My Shameful Secret Read online

  “I’m glad.” Mr. Beautiful’s voice is smooth, but the gleam in his eyes makes a mockery of it.

  Oh God, I can’t be mistaken.

  He knows I’ve been watching him.

  The thought leaves me quietly agitated, but years of wearing a mask to hide my shyness enable me to stay still and gaze back at him expressionlessly.

  Questions race in my mind as I watch the CEO turn away.

  Is it over? Will he play nice and let it be? Can I start breathing now?

  Relief starts to spread inside of me when Mr. Beautiful turns his back on me completely.

  Oh thank God. I guess I was wrong. Or I was being paranoid. I guess---

  Mr. Beautiful starts to walk past me, and that’s when I hear it.

  It’s my turn to watch you.

  The words are almost inaudible, but I know what I heard, and I know who said them.

  My head snaps up, but it’s too late.

  He’s walking away, and I can only stare after him, heart in my throat.

  Chapter 2

  There are exactly fifty-six cubicles in the executive office, placed next to each other in an eight-by-seven layout. Fifty-four of these are occupied by an assortment of secretaries and assistants, employed by the various executives working on this floor.

  The last two cubicles, on the other hand, have no permanent owners. They’re reserved for summer interns assigned to this floor, and mine occupies the furthest corner at the back, right next to the storage. The small, neglected stock room hasn’t been used for years, and it’s where all unneeded things go: paperwork that’s meaningless but can’t be thrown out, equipment that’s obsolete but possesses sentimental value, and everything in between.

  People say the stock room is haunted, but I think it’s just an excuse some enterprising individuals have made up to avoid cleaning it. In this floor, maintenance isn’t allowed, and we all do our own housekeeping.

  Still, haunted or not I’m glad of its reputation. It ensures that fewer people pass by my cubicle, and that’s exactly how I like it.

  It’s been a week since I’ve started working for EA Inc., and I’ve been enjoying my job so far. One reason for it is because it asks me to do what I love, which is translating. Another reason is because the executive I’m assigned to – Mr. Beautiful himself – has yet to call me to his office. Most of the assignments given to me are coursed through Alan, the congenial, thirty-something married guy who works as his P.A.

  The thought of Alan gives me pause, like it often does, and I put my pen down for a moment. After seeing him woo women left and right for half a year, I’d never have expected Mr. Beautiful to employ a male P.A. It simply doesn’t fit my image of him, but I guess it also shows how little I know, being nothing but his secret stalker from the library.

  Stalker doesn’t seem like the right term, my inner badass interjects. Wouldn’t voyeur be more proper?

  My cheeks flush at the thought. Isn’t voyeur just a fancy term for a Peeping Tom?

  Which I can’t be either, I think defensively, since I wasn’t peeping at Mr. Beautiful or anything.

  Rather, I just happened to see him once in a while, as part of the scenery.

  And that’s all to it, I tell myself determinedly as I reach for the next set of documents I’m tasked to translate. My inner badass tries to reply to this, but I quickly shut it out. It’s pointless to think of Mr. Beautiful in any way other than him being my temporary boss, and the sooner I make myself understand this, the better.

  I finish work a quarter to five, but stay at my desk, going through my notes. Technically, I can leave the office now. One of the major perks of working at the executive floor is our flexi-time schedule. You can come and go at whatever time of the day as long as you complete your tasks on time.

  But if I get up now, I’d have everyone looking at me---

  And that’s no good, I think wryly. I’d rather stay behind and do a few minutes of unpaid overtime.

  People start to leave at exactly five, but it’s almost six in the evening when the office is almost empty and I feel confident enough to get up from my seat and arranging my stuff.

  The hallway leading to the main doors of the executive office is rather long, requiring me to walk past several private corporate suites. The CEO’s own office is right in the middle, with its glass walls tinted in a distinct shade of midnight blue.

  Approaching it, I feel myself slowing down unconsciously.

  Is Mr. Beautiful still there? And if he is, will he be working or doing something else? Will he be alone? Will he be thinking about me---

  I’m horrified as soon as the last thought forms in my mind.

  Get real, Evan!

  And yet…I find myself recalling those words.

  Those words that I still believe I heard him utter.

  It’s my turn to watch you.

  The mere memory causes me to trip over my own feet, but even as I feel my face flush in embarrassment as I straighten up I can no longer stop it---

  My mind is stuck on those words, as it has been every time I get to bed and find myself lying awake at night, asking myself over and over if my imagination’s to blame for conjuring those words.

  It’s my turn to watch you.

  Had Mr. Beautiful really said them?

  And if he did – why would he want to watch someone like me?

  I’m nobody.

  And that’s okay, I remind myself strictly. Being nobody is what lets me lead an uncomplicated life, so it’s definitely nothing to complain about. Squaring my shoulders, I begin to walk past the CEO’s office when I sense the doors behind me opening.

  Oh!

  Is Mr. Beautiful about to come out?

  Panic seizes me at the thought, and all I can think is of fleeing.

  No!

  I don’t want to see him now!

  I’m about to hurry away when fingers capture my elbow from behind.

  My lips part in a silent gasp, but before I can make a sound I’m being yanked inside a darkened room, and my heart slams against my chest.

  The door falls shut silently just as strong hands spin me around---

  My back hits the wall in a soft thud, and I find myself looking up to a familiar pair of jade-green eyes.

  “You!”

  Mr. Beautiful is dressed in a dark three-piece suit, with only his crimson tie adding a pop of color to his looks. This close, he’s breathtakingly dazzling, and when his hands slam against the wall, and his arms cage me in between---

  I don’t even have the sense to feel trapped.

  None of the emotions inside of me even remotely resembles horror.

  There’s dread, there’s anxiety, but the absence of an urgent need to flee is conspicuous.

  Instead, what I feel most strongly is a humiliatingly wanton sense of excitement---

  And it’s making my body react in all sorts of appallingly telltale ways.

  As Mr. Beautiful watches me in silence, I feel my breasts begin to swell against my cups and a flush come over my body. In spite of the air-conditioning in his office I feel like I’m about to sweat. It’s just so hot, and I’m burning from the inside.

  “You were a delight to watch the past few days, Evan.”

  The low, husky timbre of his voice makes my toes curl hard, but it’s his words that make my head reel.

  What did he mean I was a delight to watch?

  “It let me see things I doubt you’d ever show me if you knew I was watching.” His eyes dip to my mouth. “Like the way you bite your lip when you want to smile or laugh, but you don’t feel you shouldn’t---”

  How does he know these things?

  “But what I love the most is the way you wriggle your ass on your seat when you’re stressed---”

  A gasp escapes me, and his eyes darken.

  “It makes me imagine how you’d feel…” And Mr. Beautiful’s tone becomes guttural. “If I had you on my lap and you were shaking my ass over my dick---”

  This time, I can no longer take it.

  “S-stop!” I struggle hard against him, trying to shove him away.

  But he doesn’t even budge one inch, and so his sweetly poisonous words continue to swirl in my mind.

  What I love the most is the way you wriggle your ass on your seat when you’re stressed---

  I almost cry out at the memory, and I struggle even harder. “L-let go of me,” I threaten, “or I’ll scream.”

  But Mr. Beautiful’s jade green eyes only laugh at me. “Will you really?”

  “Y-yes!” But the word comes out weak, and I feel myself flushing when his gaze turns knowing.

  “Why don’t you just relax---”

  I shake my head jerkily. “Just let me go, please---”

  “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  But of course there is.

  “You know that.”

  Do I?

  Do I really know that?

  Or is there truly something to be afraid of, and that’s what I would end up doing, the longer I stay in this man’s arms?

  “All I want,” he croons in a low, hypnotic voice, “is for us to talk.” He pauses, and his lips curve in a dangerous, dazzling smile. “For now.”

  He just wants to talk…for now? I shake my head again, choking out, “T-that’s not much of a promise.”

  “But it’s all you’re going to get,” he purrs, “and aren’t you glad of that?”

  I quickly look away, not wanting to let myself see the truth in his gaze. “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter. “I’m not---” Another gasp escapes me as I feel his mouth nuzzle the side of my neck, and I stammer, “I thought we’re going to talk?”

  “We already are.” But his lips continue brushing against my tender, sensitive sk
in, and I can’t help shuddering. “Aren’t we?”

  I squeeze my eyes shut in an instinctive attempt to deny the sensations coursing through me, but it’s no use, and the fists that I used to beat his chest end up clutching the vest under his jacket.

  When his lips begin to nibble on my neck, I can’t help whimpering, and I hear Mr. Beautiful suck his breath.

  “You make the loveliest sounds,” Mr. Beautiful whispers. “I can’t fucking wait to hear what you’d sound when I finally possess you.”

  And of course that makes me whimper again.

  “This isn’t talking,” I protest weakly even as I find myself shamefully arching my neck to give him better access.

  “Then talk.” His mouth starts moving back up. “I only want us to talk because I’m sure you have questions---”

  His mouth brushes against my cheek, and my fingers clutch his vest more tightly.

  “And I’ll be more than happy to answer every one of them.”

  His head lifts, and I’m horrified to find myself almost crying out in disappointment.

  Oh God. What’s happening to me?

  “So ask, Evan.”

  The sound of my name on his lips makes my entire body burn---

  How can it sound so sinful, simply because it’s uttered by this man?

  “Aren’t there any things you wish to know?”

  Oh.

  I start to wet my lips---

  Mr. Beautiful’s jade-green eyes glitter, and this time there’s no mistaking the desire in his gaze.

  My tongue continues to move over my lips, and his nostrils flare.

  Aaaaaah.

  This man – Mr. Beautiful – truly wants me.

  Ethan Alexander wants me.

  Me.

  And I hear myself say stiltedly, “How long have you known?”

  “Almost from the start.”

  My head snaps up, and I can’t help echoing in dismay, “Almost from the start?”

  Mr. Beautiful smirks, saying, “Only an idiot wouldn’t have felt your gaze, Evan.”

  I turn red. “I t-thought I was being…”

  “Discreet?” When I give him a small nod, he throws his head back with a laugh. “You were doing the opposite.” The dry tone of his voice makes the color in my cheeks deepen, more so when he adds, “There were times when it felt like you were undressing me with your eyes---”

  I let out a moan. “Oh God.” I let go of his vest and cover my face in sheer embarrassment, asking in a muffled voice, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Chuckling, Mr. Beautiful pulls my hands down, asking, “Why didn’t you?”

  I shake my head, unable to believe he has to ask me that. “Because I am what I am---”

  “Exactly, Evan.” And a crooked grin forms on his lips. “I am what I am as well.”

  It takes more than a moment for me to understand what he’s saying---

  And it’s the fact that Mr. Beautiful liked having me watch him.

  “You’re awful,” I choke out.

  “And you were such a damn turn on,” he purrs, “the entire time.”

  His words make me shudder, but even so I protest, “You always had other women with you---”

  “Fillers,” he dismisses.

  “F-fillers?” I’m torn between feeling appalled and relieved. On one hand, the way he refers to all those women is callous. But on another, it also means there wasn’t anything serious going on with them---

  But who’s to say it’s not the same with us?

  Mr. Beautiful’s gaze suddenly narrows, almost as if he can sense my inner turmoil and the way my blood has turned cold. “What is it?”

  “N-Nothing---”

  He cuts me off with an incisive shake of his head. “Something is wrong.” And his tone brooks no argument.

  I purse my lips, determined to hold out.

  His gaze narrows even more. “Tell me what it is, Evan.”

  I start to shake my head---

  “Or you won’t like the consequences.”

  My heart races at the threat, but instead of feeling terrified I feel a rush of adrenaline sweep over me. I wet my lips unthinkingly, and his eyes blaze.

  “Do you think I’m lying?” he purrs ever so softly, and my heart races faster.

  “N-no---”

  “If you don’t tell me,” he murmurs, “then I won’t bother taking my time with you. I won’t even let you pretend you have a choice. I’ll just fuck you here and now, and we both know you won’t stop me.”

  Aaaaah.

  Images flash in my mind.

  Familiar and vivid---

  Taken from fantasies cultivated in six long months.

  “So I’ll ask you one last time.”

  I swallow hard.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I want to defy him. To show him that he doesn’t scare me. But I also know neither is true, and my courage falters in the last second---

  It’s just too soon.

  And I hear myself ask tremulously, “Are you playing with me?” And as soon as the words spill past my lips I can’t help looking up at him, asking, almost pleading for him to tell me the truth. “Am I t-the same with those other women?”

  Mr. Beautiful stares at me for one excruciatingly long moment---

  And then he sighs. “You adorable little fool.”

  I know he’s insulting me, but maybe I am what he says I am. I must be, to feel a tingling sense of warmth spread inside me at his words.

  Oh God. He’s calling me a fool – albeit an adorable one – and I’m happy about it?

  Mr. Beautiful cups my chin, and when our gazes meet once more, he says wryly, “You look cute when you’re insecure.”

  Oh! My cheeks flush despite myself, and I bite back a moan. How low can I get with this man? All these backhanded compliments, and I’m still thrilled about them?

  “That said, I’d rather you don’t feel it. So listen carefully.” Mr. Beautiful suddenly cups my cheeks with both hands, and my body trembles as tension fills the air, and it’s not like anything I’ve ever felt.

  Dark. Intimate. Forbidden.

  It’s sexual, I realize in shock, and just as my stunned gaze fly back to his, Mr. Beautiful says in a hard voice, “I want you like I’ve wanted no other woman.”

  Aaaaaah.

  “I bid my time all these past months, fucking those women so you’d keep wanting me and hating me – I needed you to be obsessed with me.”

  And as he says the words, I realize that it’s true. That he’s succeeded. And now I am obsessed with him – irrevocably. But the question is---

  “Why?” I hear myself demand shakily. “Why do you want me to be obsessed---”

  “Because that’s how I’ve been with you,” he answers roughly, “from the beginning.”

  No. I find myself shaking my head, thinking it can’t be.

  “You don’t believe me.”

  “No,” I hear myself admit. “Because it can’t be. It’s…preposterous.” When his lips twist, I feel the urge to explain, and I stammer, “You can’t blame me for thinking that way. You’re---” I stop.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re who you are---”

  “Then say my name.”

  I bite my lip hard.

  “Say it.”

  I can’t. I just can’t.

  “Say it.”

  I can only look at him, but even as my heart slams against my chest at my continued defiance, my inner badass is actually cheering me on.

  You go, girl! This is the way to live!

  If I weren’t so anxious, I’d have laughed.

  The way to live is…to die?

  Because right now, Mr. Beautiful is looking at me like he wants to kill me.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I just can’t---”

  And he says very quietly, “Even if I say I’ll kiss you if you don’t?”

  Ah.

  “Last warning, Evan.”

  His head starts to lower, and my breath hitches.

  Oh God.

  But my lips just won’t move.

  “You’re surprisingly stubborn,” he mutters under his breath. “But I can’t say I’m complaining, since it means I can do this---”

  His lips graze mine, and a little cry escapes me.

  It was a feather-soft meeting of our lips, but oh, the way it made me feel.

  “Relax, Evan.”

  I’m torn between laughing and crying. How does he expect me to relax when the pad of his thumb is rubbing against my lips, and it’s making me feel fainter and fainter---

  “I’ll be gentle,” he promises huskily. “Now close your eyes, and let me do the heavy lifting.” He doesn’t give me any time to think or refuse. His lips press to my eyelids, and I find myself closing my eyes.