My Shameful Secret Read online

  And he knows it.

  It’s in the way he holds himself, with the rather arrogant tilt of his head, and the strong, powerful way he walks. If he’s coming your way, you either step aside or risk getting run over.

  Certainly, it doesn’t hurt either that he’s obviously loaded. Sometimes, he arrives in a self-driven Maserati. Other times, I catch sight of him stepping out from the backseat of a chauffeur-driven Bentley. Either way, he never comes alone. He always has arm candy with him. Always. Today’s no different and---

  After adjusting the eyeglasses perched on my nose, I squint hard at the woman seated across him, trying to see if she’s familiar. As a self-confessed introvert, I’ve become rather good at observing people and things in general and I never forget a face. So this woman Mr. Beautiful is currently wining and dining?

  I shake my head in amazement. She’s a new one. Again! How is this possible? Mr. Beautiful either has an insanely large network of friends…or he’s a shareholder of Tinder, and he’s got insider privileges on new subscribers.

  Returning to my seat, I belatedly start on my work, which requires me to translate technical manuals to Japanese. Once in a while, I’d glance out the window, craving for a little distraction in the form of Mr. Beautiful.

  Oh.

  His lips have curved, and he’s got this familiar-looking smile – it’s unapologetically cocky but irresistibly sexy at the same time, and the message it delivers is pretty straightforward. You might hate me, but it won’t stop you from fucking me.

  Like I said: arrogant.

  But somehow it works, and I’m not surprised when the woman seated in front of him crosses her legs and wets her lips in response. How can I when I’m affected, too, and the sight of that irritatingly dazzling smile is enough to make my breath catch?

  I quickly look down on my notes---

  Poor little girl, my inner badass mocks.

  But it’s too late.

  The reason why I love watching Mr. Beautiful date all those beautiful women is because I also love using it as the basis of my fantasies.

  Like now.

  Staring down at my notebook, I desperately try to get my back to my translation notes but it’s no use. Instead of Japanese characters I see an imaginary picture forming---

  It’s Mr. Beautiful, seated on his usual al fresco table, but instead of the beautiful woman joining him I see---

  Myself.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but the imaginary scenario persists.

  * * *

  Mr. Beautiful gazes at me under hooded lids. “How long have you known me, Evan?”

  “S-six months,” I say stiffly.

  “It’s been half a year then,” he muses. “Half a year, and yet you still can’t make yourself come to terms with reality?”

  “I don’t know---”

  “What I’m talking about?” Mr. Beautiful’s tone is amused. “Bullshit.”

  I jerk in my seat.

  “Was that too rude?”

  “You know it is,” I hiss under my breath.

  “What I know,” he murmurs, “is that everything I do turns you on.”

  “E-excuse me?”

  “You like it when I talk dirty to you---”

  “No!”

  “You like it when I look at you with lust---”

  I start to get up, but Mr. Beautiful is suddenly gripping my hand and yanks me back to my seat. “Can’t bear hearing the truth?” he asks silkily.

  I glare at him. “Say what you want, but I know how I feel---”

  Mr. Beautiful laughs, and the sound is pure seduction, both deliciously forbidden and overwhelmingly tempting.

  “No, darling. You don’t know how you feel…but I do. You want me to take the decision out of your hands. You want me to take charge.” His lips curve into a smirk. “And so that’s what I’ll do.”

  His fingers tighten around my wrist.

  “When I let go of your hand, you’ll stay in your seat like a good little girl. We’re going to finish our dinner, and then you’re going to let me escort you to my car. You’re going to let me take you to my place. You’ll half-heartedly try to resist me, but I’ll still be able to take you to my room because we both want the same thing. You want me taking off your clothes and fucking you hard---”

  A tiny cry inevitably escapes me.

  Mr. Beautiful inhales hard. “Ah, Evan.” The glitter of lust in his eyes becomes sharper. “If that’s a preview of the kind of sounds you’d make in bed---” He shakes his head, muttering, “I’ll damn well make sure every move I make will make you burn.”

  My hands fly up to cover my mouth.

  How can he say such things to me, a woman he barely knows---

  I gulp hard.

  And yet…why am I now wet and aching, like I can’t wait for him to do the things he---

  * * *

  “Evan?”

  I crash back to earth, and for a few moments I find myself blinking at Mrs. Jenkins, unable to understand why I’m seeing the librarian when it’s supposed to be Mr. Beautiful in front of me, seducing me, and succeeding.

  “What do you think? Can you stand in for me for a few minutes? I just need to dash to the English department and get some papers signed by Professor M.”

  The sight of Mrs. Jenkins’ hopeful look makes me mentally shake my head, and I summon a smile, saying, “Sure.”

  “Oh, thank you!”

  As I gather my stuff, the librarian asks if I’ve already started with my internship, and I shake my head. “I’ll be starting this Monday.”

  Her face falls. “So I guess I won’t see you around after today.”

  The look of disappointment that crosses Mrs. Jenkins’ face is a touching surprise, and I assure her readily, “I may still need to drop by during weekends.” Which means while Mrs. Jenkins is guaranteed to see me around---

  Today might be the last time I’ll see him, I realize, since Mr. Beautiful never drops by during weekends.

  The thought creates a curious little pang in my heart, and before following the librarian to the counter I find myself glancing outside the window one last time---

  He’s pulling the chair out for his date, and I watch her say something as she comes to her feet. Whatever it is, it’s caused him to throw his head back and laugh. A moment later, his arm curls around her waist---

  Oh!

  Why do you keep torturing yourself, my inner bad girl asks tiredly. Why don’t you just look away?

  Good question, so much so that it doesn’t even need an answer. What it requires is but a simple action. All I have to do is look away and I won’t be hurt.

  But as always I do the opposite, and as I watch Mr. Beautiful pull his date closer to him I feel the pang in my heart become more excruciating---

  Mr. Beautiful covers the woman’s mouth with his.

  ---until a wound opens in my heart.

  That should have been you, my inner bad girl says bluntly, if only you had the guts to ask him out.

  Most of the women around the couple have stopped and stared, and I’m betting they feel the same way I do.

  Jealous.

  Frustrated.

  But more than anything else---

  Aroused.

  The wound in my heart only starts to close when Mr. Beautiful finally lifts his head.

  Lucky girl, I think with a sigh.

  I may disapprove of Mr. Beautiful’s womanizing ways but it doesn’t make me blind to the fact that he’s a good kisser. He has to be, considering how the women in his life don’t seem to care that he’s dividing his, err, attention among a hundred lovers.

  Mr. Beautiful’s familiar-looking sports car then drives into view, and I sigh again, realizing that he’s about to leave.

  This is it, then.

  Our very last time to see each other, I think wistfully.

  Goodbye, Mr. Beautiful.

  I’m about to turn away when I see Mr. Beautiful raise his head---

  And his eyes unerringly find mine
.

  Chapter 1

  Chattering noise sprinkled with laughter fill the auditorium as this year’s batch of interns climbs up the stairs, searching for the best seats in the house. I leave them jockeying for the front rows and head straight to the last, at the very back of the room. Here, the shadows threaten to swallow me, and I surrender to it gladly. When you suffer from crippling shyness, not being seen is a good thing.

  While waiting for orientation to start I flip through the company booklet included in our welcome kit. Worse comes to worst, I might get asked about the company’s history, so it’s better to be prepared.

  The first page is a glowing tribute to the company’s CEO, a guy in his late twenties named Ethan Alexander.

  Mm.

  Alexander? Could this guy have anything to do with Alexander University, where I’m presently enrolled in my last year of college?

  I go on reading the rest of his bio, which includes an insane list of accomplishments. The sheer number of it makes me wrinkle my nose in skepticism. Is it possible for a guy to be this good in business? Either that or he’s ruthless as hell.

  Since the bio doesn’t come with a photo, I take my iPhone out, intending to Google him out of curiosity. But a moment later, I hear someone on the stage below start to speak.

  “Everyone, please take your seats.” The large projector screen rolled out above the stage reveals an attractive but unsmiling woman in a stylish white pantsuit, with a powder-blue blouse unbuttoned low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. “We’ll be starting in five minutes sharp.” The words are spoken in a curt, no-nonsense voice, and it works like a charm on the crowd. In less than a minute, the noise has died down, backs have straightened, and all eyes turn towards the stage.

  When orientation officially begins, another person comes up on stage and introduces himself as Milton, the company’s P.R. head. He starts his speech with a reminder of just how many students from all over the country submitted their application, followed by the tiny percentage that was accepted.

  I’m not sure about others, but I get what he’s not saying. Internship with EA Inc. is highly coveted, so if we don’t do as they say, the company can and will have no problems replacing us – easily.

  After, he tells us about how we’d be randomly assigned to different departments, with two lucky interns to be assigned to the executive floor. A good number of excited squeals greet this announcement, which surprises me. I’m guessing Mr. Alexander the CEO is more popular than I’m aware of.

  “And speaking of the executive floor, you should consider yourself extremely lucky to be a part of this year’s batch of interns. Today – and this has never happened before – I’m honored to welcome on stage our CEO himself---”

  When everyone jumps to their feet and starts clapping, I belatedly and hastily rise from my seat to do the same. Most of the girls around me are also screaming. It’s almost like I’ve been transported to a pop concert, and we’re just waiting for the main act.

  How utterly bizarre, I think absently.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Ethan Alexander.”

  My eyes narrow on the screen as I see a guy walk out of the backstage. Something about him is familiar, I muse. It’s a crazy thought, but the feeling persists as I watch him continue forward while the camera zooms closer and closer---

  My jaw drops.

  No way.

  Just…no way.

  It’s impossible.

  And yet I know what I’m seeing is real.

  Mr. Beautiful is my boss?

  I squint and rub my eyes hard, but when I glance at the screen again, it’s the same gorgeous face that stares back at me. And this time, his whole face takes up the entire screen---

  My heart skips a beat.

  It really is him, I think dazedly.

  The close-up shot allows me to pick up details I’ve never had the chance to glimpse in the past, like the fact that he has jade-green eyes or the way his lips have this aristocratic thinness that makes his mouth more cruel but beautiful when he smiles.

  And then there’s his voice---

  “Good afternoon.” His voice is low but clear, his diction precise.

  Funny how I’ve watched this man from the second-floor window for half a year, but it’s only my first time to hear his voice.

  And it’s even better than I imagine, I think reluctantly. The thought is entirely unwelcomed. I don’t like how I keep finding new things to like about Mr. Beautiful. It’s just not…advisable.

  The woman in the pantsuit gestures to us to sit down as he speaks, and as I lower myself back to my seat I can’t help wondering who she is, to act like she’s his second-in-command. I’ve seen the company’s organizational chart and the person who’s next in line to the CEO is a guy.

  So who is she?

  Does it matter, my inner badass suddenly pipes out in a mocking tone. It’s not like you’re going to do anything if she turns out to be his girlfriend – or are you?

  I almost grimace at the question that flashed in my mind. Imaginary conversation or not, my inner badass has a point. I’ve never been the type to bring attention to myself, and that’s exactly what’s going to happen if I’m foolish enough to show any kind of interest in our company’s CEO. Even if the woman beside him isn’t his girlfriend, she seems the type to scratch your eyes out if she thinks you’re looking at her man---

  Which I am.

  Mr. Beautiful still has the entire crowd dazzled, and it’s not just because he’s gorgeous enough to make everyone’s panties melt. There’s something about the way he moves, the way he speaks, the way he looks at the crowd like he knows he owns every soul in this room.

  You just know he’s a take-charge kind of guy, and it makes you wonder.

  Will he be the same in the bedroom?

  Probably, I answer myself with a gulp.

  This man is built to dominate your senses completely. He’s going to kiss you so damn hard he’ll take your breath away. He’ll make your body burn so hot you’ll realize you’ve never felt so alive until that moment. And oh, when he enters your body---

  He’s going to take you over and over, not even if you beg him to stop, to slow down, to be gentle.

  He won’t do it because he knows.

  You really want it that way---

  “Thanks for your time.”

  The host’s words haul me back to the present, and I feel a flush coming over my cheeks as I realize I’ve lost myself in my fantasies.

  How shameless, my inner badass mocks, but I thoroughly approve.

  The host invites us to come forward. “Mr. Alexander will stick around for a few minutes so he can get to know some of you.”

  Most of the interns have surged towards the stage even before he finishes speaking, and the host shakes his head in amusement. “You’ve created a stampede,” he murmurs as an aside to the CEO, but the microphone still catches his words.

  The live-feed camera captures Mr. Beautiful’s reaction to the screen. A brief, dismissive shake of his head that succinctly says he’s not going to let such a thing get to his head.

  I take my time rising from my seat, nibbling on my lower lip as anxiety slithers down my spine at the thought of having to be face to face with Mr. Beautiful. Surely no one would mind if I make a beeline for the exit?

  I’m nobody important, anyway.

  The thought cheers me up like no other, and my shoulders straighten a little as I avoid the crowd of interns and head towards the exit doors. I make sure to keep my head lowered at all times, knowing from experience that it’s usually good enough to discourage people from talking to you.

  In the corner of my eye, I see a couple of male interns heading for the same direction, and I automatically slow down, allowing them to walk past me.

  Every day is like this for me, a cat-and-mouse game that I can only win if I survive the day without being forced to interact with other people.

  And it’s easier said than done, I think exhaustedly.

&nbs
p; Behind me, I hear female interns letting out sighs of disappointment, and I catch a few phrases here and there.

  I didn’t get a selfie with him!

  He’s so much hotter in person!

  My Snapchat’s exploded ever since I uploaded his video.

  I mentally shake my head at the reactions. I get it that Mr. Beautiful is some kind of big shot, but is he really that popular? Who’d have thought the man I’ve been covertly watching (stalking) in the past six months---

  Someone bumps into me from behind, and I nearly skid forward at the impact.

  Sheesh! What the heck was that? Did a bulldozer appear out of nowhere at my back?

  As I straighten, a warm, strong hand presses against the small of my back, and my body jerks involuntarily at the touch.

  Why does this stranger’s touch feel too terrifyingly familiar and possessive?

  “I’m sorry, Miss.”

  My face pales. I know that voice. But…it can’t be. Right?

  “I’m afraid my bodyguard’s rather vigilant in protecting my private space.”

  My head starts bobbing as soon as I hear the word ‘bodyguard’. I just want to get rid of him, now that I know who he is.

  And it’s Mr. Beautiful of course.

  Without raising my head, I mumble under my breath, “I’m o-okay.” Please, please, please go. I can already feel so many people staring at us – at me – and it’s literally making me feel sick.

  “Are you certain?” His voice is still soft but firm. It’s telling me there’s something he wants that I’ve yet to give, and he won’t leave until---

  You give him what he wants. My inner badass’ voice is insidious. So give it, and live your life for once. It’s like having the serpent from the Garden of Eden living in my head, slithering here and there as it searches for ways to make mischief.

  Knowing there’s no other way, I say once more, “I’m okay.” But this time, I force myself to look up---

  Our eyes meet, and my knees immediately knock against each other at what I see.

  Oh God.

  The gleam in his jade-green eyes is unmistakable.

  He knows.