Page 45 of The Book of Lost Hours

Moira didn’t say anything. Things got easier as the days went on.

The other girls didn’t hold her inexperience against her as she expected they might.

They even seemed worried about her, exchanging glances when they learned she would be joining Jack for his meetings.

Something his previous secretaries hadn’t done before.

Shelley showed her how to use the dictation machine and Amanda and Pauline gave her typing exercises they’d learned in secretary school to help her improve.

She got used to the strangeness of her role.

Jack at work was a different Jack from the one she’d known before, but she could sense his other self, his real self, looming just under the surface.

Always watching to make sure she stayed in line.

He remained lenient as she adjusted, but the more days that went by, the more stringent his expectations became.

She got used to sitting at his side to take notes during meetings, bringing him coffee, sorting his mail, keeping his calendar.

One thing that she wasn’t getting used to, however, was that the timekeepers who followed her in the time space for years had no idea who she was, thrown off by her hair and her new clothes.

A part of her almost wished they did recognize her.

Maybe they wouldn’t flirt so brazenly if they knew who she was.

Fred Vance in particular was becoming a problem for Moira.

He, along with two others, made up a new team of timekeepers who were still in training.

She staunchly refused to “smile and accept it” the way Shelley recommended she should, and Fred appeared to consider this as some kind of a challenge. She did her best to ignore them.

Until one day, in her third week, Fred Vance sought her out before a big meeting when the office was relatively quiet.

Most of the timekeepers had already gone into the boardroom, and Moira was in the break room waiting for Jack.

It was to be her first time in an important meeting like this and she was already wound up.

So when Fred came along with his lackeys and his catcalling, her patience was already worn thin.

When he trapped her against the counter and put his hand up her skirt, however, she snapped.

She punched him hard across the face. Fred stumbled backward, grabbing his bleeding nose and howling with pain.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

Fred immediately stopped shouting. He and the other two timekeepers in the room straightened up.

Moira turned to see Ernest standing in the door of the break room.

He was dressed in a suit and tie, hair combed and styled.

He was giving her a scolding, accusatory look she had never seen before.

When had he come back from leave? She swallowed at the feeling of his eyes on her, suddenly unable to think of anything but the way his lips felt pressed against her skin.

“Well?” he prompted.

Moira blinked. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Behind her, the trainees were snickering. A single stern look from Ernest silenced them.

“I asked who you are.”

“I’m J-… Mr. Dillinger’s new secretary.”

“Well, Mr. Dillinger’s new secretary, do you have a name?”

“M-Moira Donnelly.”

“Got it. Now do you want to explain to me why you punched one of my trainees?”

“I didn’t realize he was yours.”

“And if you had, you wouldn’t have hit him?”

Moira folded her arms. She didn’t like being scolded by him. “No, I still would have.”

“Do you make a habit of punching your superiors?”

“Only if that superior is being a disrespectful prick.”

The sound of snickering picked up again.

Ernest snapped at them. “Why are you all standing around? I know you’ve got better things to be doing so I suggest you do them. Now.”

The three young men lit from the room like a pack of dogs with their tails between their legs.

Ernest turned his harsh gaze back to Moira.

“Miss Donnelly, was it?” he asked, scrutinizing her. “I don’t know what Jack told you about how we conduct ourselves around here, but violence will not be tolerated. I would have expected better from the director’s secretary.”

“So because I’m Mr. Dillinger’s secretary, that means I get reprimanded while your direct reports can run around harassing young women without consequences?”

This struck a nerve. She could tell by the way he ground his jaw. She was not behaving the way a normal secretary would. The way he and the other men were used to. Anyone else might fire her on the spot. But she knew Ernest too well.

“What did he do?”

“He put his hand up my skirt.”

Ernest’s ears turned pink. “I see. I’ll… talk to him.”

“Don’t bother,” Moira said, rubbing her sore knuckles. “I think he got the message.”

Ernest let out a single chuckle before remembering himself. “Right. Well, consider this a warning, Miss Donnelly. I won’t tolerate violence, even if you are Jack’s secretary. If they give you trouble again, come talk to me.”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Mr….”

He held a hand out to her. “Oh, right. Duquesne. Ernest Duquesne.”

Moira smiled, amazed at how easily she could still turn him around. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Duquesne.”

Jack entered the break room just as their hands met, holding a stack of files. He took one look at them and stopped dead in his tracks.

Ernest let go of her hand. “There you are, Jack.”

“Is there a problem here?” Jack asked, narrowing his eyes at them.

“No problem. Just getting acquainted with your new secretary.”

“Were you now?”

Moira swallowed, feeling her heart pulse in her throat. She could hear the skepticism in Jack’s voice already. Ernest had been back for less than a day and here she was getting caught in a room alone with him.

On his way out of the room, Ernest paused to pat Jack on the shoulder. “Careful, Jack. You might have hired the only woman in the world who can give you a run for your money.” He actually sounded vaguely impressed.

Jack’s eyes followed Ernest all the way down the hall before turning back.

“I punched one of the new timekeepers in the face,” Moira said at once, wanting to dispel any doubts right away.

Jack cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I might have broken his nose. It won’t happen again.”

“Which one did you punch?”

“Fred Vance.”

Jack cracked a bemused smile. “Good choice.”

She followed him into the boardroom. The timekeepers exchanged glances as Jack began the meeting without bothering to address Moira’s presence in the room.

“Uh, Jack…” Ernest said, cutting him off. “Shouldn’t she…”

“She’s got clearance,” Jack said dismissively.

“How?” Ernest asked with a frown.

“Ernest, I suggest you focus on keeping your new hires in line and stop concerning yourself with my employees.”

The silence in the room was tense. At the other end of the table, Brady and Collins traded amused looks.

Jack made it clear in that first meeting that when it came to Moira, he wasn’t going to accept criticism.

She was, in a way, protected by him and this protection served a dual purpose of keeping him from having to deal with his subordinates’ skepticism, and keeping her from having to answer any prying questions about her personal life.

She became known throughout the TRP as one of two things: the secretary who broke Fred Vance’s nose or simply as “Jack’s girl.

” Both deterred the timekeepers from flirting with her.

A FTER ONE year on the job, in 1956, Jack finally asked Moira to do what he’d really hired her for.

“I need you to clean something up for me,” he said, when he called her into his office that night.

This time, the victim was someone she knew.

Pauline, one of the general secretaries, had walked in on a conversation she wasn’t supposed to hear.

She was being held in an unconscious state on the lower floors until they could find a solution.

Moira fingered the black notebook Jack had given her to store the memories, studying Pauline’s face.

At the first sign of hesitation, Jack was quick to remind her of his previous threats.

“Try not to think about it too much,” he said softly, one hand on her shoulder.

“In the past, a slipup like this could cost a girl like Pauline her life. It’s happened to more than one of my secretaries.

Surely keeping her alive is worth a couple of fleeting memories?

” He paused, leaning in a little closer so that he was speaking directly into her ear.

“But if you still aren’t compelled… maybe I ought to have Brady do some more digging about that theory of his.

You remember? The one about your daughter? ”

Moira stepped away from him, removing her arm from his reach. As much as his threats scared her, they also made her furious. After all, it wasn’t like he could read her memories to learn the truth. Even so, it wasn’t worth the risk. He had her cornered and he knew it. So Moira did as he asked.

“Attagirl,” he said when she was finished.

As she turned to go, he caught her wrist.

“Did you need something else?” she asked, her tone void of emotion.

The smug look on his face had shifted. He was eyeing her with something almost akin to concern. “Did you know it’s been over a year since you started working here?” he asked.

“The longest you’ve ever had a secretary, or so I’ve heard,” Moira said dryly.

“Hey now, that’s not nice,” Jack said. But he was smiling.

“I didn’t make your reputation, Jack. I’m just letting you know what gets said around here.”

“And what gets said about you and me?” He still hadn’t let go of her wrist.

Moira shifted uncomfortably. “Nothing. Just that you’ve never kept a secretary this long. Everyone assumes we’re sleeping together.”

“Sleeping together?” His thumb stroked the inner part of her forearm. “Isn’t that something?”