Sincerely, His Secretary

Chapter 3: The Dinner Guest

Vanessa had never seen someone command silence with just a raised eyebrow until she met Thomas Brown. In her first week, she saw him do it seven times.

She also saw him fire someone via email, correct three presentations with one hand while on the phone with Tokyo, and — once — eat a croissant like it personally offended him.

And yet, somehow, she’d survived.

Thrived, even.

Well, mostly.

She still double-checked every email she sent, and Sharon had caught her talking to herself in the elevator more than once. But Thomas hadn’t fired her, hadn’t yelled (much), and occasionally even acknowledged her existence with something almost resembling… human warmth.

So when he poked his head into her office at 6:12 PM on a Thursday, holding a manila folder and looking strangely uncomfortable, she knew something was up.

— You’re still here. Good, — he said, stepping in.

— You say that like it’s surprising.

— It is. Most people run from this place like it’s haunted after five.

She closed her laptop slowly.

— Let me guess. You need something.

He held up the folder.

— Amanda needs these signed tonight. I forgot. Normally I’d handle it myself but… circumstances.

— And by “circumstances” you mean “I really don’t want to go home right now”?

He gave her a dry look.

— I’ll pay for the Uber.

She rolled her eyes.

— Fine. But I’m choosing the playlist.

The B&B headquarters sat downtown, sleek and modern.

The Brown residence?

Straight out of a luxury magazine.

Vanessa stared out the car window as they passed iron gates, wound up a cobblestone driveway, and stopped in front of a house that looked less like a home and more like a boutique hotel with opinions.

The door was opened by a woman in a pale gray dress and perfect posture.

— Mrs. Brown is expecting you, — she said with a nod.

Vanessa followed her in, clutching the folder like it was armor.

The inside was all soft lighting, marble surfaces, and quiet classical music. A scent of something citrusy and expensive lingered in the air.

Amanda Brown was waiting in the sitting room.

She was stunning. Blonde, tall, elegant. Not a hair out of place. But something in her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

— Vanessa, isn’t it? Thomas’s… assistant?

— Secretary, technically. But yes.

Amanda extended a hand.

— So nice of you to come all the way out here. Thomas must really trust you.

That felt like a trap. She smiled anyway.

— Just doing my job.

Amanda took the folder, skimmed through the pages.

— Honestly, I’m not even sure why he needed this tonight. Probably just another excuse.

Vanessa raised a brow.

— Excuse?

Amanda didn’t answer. Just walked to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine.

— Would you like something?

— I’m fine, thank you.

Amanda took a sip, then turned, leaning against the counter.

— You know… you’re very pretty.

Vanessa blinked.

— Uh. Thank you?

— Dangerous, in a place like B&B. Especially when your boss is who he is.

There it was. The smile again.

Too sweet. Too sharp.

Vanessa straightened her spine.

— I’m just here to work.

Amanda laughed softly.

— Aren’t we all.

A few minutes later, she was back in the Uber with a strange knot in her stomach.

She’d walked into a mansion and left with the feeling that Amanda B. was either warning her, threatening her, or recruiting her for a reality show.

And Thomas?

She didn’t know whether she pitied him, feared him… or wanted to punch him for dragging her into whatever domestic soap opera this was turning into.

She pulled out her phone and typed a note.

Memo to self: if Amanda ever invites you for dinner, say you’re allergic to food.

Vanessa arrived at the office fifteen minutes early the next morning — not out of enthusiasm, but self-preservation. She needed caffeine, silence, and at least ten minutes to mentally process whatever the hell last night was before Thomas arrived.

She had just opened her laptop when he walked in.

No greeting. No eye contact. Just a sharp pivot to his desk and a clipped:

— Thank you for delivering the documents.

She blinked.

That was it?

No mention of Amanda. No awkward follow-up. No passive-aggressive joke about the wine. Just… business.

— You’re welcome, — she said carefully.

He opened his laptop without looking up.

Silence.

Weird. But okay.

She turned back to her screen, pretending to type something important.

Two minutes passed.

Then:

— Amanda didn’t say anything inappropriate, did she?

Vanessa stopped typing mid-keystroke.

Ah. There it was.

She turned her chair halfway, folding her hands in her lap.

— Depends on your definition of “inappropriate.” She complimented my looks, hinted I was a threat to your marriage, and offered me wine. So, you know. Pretty chill evening.

He looked up now. Finally.

His eyes met hers — calm, unreadable.

— I didn’t mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation.

— And yet, somehow, I was very much in one.

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

— Amanda is… complicated.

— That’s one word for it.

— You’re not involved in this.

— Didn’t feel that way when she called me “dangerous.”

He stood slowly, buttoning his blazer with practiced precision.

— Look, I didn’t ask you to interpret my marriage.

— Good. Because I wasn’t offering commentary. Just observations. You sent me into a minefield without a map. I danced politely and left intact. Let’s call it a win.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, quietly:

— She does that on purpose, you know.

Vanessa tilted her head.

— What?

— Pushes. Prods. Sets traps. She knows exactly what to say to rattle people. And she’s very good at it.

Vanessa hesitated.

Then:

— Why stay?

He looked at her, and for the first time, she saw something crack behind the polished exterior.

— Because divorce is messy. And messy is… weakness. In this world.

She didn’t know what to say to that.

So she said nothing.

And he didn’t ask her to.

Later that day, they were in a meeting room with a dozen staff members, going over marketing reports.

Vanessa was taking notes when Thomas corrected a manager’s projection with icy precision.

— That’s not accurate, Martin. Your team missed the second quarter conversion by 11.3%, not 9.5. The difference is a bonus. For someone else.

Martin turned pale.

Vanessa glanced at Thomas, then at the room. The tension was thick enough to cut.

She opened her mouth.

— Actually, — she said, softly but firmly. — The 9.5% refers to last month’s adjusted forecast, not the original target. Technically, they missed both — but Martin wasn’t entirely wrong.

Thomas turned his head sharply. Eyebrows raised. So did everyone else.

He stared at her.

Hard.

She stared right back.

He didn’t say a word.

Just stood up, closed the folder in front of him, and walked out of the room.

Martin looked at her like she’d just sacrificed herself for him.

Sharon whispered:

— Girl, you’ve got nerves of steel or a death wish.

Vanessa smiled tightly.

— Honestly? Little bit of both.

When she returned to the office an hour later, Thomas was already there.

Waiting.

Door closed.

She took a breath, walked in, and shut it behind her.

He didn’t look up from his laptop.

— Do you always feel the need to challenge me in public?

She crossed her arms.

— Only when you’re wrong.

— You could’ve said something after the meeting.

— And let Martin take the hit in front of everyone? That’s not my style.

— You think I enjoy making people squirm?

— I think you enjoy control.

Silence.

He looked at her, eyes cold now.

— You’re getting comfortable, Miss Carter.

— I’m doing my job.

— No. You’re testing me.

— Someone has to.

His jaw clenched.

She stepped closer.

— You said you wanted someone sharp. I’m not here to nod and type. I’m not here to be your next Amanda, quietly smiling while everything implodes around her. If that’s what you’re looking for — fire me now.

His expression didn’t change.

But something flickered in his eyes.

— You’re not her.

— No. I’m not.

They stared at each other.

Tension rising like static.

And then—

He sat down.

— Close the door behind you.

— It is closed.

He nodded once.

— Good.

Then turned to his screen.

And said nothing else.

Vanessa sat at her desk.

Heart racing.

Hands shaking.

But she didn’t look away.

And neither did he.