Page 18 of Keep Him Like Secrets

“Told you that you don’t need to do that.”

“It’s the job. I like my job,” he said, reaching up to adjust his black tie against his pristine white shirt under his black suit jacket.

I’d never demanded he wear an actual chauffeur uniform when I’d hired him. But, I guess, like he said, he liked his job. And I liked his willingness to be on call literally anytime I might need him.

“Thanks. I don’t know how long I’m going to be.”

“I’ll be right here,” he said, waving toward the sleek black sedan. “Chilling.”

Calvin was another of those random hires—like Teresa—that could make you start to believe in shit like serendipity and fate.

He’d been a delivery driver for one of those meal apps when I’d still been operating out of a much smaller office in a building full of others.

I’d been surviving mostly on coffee those days, so I’d never had reason to actually do more than exchange the occasional head nod with him.

Then one day, right after I got my first really big check and was thinking about new offices, a new condo, new clothes—all the shit that came with big success—I had been standing in front of the building on the sidewalk.

Then out of nowhere, Calvin flew out of his car and fucking tackled me.

Not two seconds later, a runaway window cleaning scaffold came crashing to the ground just where I’d been standing.

He’d saved my life.

I saved him from endless deliveries and shitty tips.

He liked air conditioning, fancy suits, and sitting around listening to his music in the car while I went to meetings.

It was funny how life worked out sometimes.

I walked down half a block before ducking into the alley between buildings that I’d explained to Saff I wanted to use as an exit route for celebrities.

She was right.

It was long, narrow, and dirty.

But, as weird as it sounds, I’d found that celebrities liked to pretend to slum it here and there. They’d probably like the claustrophobic secret passageway.

Though, if I wanted to ensure their safety, I’d have to either talk to the owners of the buildings at the other end of the alley to install a security gate or commit to hiring someone as security to stand in the alley at all times.

Either way, it was a little problem with an easy answer.

As I got closer to the through-street where the building was located, I heard the rumble of conversation. A man and a woman, though I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Another few steps forward, and I saw that it was coming from Saff herself—this time wearing black slacks and a white silk top that she kept shimmying her shoulders in and fidgeting with, like she didn’t feel comfortable wearing it.

The man she was talking to was her assistant. Bastian, I think his name was.

The thing that gave me pause washowthey were speaking.

A bit heatedly.

She threw out her hands.

He leaned down to whisper-yell at her.

That was strange behavior for a subordinate.

I felt a strange prickle on the back of my neck, a telltale sign that something was off. And I’d always been someone who trusted that gut instinct.

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