Page 12 of Dirty Little Secrets

“ G ood morning, Ms. Summers. How good of you to join us.” Mr. Drazen is standing outside his office door facing my desk, his tone cold enough to freeze the rain currently pouring outside.

I’m drenched. Water slides between my thighs because I failed to check the weather the night before.

I left Kristina’s apartment ten minutes late, not realizing it would take ten minutes longer to reach the coffee shop.

Then, I waited in a long line for coffee only to spill it on my blouse while getting off the subway.

The three blocks to Drazen Enterprises were a disaster.

The sky opened up and poured harder, slowing my steps as I tried not to slip—making me almost two hours late.

Hoping he’ll let me settle in quietly, I mutter, “Good morning, Mr. Drazen.”

He doesn’t budge. Instead, he checks his overpriced watch. “I’m not sure what being on time means in your head, but it certainly doesn’t mean eleven a.m.”

It’s obvious why I’m late. He has to know it’s crazy outside and he he’s more than aware that I don’t have a car. But I can’t tell if he’s being an asshole on purpose or if he’s like this with everyone.

My stomach swoops at how devastatingly handsome he looks in a black suit. I slide my wet purse under the desk and meet his cold stare. I feel so small beneath it. He has to be at least six-foot-three.

“Sorry I’m late. I was caught in the rain.”

“Was it the rain, or did you wake up late?”

“It won’t happen again, Mr. Drazen,” I say, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

I shrug off my wet coat and hang it with more force than necessary. He watches me, like he’s waiting for me to lose it.

“Of course it won’t. Because while you were drinking coffee, I was scheduling my own lunch reservation and answering calls to confirm a business meeting this afternoon.”

“I’ll get the file for your client.”

I power up the computer, expecting him to finally leave. He doesn’t. He keeps glaring at me like I keep failing some invisible test.

“No need, Miss Summers. I already did.”

I glance up at him, then quickly away, trying not to admire how his shirt stretches over his broad chest or how his biceps strain his sleeves.

“I’ll make up the time today.”

“Of course you will. You’ll be joining me for lunch so you can catch up. Don’t make this a habit, Ms. Summers. I have better things to do than wait for you to show up.”

I wish he’d just go back into his office. How can a man so attractive be such a jerk?

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Be on time for lunch. Be prepared to take notes. I assume you understand why you’re coming.”

“I do.”

“Then go over the security protocols for the McDavid file. I want a full analysis before lunch.”

My eyes widen as he walks back into his office and shuts the door. A full analysis? I don’t even know the file he’s talking about. He knows I don’t. Because he’s testing me.

After my third cup of awful office coffee, I hear heels clicking on the marble floor.

Kristina appears, smiling, dressed in a tight pencil skirt. She left over an hour before I did. I should’ve left with her.

“How’s your day going?” she asks.

I glance at Drazen’s door. “You mean the day from hell?”

“I should’ve warned you about the weather,” she says, eyeing my damp blouse.

“It wouldn’t have mattered. I could’ve had a poncho and two umbrellas and it wouldn’t have made a lick of differene. The rain came down in sheets.”

She leans in, grinning. “And robbed the guys of the view of your red bra? No way.”

My cheeks burn as I glance down. “Shit.”

She giggles.

“Fuck off,” I mutter trying to stifle my grin. “I doubt anyone noticed past the coffee stain.”

She nudges her chin toward Drazen’s office. “I bet he noticed.”

“More like berated me for being late.”

She drops her voice. “I bet he’s in there berating himself after seeing you all wet in that red bra.”

I roll my eyes. “He needs a drill to loosen the stick up his ass.”

“Maybe he’s not that bad.”

I tell her about the impossible analysis and the lunch.

She sighs. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll stop at the hardware store and get you a drill—and some Vaseline.”

Kristina walks off for her vending machine at the break room, and I glance down at my blouse. I should’ve asked if she had a spare or a quick run to grab something more decent.

The elevator dings. I keep typing. “Kristina, do you have a spare jacket? Or time to grab me a shirt so Mr. Drazen and his clients aren’t gawking at my bra over oysters?”

I look up. It’s not Kristina.

It’s him.

I cross my arms over my chest. He’s buttoning his shirt, hiding the X tattoo at his collar.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Drazen. I thought you were someone else.”

“Since you have time to chat and worry about your attire rather than complete your assignment, you can go to Mike’s office and retrieve the completed analysis to bring to with you. That should give you plenty of time to become presentable.”

Did he just say the file is already done?

“Do you think you can manage that small task?”

What I want is to unplug the stick up your ass. “I can.” I stand. “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”

“I don’t believe that’s what I asked.” And he walks back into his office.

I grab my things, catch a cab to Goodwill, and buy the cheapest blazer and blouse I can find. I don’t care if they match.

Back at Mike’s office, I get the file. Head back to my desk, to shut down my computer.

Drazen’s door is locked. I knock twice. Nothing. I glance at the time and panic—he should already be at the restaurant.

I race to the elevators, clutching the folder.

An hour later, I barge into the seafood restaurant, sidestep a couple, and rush the hostess. “I’m with Mr. Drazen’s party.”

She gives me a once-over, checks the reservation, and nods. I must look a mess.

She leads me through the main dining area. The smell of seafood hits me hard. I swallow it down hating the smell of fish.

At the back table, three sets of eyes turn to me. I lift my chin and smile. “Gentlemen, apologies for being late. You know how New York traffic is.”

“It’s nice of you to finally join us,” Drazen says. His tone is like sweet poison.

I slide into the empty seat and place the file next to my plate. The man to my right is pure Italian—tailored suit, gold pinky ring. The one across is American, but not local.

“Well, isn’t she worth the wait,” the Italian says. “You’ll be presenting the analysis?”

I glance at Drazen. “Yes, sir.”

“Call me Vinny.” He gestures to his right. “And this is Darryl McDavid.”

On the way here, I had the chance to skim the McDavid file. Their business model doesn’t make sense. There is no mention of what’s being shipped or who brokers it. The only connection I could make is that Vinny is listed as an investor.

The waiter comes, I play it safe and order water. Rain patters the window. The A/C kicks in and I shiver. My nails snag on the tag of my blouse. I tug it loose, hoping no one noticed.

“At least you beat the rain,” Darryl says.

I wait for Drazen’s jab. But surprisingly, there isn’t one.

I begin. “Apologies again for being late…” I pause. There is no point groveling with these men. They don’t give a shit except their investment.

I dive into the bullet points, explaining the security system’s benefits and risks. I detail how it protects their data and helps recover missing shipments. When I’m finished, I expect criticism but nothing comes.

Silence stretches thick but Drazen stays silent and I'm almost positive I'm fired.

On the ride back, I sit in silence. I accept the ride back to the office—rain and unemployment don’t mix. In the garage, the driver exits, leaving me with Drazen.

“You did good,” he says.

It stuns me. I grip the folder like it’s the ticket to my future. “Thank you. But you don’t need to be nice before you fire me.”

“And why would I fire you?”

I laugh. “We both know I’m not what you’re looking for in a secretary.”

“And what is that, Ms. Summers?”

I glance down at my blouse realizing in my haste and poor judgement, it’s practically see-through. “Not this.”

“Why not?”

I hate that he makes me say it. “I was late…twice. I didn’t complete my assignment in time. I probably embarrassed you at lunch.”

“I see.”

I hand him the file. “I’m sorry.”

I get out, practically sprinting to the elevator. Once inside, I stab the button to his floor. The doors begin to close but a hand stops them. Drazen steps in, smelling like rain and cologne.

I back into the wall. “What are you doing?” I ask, as he lifts his phone to his ear.

“Shut the camera off,” he says to whoever he called.

Fuck.

He knows. But how?

He steps close. “You didn’t let me finish, Ms. Summers.”

I swallow hard.

“How did you make a fool of yourself? Your presentation was perfect.”

I glance at my blouse not knowing how to respond as the relief that he still doesn’t know so I go with, “I’m sure they got a kick out of it.”

He shows me his screen with a notification for a wire transfer for fifteen million.

My breath hitches.

“It wasn’t the red bra,” he says as the doors open to his floor. But his eyes linger just a beat too long on my chest. “That’s not why they closed the deal.” Then he walks away, leaving me speechless.

My phone buzzes in my purse. I pull it out and it’s from the Obsidian app. I open the notification and it reads: Your medical is cleared.

On Sunday, they had an opening at a clinic that is open seven days a week where you can get screened.

I wasn’t surprised that they asked for proof.

It’s required for all members before their first visit to the club.

They want everyone checked for STI’s and make sure women are on a form of birth control.

I smile when I open the tab where green check appears clearing me for my first visit.

It couldn’t have come at a better time than today. Maybe a night exploring a sex club will give me the outlet I need to take the edge off every time I’m alone with my boss. I just need a match to start it off.