The Secretary and Her Boss

Chapter 12

My assistant desk was a war zone. Papers were scattered across it in a disorganized fashion, sticky notes were splattered across my computer screen, ruining my perfectly manicured organization system.

"This hurts," I muttered, slowly sitting down at my desk, fingers hovering over the mess, trying to decide where to start. After spending a full week shadowing Allie through several photo shoots, I had all but abandoned my desk. "I'm sorry I've treated you so poorly lately," I murmured to my filing cabinet. "And let you all pile up," I added to the papers. "And left you unanswered," I said to my sticky notes of messages.

Now that Allie was taking a few days to focus on CEO duties, I finally had a moment to settle back at my desk and try to get ahold of the chaos. And getting a chance catch up on organizing was peaceful in comparison to the fashion tornado I had been following lately. I was good at organizing, and was itching to fall into something comfortable. Something that gave me time to process and think.

The afternoon sun gave the entire office a deep, warm orange glow. I felt like I could reach out and strum the gold rays in between my fingers like guitar strings. It left me wanting to melt onto the floor like a cat stretching out in the warmth of the sunshine.

"That mess is unlike you," Laurence Royal said, leaning against the doorframe to his office, backlit by the afternoon sun.

The sudden impulse to melt to the ground was suddenly replaced by a very different feeling. The office seemed to hum as I took in Laurence, momentarily forgetting what I was doing. I had assumed everyone had left. It had been deathly quiet when I came in.

Laurence Royal looked positively disheveled. What other people viewed as a casual look, I knew to be a look of nearly unhinged nature. His suit jacket was off, white button-up shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his usually slicked hair falling into his face, hooding his dark eyes. I scanned him, fighting my brow's instinct to shoot up in question before I put the pieces together after mentally checking the calendar.

"Do you want me to tell Dash you won't be in tomorrow?" I asked, my voice quiet. I assumed that Laurence Royal hadn't told Dash why he was going to be MIA for the next twenty four hours.

Laurence continued to look at me for a beat, before looking away, a muscle working in his jaw as he ran his fingers through his hair, clearly giving up all pretense at control. "Don't."

"I won't say anything," I promised.

"No."

He was quiet for so long post that one word that for a moment, I thought he had left, but he carried on a moment later. "Don't give me that look."

I blinked, looking up at him, confused.

"Every year, on this day, you give me the same look."

"What does that look say?" I asked carefully.

His tone was dangerous, filled with unfiltered grief and frustration. "That I am breakable."

I swallowed. He was.

Everyone else is allowed to show emotion when their world blows up. Why does he hold himself to a higher standard?

"No one should have to pretend as hard as you do," I finally said.

"I don't want pity."

"I've never given you pity."

Laurence shifted his stance, sending the afternoon sun falling across his face, making his eyes flash like fire. "You assume I don't remember."

My breath caught. Today was the first time he had ever dared to broach the subject of that day three years ago. The day I had shown up at his home unannounced.