.

Because I see it now. I see myself in Caroline.

The girl who came here looking for greatness, thinking she was going to do amazing things.

She’s long gone now, but I see her. And my heart breaks for her.

“Is this why you’ve been so mean to me?” I ask after a long silence, my voice weak and small.

“You’ve been trying to get me to quit…” It’s a statement more than a question, because now, with the added benefit of hindsight, it’s glaringly obvious.

I don’t think Caroline is an inherently horrible person; she’s been hurt, and she’s doing all that she can in the only way she knows how to stop me from making the same mistake she made.

Squaring her shoulders, Caroline heaves another exasperated sigh, meeting my eyes, her voice hushed and steely, full of warning. “Get out now, Millie. Get out before it’s too late.”

Despite Caroline’s warning, I don’t heed her advice. But a few hours later, while I’m at my desk, minding my own business and entering a new client into the database, I look up as Henry, one of the cocksure dealers from the trade floor, struts into the assistant hole carrying a tray of Starbucks.

He places a drink onto my desk with a salacious wink that makes my stomach roil, placing one each onto Michelle’s and Steph’s desks, my co-workers openly swooning at the seemingly sweet gesture.

But as I look from the whipped cream topped concoction to the man standing there like he’s God’s gift to women everywhere, looking between the three of us like he’s waiting for something in return, that’s when it all crashes down one me.

I push back on my chair, standing and packing my things into my purse as quickly as I can.

I don’t have a lot, just a water bottle, an emergency jar of Nutella, and a framed photo of Logan and me from when he took me on the Circle Line.

“Are you okay, Millie?” Michelle asks.

I don’t bother answering her. And, pushing past Henry, I don’t even chance a look back as I continue out of the office.

“Babe, you did the right thing!” Emily says, her eyes wide. “That place sounds almost dangerous.”

Fran nods. “ Rapey dangerous.”

“They should be investigated,” Hannah says, sipping her drink.

I stuff a handful of salted peanuts into my mouth, looking up at the game playing on the TV above the bar. The crowd around us cheers when Rusty scores a goal, bringing the Thunder’s lead up to four, with seven minutes remaining in the third.

After I walked out on my job, I wandered the city for a while, not sure where to go or what to do.

Roaming a city as big as New York is kind of terrifying when you realize you’re suddenly unemployed.

I called Emily and told her what happened, and she told her boss that there was a family emergency.

She also managed to convince him that our family emergency involved Fran somehow, and the two women met me at a bar near their work in Midtown with Hannah in tow.

“I have no job.” I shake my head. “No job means no money. And no money means I’m going to have to go back to Texas…” Jesus. The thought of having to go back to Texas leaves me br eathless in the worst way, and it has everything to do with the sheer possibility of having to leave Logan.

“Honey, you know Dallas will look after you until you find something,” Emily is quick to say, squeezing.

I shake my head again, vehemently. “I don’t want to take a handout.”

“Are you set on a career in finance?” Hannah asks. “Like, is conquering Wall Street your goal in life?”

I snort. “No. It never was. But it’s especially not now .”

“Hmm,” Hannah hums. “One of the girls at work is finishing up soon to have her baby, so we’ll have her position available for at least twelve months. If it works out, then I’m sure they’d keep you on.”

I’m about to say something when Fran and Emily both look at Hannah with almost identical expressions of confusion. Hannah eyes both of them dubiously. “What?”

“It just dawned on me…” Fran begins contemplatively. “I have absolutely no idea what you do for work.”

“Me neither,” Emily says with a sheepish laugh.

“Are you guys for real?” Hannah deadpans.

They both nod.

Rolling her eyes, Hannah shakes her head. “I work for SNN.”

“SNN?” Fran’s eyes blow out wide as dinner plates. “As in the biggest sports news broadcast in the country?”

Hannah nods slowly. “I’m in talent and acquisitions.”

My eyes widen. “Even I know SNN. And I don’t even like sports.”

“Maybe don’t lead with that in your interview.” Emily snickers, nudging me.

“It’s an assistant role,” Hannah says. “So, it’s not great money, but it’s such a fun place to work, and they’d love having you because you’re Dallas Shaw’s sister, and you’re—” She snaps her mouth shut as if she was about to say something about a particular right wing hockey player.

Fran makes a show of coughing dramatically, slapping her chest hard. Hannah glances at her then at me as if to ask if Fran knows. I nod once, silently confirming her unspoken question. And Hannah reaches over, gently slapping a hand against Fran’s back.

I side-eye Emily, thankful to find her none the wiser.

“Do you have a resume?” Hannah asks, quickly changing the subject back to me and my desperate need for a job.

“Yeah. I can send it to you.”

“I have a meeting tomorrow morning with my boss before he flies back to L.A., so I’ll speak to him. And don’t worry; he listens to me.” She offers me a wink.

My smile is watery. I could actually cry because I’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me the way Hannah is by simply offering to talk to her boss. And to think I hated her. “Thank you.”

She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. And I startle as the crowd around us cheers again, looking up at the TV as the camera zooms in on Logan celebrating a goal. And I can’t help but feel like maybe that’s a sign. God, I hope so.