Sincerely, His Secretary

Chapter 2: Mr. Thomas Brown

The smell of polished wood, printer toner, and a faint trace of expensive cologne welcomed Vanessa as she stepped into the B&B office lobby. Her heels echoed across the marble floor like a nervous heartbeat.

Her first official day.

And Robert Brown? Nowhere to be found.

Instead, there was a note waiting for her on the desk at reception.

Vanessa — had to fly out early for the Zurich launch. You’ll be under Thomas’ supervision for now. Don’t let him scare you. And don’t let him think he scares you. You’ve got this.

—R.B.

Vanessa blinked at the note. Zurich? Launch?

She barely had time to breathe before a woman with sharp red nails and sharper cheekbones approached her.

— You must be the new secretary.

— That obvious? — Vanessa muttered, adjusting the strap on her purse.

— I’m Sharon. I run this floor. Technically Thomas runs this floor, but emotionally? It’s me.

Vanessa liked her instantly.

Sharon gave her a short tour of the main office layout — conference rooms, kitchenette, two coffee machines (only the silver one works), and then stopped in front of a glass-paneled office.

— This one’s yours. Well. Mostly his. You’ll be here too.

— Whose office is this?

Sharon grinned. — You’ll see.

And she did.

She barely had time to place her purse on the desk before the door swung open.

He walked in like he owned the air.

Which, in fairness, he probably did.

Dark hair, crisp suit, lean and tall with a sharp jawline that looked like it had been forged by corporate stress. His eyes flicked to her once — and that was enough.

Vanessa froze mid-step.

— Sorry, I was just… I didn’t think anyone—

— And you are? — His voice was low. Calm. Dangerous.

— Vanessa. I’m—

— Robert’s new pick. Right. The secretary.

He said it like the word tasted sour in his mouth.

— Technically, yes. Though I applied for—

— You can explain your resume to HR. I don’t read them. I read results.

He breezed past her, threw his briefcase on the leather chair, and started unbuttoning his cuffs with methodical indifference.

— I thought you weren't here today, — she tried again.

— That was the plan. Then Zurich happened. And now you’re here. Lucky me.

There was a silence.

Not the polite kind.

The heavy, awkward, what-just-happened kind.

Vanessa took a breath. She was not going to be intimidated. Not by a guy in a three-piece suit who probably ironed his socks.

— Look, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m here to do a good job. I don’t need to be patronized or… tested.

He looked at her for the first time.

Really looked.

And smiled.

Not a nice smile. A slow, unreadable, I-play-chess-not-checkers kind of smile.

— I see. Let’s make a deal, Miss Carter.

— I’m listening.

— You stay out of my way, do your job, and I won’t make your life difficult.

— And if I don’t stay out of your way?

— Then we’ll both be entertained.

He turned back to his desk.

Conversation over.

Vanessa bit the inside of her cheek, picked up her purse, and moved to her desk in the corner.

So this was Mr. Thomas Brown. Fabulous.

She opened her laptop, squared her shoulders, and typed out her first note of the day:

Memo to self: buy noise-cancelling headphones. Also — punchable jawline.

The morning passed in a blur of typing, scanning, pretending not to listen to phone calls, and internally cursing Thomas Brown every time he sighed dramatically or clicked his pen like it owed him money.

Vanessa learned quickly: he didn’t speak much, unless he was issuing instructions with surgical precision.

He hated unnecessary noise.

He corrected grammar in emails.

And he definitely, definitely didn’t smile.

By noon, she was considering applying for a janitor position on another floor.

— Miss Carter, — came his voice, flat and clipped.

She turned in her chair so fast she nearly spun it off its wheels.

— Yes?

— Where’s the draft for the quarterly memo?

— What draft?

His expression didn’t change.

— The one I asked for an hour ago.

— You didn’t ask.

— I said it during the meeting.

— You mean when you muttered something under your breath in the direction of the whiteboard? I thought that was a complaint about the markers.

He blinked. Once. Slowly.

— Draft. Now. Ten minutes.

Vanessa opened her laptop with such force it nearly bounced off the desk.

She started typing like her fingers were possessed.

In her head: Breathe, Vanessa. He’s not the boss of you. Well, technically he is, but you don’t have to LIKE it.

She pulled up a previous memo, guessed at what this one was supposed to be, rewrote half the paragraphs, corrected for tone (his was somewhere between 'cold threat' and 'passive-aggressive ice storm'), and printed it.

Eight minutes.

She walked over, held the pages out.

He didn’t look at her — just took the papers and started reading.

Vanessa turned to leave.

— Stop.

She froze.

Here it comes.

— Who wrote this?

She turned slowly.

— I did. You just saw me.

He looked up, finally.

His brow furrowed slightly.

— This isn’t half-bad.

It was the closest thing to a compliment she’d heard all day.

— Thanks. I’ll add that to my tombstone.

— Tone, Miss Carter.

— Sorry. I meant "thank you, sir, for your gracious approval. Shall I also laminate your praise?"

A pause.

Then, for the first time, the corner of his mouth twitched.

Not a smile, but a ghost of one.

He handed back the paper.

— Fix paragraph three. Too casual. The rest is… acceptable.

She took the pages, and turned away, hiding the small, victorious grin creeping onto her face.

Progress.

At 3:00 PM, all hell broke loose.

Sharon burst into the office, panic written across her perfectly contoured face.

— Thomas, the investors just moved the Zoom call to now. They’re in the meeting room. There’s a tech issue. Your file’s missing from the shared drive.

Thomas stood so fast his chair slammed against the desk.

— What do you mean missing?

— I mean gone. We’ve got ten minutes and they’re expecting a presentation.

He cursed under his breath and stormed toward the conference room.

Vanessa followed on instinct. It wasn’t like she knew what she was doing — she was just… pulled along.

When they reached the room, it was chaos. Someone was trying to set up a projector. A guy from IT looked two seconds away from tears. The screen was blank.

Thomas was already typing on someone else's laptop, jaw clenched.

— Where’s the backup? — he snapped.

— No one has it, — said Sharon. — Robert had the only external drive.

— Brilliant.

Vanessa cleared her throat.

— Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt the firestorm, but I… might have it?

Everyone turned.

— What? — Thomas said, eyes narrowing.

Vanessa held up a flash drive.

— When I set up my workspace, I made copies of all the shared files to review formatting. I’m not sure what you need, but it might be in here?

He stared at her like she’d just offered to perform surgery.

— Plug it in.

She walked over, heart pounding, slotted it into the laptop.

Two folders popped up.

She opened the one labeled "Quarterlies." Clicked on a file called "B&B Q1 Presentation FINAL."

The slideshow loaded.

Thomas didn’t move. Just nodded once.

— Good instincts.

She stepped back as he picked up the clicker and turned to the screen.

For the next fifteen minutes, she watched him transform.

Gone was the grumpy tyrant. He was poised, polished, persuasive. His voice calm and authoritative, his data flawless, his delivery smooth.

He made the company sound like a ship cutting clean through stormy waters — and he was the captain. You either followed him or drowned.

Vanessa couldn’t help it.

She was impressed.

And maybe… a little bit attracted.

Crap.

Get it together, Carter.

After the meeting, the room emptied. Thomas stayed behind, staring at the projection screen.

She stepped in quietly.

— That went well.

He didn’t answer.

Just looked at her.

Long. Quiet.

Then:

— You saved my ass.

— I’ll print that on my next business card.

That ghost of a smile returned. Stronger this time.

— You’re quick.

— And you’re terrifying.

— Comes with the office.

They stood in silence.

A strange, charged kind of silence.

Then he looked away.

— Don’t expect another thank-you.

— Wouldn’t dream of it.

She turned to leave.

But before she stepped out, he said:

— Vanessa.

She paused.

— Yes?

— Good job.

She smiled without turning.

— I know.

And walked out.