A Secret Love: Unveiling Desires, Igniting Souls

By six in the morning, Moneeka Montague had already decided that whoever invented the phrase career growth deserved to be slapped. Preferably with a resignation letter. “Mon!” She turned toward the voice coming from the far end of the production floor. “Mon, my system isn't loading!” “Mon, the customer wants a supervisor!” “Mon, what's the process for a disputed charge?” Three people. Three different problems. All at once. Mon looked at the clock above the supervisor's station. 6:17 a.m. Seventeen minutes into her shift. Wonderful. “Okay, everyone, one at a time,” she called, raising her voice above the overlapping conversations. “If your system isn't loading, restart the application first. If that doesn't work, message IT. For the disputed charge, check the knowledge base. And please, for the love of everything good in this world, don't promise a customer something we haven't verified.” A few trainees laughed. Mon smiled despite herself. She had been promoted to Subject Matter Expert barely two weeks ago, and management had apparently mistaken the promotion for permission to assign her the responsibilities of an entire support team. Twenty-two new agents. One Mon. The mathematics was offensive. She returned to her workstation, where a half-empty tumbler of coffee sat beside a yellow sticky note. Electric bill. Groceries. Car maintenance. Underneath, she'd written a number and circled it twice. Her savings. Not nearly enough for the café she wanted someday, but more than she'd had six months ago. That counted for something. Mon took a sip of coffee, grimaced at how cold it had become, and opened another support ticket. “Excuse me.” She didn't look up. “Just a moment, please.” She continued typing. “Excuse me.” There was something different about the second attempt. The voice wasn't louder, exactly. It was simply firmer, as though the speaker had decided that repeating herself was an inconvenience she shouldn't have to endure. Mon finished her sentence and turned. Then promptly forgot what she'd been about to say. The woman standing beside her desk was beautiful. Not in the friendly, approachable way that usually invited conversation. There was nothing particularly inviting about her. She had long, sleek black hair that fell straight past her shoulders, an immaculate cream blouse, and a face so composed that Mon couldn't tell whether she was irritated or merely bored. Her makeup was almost nonexistent. A muted shade on her eyelids, nude lipstick, and nothing else Mon could immediately identify. She looked expensive. Not because she wore anything flashy. Quite the opposite. Everything about her seemed deliberately understated, from her neatly manicured nails to the slim watch around her wrist. But it was her expression that caught Mon's attention. Or rather, the complete absence of one. “Can I help you?” Mon asked. “I've been standing here for three minutes.” Mon blinked. Well. Good morning to you, too. “Sorry. I was finishing something.” “I noticed.” The woman said it without sarcasm. Without a smile, either. Somehow, that made it worse. Mon leaned back in her chair. “Okay. What's the problem?” “My customer is requesting a supervisor. I followed the procedure, but the system isn't allowing the adjustment.” “Which adjustment?” “The one for a billing dispute.” “Did you check the account history?” “Yes.” “The previous transactions?” “Yes.” “The knowledge base?” “Yes.” Mon paused. Usually, by the third question, a new agent admitted they hadn't checked something. This one simply stood there, looking at her. “What's your name?” Mon asked. “Samantha Sinclair.” “I'm Mon.” “I know.” Of course she did. Mon had introduced herself to the entire training group that morning. “Right.” She stood. “Show me your screen.” Samantha turned without another word. Mon followed her through the rows of workstations, resisting the urge to make a face behind her back. Pretty, she thought. But goodness, what a personality. Two hours earlier, Mon had been standing in the pantry, contemplating whether it was too early to complain about her life. Apparently, it wasn't. “Why do you look like someone stole your inheritance?” Kath leaned against the counter, blowing on her coffee. Mon stirred a sachet of powdered milk into her own cup. “What inheritance? If I had one, do you think I'd be here before sunrise?” Kath laughed. “Fair point.” “I slept for four hours. My alarm went off at four. My car made that weird noise again, and now I have twenty-two trainees asking me questions that were literally discussed yesterday.” “Welcome to management.” “I'm not management.” “Exactly. That's the tragic part.” Mon gave her a wounded look. Kath laughed harder. At twenty-three, Mon had already learned that the world rarely handed out rewards simply because someone worked hard. She'd been earning her own money since she was young enough to resent how quickly it disappeared. Rent came first. Utilities next. Food, transportation, savings. Anything left over was a luxury. She wasn't poor, exactly. She had a job, a small apartment, and an old sedan that still started most mornings if she asked nicely. But independence had a price, and Mon paid it every month without asking anyone to help. Her family had never understood why she insisted on living alone. Mon had never understood why they considered that a problem. “You're thinking too much again,” Kath said. “I'm thinking about my car.” “You're always thinking about your car.” “Because my car is always thinking about dying.” Kath nearly spilled her coffee. Mon grinned. That was when she'd noticed the woman sitting alone at a table near the pantry window. Long black hair. Cream blouse. Phone in hand. While the other new hires talked excitedly among themselves, the woman remained silent. She wasn't scrolling through her phone or wearing earphones. She simply sat there, apparently content to do absolutely nothing. Mon had watched her for a second longer than necessary. “Who's that?” she'd asked. Kath followed her gaze. “New hire, I think.” “She's pretty.” Kath slowly turned back toward her. “Oh, no.” “What?” “Nothing.” “Ate Kath.” “I'm just saying, you have twenty-two children to raise today. Don't adopt another problem.” Mon rolled her eyes. “I said she's pretty. That's all.” “That's how it starts.” “I'm going to work.” “Run while you still can!” Mon had walked away laughing. She wasn't laughing now. “Here.” Samantha sat at her workstation and opened the customer's account. Mon leaned over to examine the screen. The transaction history was longer than she'd expected. “Okay,” she murmured. “I see what happened.” Samantha said nothing. “You selected the correct adjustment type, but this account has a previous dispute attached to the same transaction. That's why the system won't let you submit it.” “The knowledge base doesn't mention that.” “It does, but under a different article.” “Which article?” Mon glanced at her. Most trainees were happy to let someone else solve the problem. Samantha looked mildly offended that the instructions had been inadequate. Mon found that unexpectedly amusing. “Here. I'll show you.” She reached for the mouse at the same moment Samantha moved her hand. Their fingers brushed. It was barely a touch. Samantha withdrew her hand immediately. “Sorry,” Mon said. “It's fine.” Her expression didn't change. Mon turned back to the screen. She was close enough now to notice the faint scent of Samantha's perfume. Something clean and subtle, with a trace of warmth beneath it. Not overpowering. Definitely not the kind of perfume Mon would ever buy for herself. She wondered how much it cost. Then wondered why she was thinking about another woman's perfume while trying to resolve a billing dispute. Focus, Moneeka. She opened the correct article and explained the process. Samantha listened without interrupting. When Mon finished, she asked two questions. Both were sensible. Mon answered them, then stepped back. “There. Try it yourself.” Samantha completed the adjustment. The system accepted it. “Done,” she said. “See? You're fine.” Samantha looked at the screen. “The instructions could be clearer.” Mon laughed before she could stop herself. “You're not wrong.” Samantha looked up. For one strange second, Mon thought she saw curiosity in those dark eyes. Then it was gone. “Thank you,” Samantha said. “You're welcome.” Mon glanced at the clock. “You haven't taken your break?” “No.” “Why?” “I was handling the customer.” “Your break started almost twenty minutes ago.” “I'm aware.” Mon pressed her lips together. Does this woman answer every question like she's giving testimony in court? “Come on,” she said. Samantha looked at her. “Where?” “Outside. You need a break.” “I can take one later.” “You can also faint dramatically in front of everyone, but I'd rather avoid the paperwork.” Nothing. Not even the smallest smile. Mon stared at her. “Wow.” Samantha's brows drew together slightly. “What?” “Nothing.” Mon shook her head. “Come on. I'm getting food.” “I didn't say I was hungry.” “Good. Then you can supervise me while I eat.” Samantha considered this. Mon could almost hear the gears turning. Finally, she stood. “All right.” Mon grinned. Victory. Their lockers turned out to be beside each other. Mon discovered this when Samantha stopped at the locker immediately to her right. “Well, that's convenient.” Samantha unlocked hers. “What is?” “Our lockers.” Samantha glanced at the number on Mon's locker. “Yes.” Mon waited. That was apparently the entire conversation. She bit back a laugh. “You don't talk much, do you?” “Not when there's nothing to say.” “Fair enough.” Mon slipped her phone into her pocket. She caught Samantha looking at her. “What?” “Nothing.” “Okay.” A pause. Then Samantha asked, “Where are you eating?” “Downstairs. Probably 7-Eleven.” “Why not the pantry?” “Too expensive for what they serve.” Samantha glanced toward the pantry. Mon shrugged. “I'd rather spend seventy pesos on something I actually like.” Samantha didn't respond. Mon wondered whether she'd offended her. Then Samantha said, “That's reasonable.” For some reason, the approval pleased her. They walked toward the elevators together. By the time the doors opened, a small crowd had gathered. Mon stepped inside first. Samantha followed. Two more employees squeezed in behind them. Then another. And another. Mon found herself backed against the railing, with Samantha directly in front of her. Someone shifted behind them. Samantha stumbled half a step closer. “Sorry,” she said quietly. It was the first time her voice had sounded anything other than flat. Mon steadied herself against the railing. “It's okay.” There wasn't much room. Samantha stood close enough that Mon could see the fine strands of hair resting against her cheek. Her skin was smooth, her features delicate and sharply defined at the same time. She was staring straight ahead, seemingly unaffected by the uncomfortable proximity. Mon tried to do the same. Unfortunately, the mirrored elevator wall offered an excellent view of Samantha's face. And Mon had always been embarrassingly susceptible to pretty women. She looked at the floor indicator. Six. Five. Someone coughed. Four. Samantha turned her head slightly. Their eyes met in the reflection. Mon immediately looked away. Three. This elevator had never moved so slowly in its entire existence. When the doors finally opened, Mon stepped out with considerably more enthusiasm than necessary. “Finally.” Samantha followed her. “Are you uncomfortable in elevators?” Mon nearly tripped. “What?” “You kept looking at the floor numbers.” “Oh.” Mon cleared her throat. “No. I was just hungry.” Samantha accepted the explanation without comment. Which was somehow more embarrassing. At the convenience store, Mon went straight to the heated food display. “One siopao, please.” She glanced at Samantha. “Want anything?” “No, thank you.” “Coffee?” “No.” “Sandwich?” “No.” “Candy?” Samantha looked at her. “Do you intend to name everything in the store?” Mon burst out laughing. It was such an unexpected question that she couldn't help herself. Samantha watched her with the same unreadable expression. “Sorry,” Mon said, still smiling. “You just sounded annoyed.” “I wasn't.” “That's even funnier.” Samantha looked away. Mon paid for her food, then spotted a small pack of Tic Tacs near the counter. She picked it up. “Here.” Samantha looked down at the candy. “What is that for?” “You looked stressed earlier.” “I was working.” “Exactly.” Samantha didn't take it. Mon held it out a little farther. “It's candy, Sam. Not a marriage proposal.” For the first time, something shifted in Samantha's expression. Not a smile. Not even close. But her gaze sharpened. “Sam?” Mon blinked. “Yeah. Samantha's a bit long. Is that okay?” A moment passed. Then Samantha took the candy. “Yes.” Mon smiled. “Good.” Samantha studied the little container. “You didn't have to buy this.” “I know.” “Then why did you?” Mon shrugged. “Because I wanted to.” Samantha looked at her for another second. Then she placed the candy carefully inside her bag. “Thank you, Mon.” There was something peculiar about the way she said it. As though the words were unfamiliar. Mon didn't know what to make of that. So she took a bite of her siopao instead. “Where have you been?” Kath appeared beside Mon's workstation just as she returned to the production floor. Mon nearly dropped her tumbler. “Ate Kath!” “I was looking for you.” “I went downstairs.” “With her?” Kath's eyes moved toward Samantha, who was already walking back to her station. Mon sighed. “Don't start.” “Oh, I'm absolutely starting.” “She needed help with a customer.” “And then?” “And then we took a break.” “Together.” “Yes, Ate Kath. That's usually what happens when two people go somewhere at the same time.” Kath folded her arms. Mon recognized that expression. It was the same one Kath wore whenever she believed she'd uncovered a scandal. “She's from Vane's batch, right?” “Yes.” “Good. At least you're not directly handling her.” Mon frowned. “Why?” Kath stared at her. “Mon.” “What?” “Don't tell me you've forgotten what happened with Nicole.” The name wiped some of the amusement from Mon's face. “That was different.” “Was it?” “We weren't even together.” “That didn't stop people from talking.” Mon looked toward the opposite side of the floor. Nicole was seated several rows away, laughing at something Vane had said. Mon looked away. Nicole was a subject she'd rather not revisit. There had been too many misunderstandings, too many unnecessary conversations, and one particularly unpleasant confrontation that had taught Mon the value of keeping her personal life away from the office. She wasn't interested in repeating the experience. “I'm not doing anything,” she said. Kath raised an eyebrow. “Yet.” “Ate Kath!” “Fine, fine.” Kath held up both hands. “I'm just reminding you. Workplace romance is complicated.” “There's no romance.” “Of course.” “I barely know her.” “Of course.” “She doesn't even smile.” Kath grinned. “And you've noticed.” Mon opened her mouth. Closed it. Kath laughed triumphantly. “Your trainees are looking for you, by the way.” Mon groaned. “Please tell me you're joking.” “Afraid not.” She turned toward the floor. Three agents were waving at her. One looked close to tears. Mon picked up her headset. “Back to motherhood.” Kath patted her shoulder. “Good luck, Mama Mon.”