Page 57 of Scandalous Secrets

After spending all those nights alone when I was used to feeling her smooth skin pressed against mine and hearing her laugh beneath the covers, I was starting to realize how badly I had messed up. With my father not on my ass as much and Kathy seemingly giving me the seal of approval after a solid week of work, maybe it was safe to ease back into things with Monica. If she would have me. I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Monday morning, I found my iced Americano sitting on my desk. It was the one thing I could count on every morning, and despite knowing that it was Monica’s job, I was delusional enough to lie to myself that it meant something more. I took a sip and let the dark caramel liquid run down my throat. Perfect. Just like every other morning.

Instead of closing my door this morning, like I had all last week, I left it open. I glanced over at her sitting at her desk. She looked beautiful with her chestnut hair falling past her shoulders and a red lip that complimented her creamy skin. It had been torture last week, forcing myself to not look at the beauty sitting across from me. Closing the door had been my only saving grace, along with lengthy to-do lists of bullshit for her to do out of the office.

I had missed her sitting next to me during meetings. The slight brush of our legs. The stolen glances. Long lunches with champagne. It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime without her. While my work was impeccable, it wasn’t nearly as fun without her with me.

The notification bell on my computer dinged, bringing my eyes away from her perfect pout that she made when she was focused and to the glare of my computer screen. There was an email from her. I eagerly opened it.

There was no greeting. No playfulness. She was just writing to remind me of the charity event at the end of the week that had slipped my mind after the shitty week prior. It was one of the biggest galas of the year and my attendance was mandatory, as I was one of the largest donors. Plastering a fake smile on my face and making small talk with Manhattan’s elite sounded utterly dull, but with Monica there, it could be better.

Maybe this was my way of winning her back. Personal assistants weren’t normally invited to things like this, so it might be fun for her. A way for us to rekindle what I had blown out. It was settled. Now I just needed to put my plan into motion.

After lunch, I had a bouquet of four dozen long-stemmed roses delivered to her desk. Her eyes widened as the courier stood before her with the arrangement that was bigger than him. Once he left, I watched as she looked around in confusion before she pulled the card that was tied to the vase of roses that ironically matched her lips. I watched her read the note I had them transcribe, holding my breath as I recited the words in my head.

Please join me on Friday evening. I miss you.

I hadn’t signed it for fear Kathy would snoop around. But I didn’t need to. She would know.

After reading the card, she set it down on the desk and got back to the paperwork that she had been sifting through before the flowers came. She didn’t so much as look in my direction. I sighed and sat back in my chair. I knew this was going to be harder than I thought.

Over the next few days leading up to the gala, I arrived to work before her, leaving gifts on the seat of her desk chair. Each day, she would open the boxes to find something she needed for the gala. A diamond necklace and matching pair of earrings from Tiffany’s. An appointment card for Timothy John’s salon for hair and makeup. A pair of Christian Louboutins. And finally a red, satin strapless gown. With each gift she opened, she never looked at me. Never so much as smiled.

So when I showed up outside her place in a limo and buzzed her apartment on the intercom, I had no idea whether she would come with me. I waited for a few minutes outside her building, waiting to hear her voice through the speaker, but there was nothing. I let out a slow breath of defeat as I straightened the front of my tuxedo before walking back to the limo. Just as I was about to get inside, the driver who held the door cleared his throat and looked behind me.

I turned slowly, following his gaze, and saw her. Monica stood before me in the dress that hung off her shoulders and clung to her ample amount of cleavage before cascading down to the floor in a pool of satiny red. Her neck was adorned with the tasteful diamond necklace that sparkled alongside the teardrop earrings that peeked out from her dark hair that was pulled back in a high bun.

My stomach did a backflip and I wondered if it would ever land on its feet again as I struggled to find the words to say anything to the beautiful woman before me. The driver cleared his throat, bringing me back to earth. I stepped aside, allowing her to slide into the limo, jealous of the driver who got to hold her hand as he helped her. I slid in after her.

Silence enveloped us in the backseat as she refused to look at me.

“Monica,” I said softly, reaching for her hand. She didn’t pull away. “Please, look at me. Please, listen to me.”

She pulled her gaze from the window and focused it on me, all of its intense anger, sadness, and hurt penetrating me like arrows drawn from a bow.

“I’m so sorry. Please, you have to know that.” My voice shook, but I didn’t care. I pushed aside my usual pride before continuing.

“I was just so angry with my father. It’s like I came home from a dream and he ruined everything. I don’t know why I let him get to me so much. I should never have taken it out on you.”

She seemed to think about it for a moment.

“You have the night to make it up to me,” she said quietly before looking back out the window, but I swore I saw a faint smile before she turned.

As we pulled up to the Met, I saw the flashing lights and the red carpet filled with Manhattan’s wealthiest. Monica’s eyes grew wide as the car slowed to a stop.

“Before we get out, I just want you to know that you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on,” I said softly, diverting her nervous gaze from the outside that awaited us.

I leaned in and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you for coming,” I whispered.

The car door opened, and the cameras were already snapping photos. I stepped out calmly, even though my nerves were manic and it wasn’t from the lights or the shouts coming from photographers. It was because I was here with Monica, and there was a chance tonight wouldn’t prove to be enough to win her back. I held my hand out for her, and for a moment I wondered if she would take it. She did, and my fingers closed gently around the hand I had so missed in mine. I helped her out of the limo and heard audible gasps as the crowd took her in. I smiled knowingly as I led her to the red carpet.

After a slew of photos, together and separate, we carefully avoided any questions about our relationship status. I knew the photos would be everywhere, but I could easily tell my father that I brought her along for work purposes. It wasn’t that far-fetched for one of the biggest events of the year. There was always someone to schmooze in business.

We made our way through the doors of the museum and toward the smooth jazz floating from the large ballroom. Inside, the white marble floors were peppered with cocktail tables with crisp white linens and large bouquets of white roses. From the intricate paneled ceilings hung glittery chandeliers with large white candles emitting a warm glow throughout the room.

“Wow,” whispered Monica as she walked beside me, taking it all in.

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