Sincerely, His Secretary

Chapter 7: The Echo

— So... do you always look like you're trying not to be somewhere else when you smile? — Mike asked, sipping his cappuccino with a grin.

Vanessa blinked.

Busted.

— Sorry. Work brain. Still trying to power it down.

They sat outside a little café two blocks from the office, the city buzzing softly around them. It was warm for early spring. The kind of Friday that almost felt like summer wanted to come early.

Mike had been funny. Easy to talk to. He listened. He didn’t interrupt. And most importantly — he wasn’t complicated.

And yet, here she was.

Checking her phone every five minutes like a lovesick intern.

Pathetic.

— You know, — Mike continued, — you’re not really like I imagined when I heard about you.

She raised a brow.

— What exactly did you hear?

He smirked.

— “Thomas Brown’s new secretary. Total badass. Probably planning a corporate coup.”

She laughed.

— Damn. I liked that version of me. She sounds like she wears heels that can kill a man.

— Maybe she does. But you… seem more human. And funny.

Vanessa smiled. Genuinely this time.

Mike leaned in slightly.

— Look, I know Brown’s reputation is... big. And loud. But if you ever need a break from that black hole of intensity, I make a mean margarita.

Before she could answer —

buzz

Her phone lit up.

Thomas Brown: “Everything alright there?”

Her breath caught.

One line.

No context.

And yet it threw off her entire axis.

She stared at the screen too long.

Mike tilted his head.

— Everything okay?

— Yeah. Just… work.

She typed back quickly.

Vanessa: “Yes. Why?”

Three dots.

Then they disappeared.

Then came back.

And vanished again.

No reply.

She locked her phone, heart pounding like he’d just whispered in her ear instead of texting her from another country.

—

Back in the office an hour later, Vanessa sat at her desk pretending to organize files.

Her phone was silent.

She hadn’t replied to Mike’s invitation.

She didn’t know why.

Or maybe she did.

Maybe it was the way Thomas’s text had made her forget what city he was even in.

Maybe it was the way her name looked on his screen — just her name — and it felt like something sacred.

She closed her eyes.

You’re not a teenager. Get it together.

But it was too late.

The echo had been planted.

And no matter how far away he was —

She could still feel him watching.

The following week moved in strange rhythms — like a playlist stuck between two moods.

Vanessa came in early, stayed late, and tried desperately not to think about Thomas Brown’s one-line message. It hadn’t been flirtatious. It hadn’t been inappropriate. It was just a question. But the way it landed — sharp, direct, and uninvited — had shaken loose something inside her that refused to settle.

He hadn’t texted again.

And she hadn’t deleted it.

Which said more than she cared to admit.

What had changed, though, was Mike.

After their coffee, something in his attitude shifted — not drastically, but noticeably. He stopped by her desk more often. Asked for her opinion on reports he didn’t really need help with. Sent her memes during team calls. Left her post-its with ridiculous doodles on them: a printer on fire, a coffee mug labeled “emotional support,” a stick figure with "Vanessa saves the day" scrawled above it.

And at first, it was nice. Safe. Easy.

He wasn’t Thomas. He wasn’t sharp edges and silent stares. He didn’t make her feel like her own heart was a liability.

He made her laugh.

But soon… the office noticed.

—

— So, when’s the wedding? — Sharon asked with a wicked grin, leaning over the copier like a gossiping aunt at a family BBQ.

Vanessa looked up from her inbox, half a smirk playing at her lips.

— What?

— You and Mike. It’s giving enemies-to-spreadsheets-to-lovers. I’m just saying.

— Oh my God. Please don’t start this.

— Too late. I already told reception to prep for a spring engagement.

— Sharon!

— Relax. I’m kidding. Kinda. But the man does orbit your desk like a golden retriever on espresso.

Vanessa rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the blush creeping up her neck.

Sharon saw it and grinned wider.

— Girl, it’s okay. He’s cute. He’s single. He doesn’t scowl when spoken to.

— Wow. Low bar.

— In this building? That’s premium dating material.

—

The teasing didn’t stop there.

On Tuesday, Mike brought her coffee with her name written in cursive and a tiny heart.

On Wednesday, two interns fake-whispered "office romance" while walking past.

By Thursday, Vanessa caught her own reflection in the elevator mirror and realized something dangerous — she was smiling. Too much. Too easily.

And it wasn’t just the jokes or the attention. It was the void Thomas had left.

He was gone, and she was filling the space with noise. With distraction. With someone who didn’t look at her like a problem he couldn’t solve.

But every time she laughed at one of Mike’s jokes, there was a part of her that whispered:

Thomas would’ve raised an eyebrow at that.

Thomas would’ve hated this.

And the worst part?

She kind of wanted him to.

—

That afternoon, she and Mike were standing by the break room, sharing some truly cursed vending machine snacks, when Sharon passed by and made a kissing noise loud enough to make Vanessa choke on a sour gummy worm.

— Seriously? — she coughed, eyes watering.

Sharon smirked and tossed a wink over her shoulder.

Mike grinned.

— Should we invite her to the rehearsal dinner or the divorce party?

— Probably both. She’ll bring good wine either way.

They laughed, and for a moment, it was just fun again.

Normal. Light.

Until Mike reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear — so casually, so instinctively, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Vanessa froze.

Her heart stuttered.

Not because of the touch.

But because of the reaction she didn’t have.

There was no spark. No panic. No electricity under her skin.

Just stillness.

She stepped back politely, pretending not to notice the flicker of disappointment on his face.

—

Later that evening, she sat alone at her desk, watching the office empty around her.

Mike had gone home. Sharon had waved dramatically and yelled something about matchmaking fees. The lights dimmed, the hum of printers ceased, and Vanessa was left in a kind of hush she hadn’t realized she missed.

The silence reminded her of him.

Of Thomas.

Not the meetings. Not the lectures. But the in-between moments. The ones where he’d stare at his screen too long. The ones where he’d stand in the doorway like he had something to say and couldn’t find the words.

She missed the tension.

Missed the fire under the surface.

Missed the way he’d look at her like she was either the biggest risk or the only answer — and he hadn’t decided which yet.

She pulled out her phone.

No messages.

She didn’t know what she was hoping for.

But the absence of him was louder than any room she’d been in all day.

—

In Zurich, Thomas stared at his laptop screen, the hotel suite quiet except for the occasional beep of incoming reports. He hadn’t replied to Vanessa’s last text. Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he didn’t know how to.

He’d told himself to let it go. To let her go. She deserved someone simple. Someone kind. Someone who didn’t come with disclaimers and detachment.

But the thought of her with someone else made something primal twist in his chest.

And when his father had asked how the office was doing, all he’d said was:

— Carter’s holding everything together.

Like she was the only one that mattered.

Because maybe she was.