The secrets between us

The Assistant

The first weeks at the office blurred together in a haze of exhaustion and distraction. I realized early on that the days here were going to be long, drawn-out stretches that demanded more from me than I had ever anticipated. The long hours weren’t the real problem, our father had prepared us for the weight of responsibility but it was the suffocating rhythm, the constant expectation that slowly gnawed at my patience.

I wasn’t exactly making things easier on myself either. Late nights became routine. Sometimes it was me half-asleep in bed, lit only by the glow of my phone screen as I texted one girl or another; sometimes it was me slipping out into the city to meet someone new, enjoying the kind of fleeting pleasures I wasn’t ready to give up just because I now wore a suit every day. I told myself it was balance, business by day, indulgence by night. But the truth was catching up to me.

By the third week, the shadows under my eyes betrayed me. I’d be stifling yawns by midmorning, leaning against the tall windows of the office that overlooked the glittering city, and every time I did, I felt the burn of my brother’s glare. Michael had always been the steady one, the disciplined one. He kept his nights clean, his fun minimal, his focus sharp. And as much as I loved him, his silent judgment scraped at my nerves.

That afternoon, his patience finally snapped.

“Edward,” Michael said sharply, his voice clipped with irritation as his eyes stayed glued to the computer screen.

I turned lazily from the window, blinking at him with the kind of grin that was half-apology, half-defiance. “What?”

“You’ve yawned through half the morning. We’re drowning in paperwork, clients are demanding answers, and you’re standing there like you’ve got all the time in the world.” His voice was taut, his fingers clenched around the mouse as he scrolled furiously through numbers that probably made perfect sense to him.

“I’m f*****g here, aren’t I?” I shot back, lowering my voice as I glanced toward the door before shutting it firmly. Privacy. At least Dad had thought of that much when he gave us this corner office. “What more do you want from me?”

“Help,” Michael barked, his tone rising for once. He leaned back, raking a hand through his messy dark hair, frustration etched into every line of his face. “There’s a lot to do here, even with the staff. You think you can just drift in and out like this is some kind of game?”

I let his words hang for a moment, chewing them over while I tried to fight down the twinge of guilt. He wasn’t wrong. But admitting that wasn’t in my nature. Instead, I threw out a thought I’d been nursing.

“Dad had an assistant sometimes, right? His own person to help him. Not managers, not the floor staff. Someone in his office, just for him.”

Michael frowned, eyes narrowing as if I’d thrown him a puzzle. “Yeah. Occasionally. Why?”

“We could do that,” I suggested, a slow smirk forming as the idea began to solidify in my mind.

His suspicion only deepened. “What are you thinking, Edward?”

I strolled toward the sofa at the far end of the office and sank into it, spreading my arms along the backrest like I owned the entire room. Which, in a way, I did. The office was large and imposing, a symbol of the empire Dad had built, complete with sleek desks, soft leather, and floor-to-ceiling windows. And yet, for all its professional polish, it was also private. Too private, maybe. The kind of space where temptation felt at home.

“There are a lot of gorgeous women here,” I said casually. “And as much as they flirt, we both know we can’t go there with the staff. It’d cause chaos.”

Michael shot me a look that wavered between warning and reluctant agreement. He knew exactly what I meant. Some of the women had already been bold, ridiculously bold. More than one had found her way to this very office under the guise of dropping off a file, only to linger too close, or “accidentally” show more skin than the situation required. One had even taken it further, slipping her blouse halfway open as she leaned across my desk.

He shook his head as if to brush off the memory. “So?”

“So…” I leaned forward, voice dropping as the spark of mischief lit my words. “We get an assistant. Someone who’ll handle the office, keep us organized, maybe even handle us.”

Michael’s brows shot up, his disbelief plain. “You think we need a s*x slave for this place?”

The bluntness of his words made my c**k twitch with the memory of our past, nights when sharing a woman felt less like indulgence and more like an unspoken ritual between us. I didn’t deny it. Instead, I let my smirk sharpen.

“Not just that. She could be smart, capable. Someone who’ll actually help with the load here. But let’s not pretend, we’d both be less on edge if we had… other outlets.”

Michael leaned back in his chair, studying me with the same skeptical expression Dad used to wear when we were teenagers caught red-handed. “Dad would never."

“Dad was married when he built this place. He had Mom. He didn’t need to think about this kind of thing,” I cut in smoothly. “We’re not him, Michael.”

His silence told me I’d struck something inside him, though whether it was intrigue or disapproval, I couldn’t yet tell.

It also wouldn’t be the first time we blurred the line between women and work, between love and lust. There had been nights in high school, and later in college, when curiosity and adrenaline pulled us both into the same bed, the same body. Women had liked it, loved it, even. The fantasy of two identical men, both handsome, both eager, both skilled, was something that practically fell into our laps. And we hadn’t exactly refused.

The memories alone made my chest tighten, a heat simmering low in my stomach. I missed that. I missed the thrill, the unity of it. Now everything was suits and signatures and endless spreadsheets. Where was the fire in that?

I looked around the office again, at the sofa, at the spare desk pushed against the wall, at the smaller desk outside the door where someone could sit, guarding the threshold. All of it made the picture in my head sharper. A woman here, close enough to hear every breath, close enough to bend over the desk when the door clicked shut.

The door locked. That mattered more than either of us wanted to admit.

“I don’t know,” I said finally, my voice betraying more uncertainty than I wanted it to. Because beneath the hunger, beneath the lust, was something else: the knowledge that this was dangerous. That it wasn’t just about pleasure, but about reshaping the way we worked, the way people saw us.

Michael exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. For a moment, I thought he’d dismiss it, shut the idea down and bury it. But then his gaze shifted, a glimmer of something unguarded flashing in his eyes.

“Let’s just do some interviews,” he said at last, his tone grudging but not unwilling. “Everyone knows how busy we are. No one’s going to question us if we bring someone in.”

I gave him a long look, half-surprised, half-thrilled. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he echoed, though his jaw tightened as if he was already bracing for the consequences.

Edward’s fingers flew across the spare laptop, pulling up applications, drafting postings, moving with the same focus he’d been using on financial spreadsheets minutes before. Only this time, there was an edge of anticipation in him, a glint in his eyes that matched the thrum of excitement in my chest.

I leaned back against the sofa, exhaling as if I’d just unlocked something we’d both been starving for without admitting it. The room seemed to pulse with new energy, dangerous and intoxicating.

It wasn’t just business anymore.

And I had a feeling that once we started down this path, there’d be no turning back.