Page 58 of Hidden Desires

When we part, I can barely speak. “Thank you. For not judging me.”

The handsome man smirks. “That’s not what I’m thinking about right now.”

I roll my eyes, but I’m grinning like an idiot. “You’re so predictable.”

He shrugs, feigning innocence. “If you’re this good at running a business, then I’m guessing you’re also very good at customer service.”

“Five stars, all around,” I say, and he laughs, big and real.

We sit there, quiet for a bit, the weight of honesty settling over us like a blanket.

Jack breaks the silence. “You know, I was thinking…”

I wait, curious.

“I don’t know if it’s a midlife crisis, or just the thrill of being with you, but I’ve been giving thought to what you said.”

I tilt my head at him, my heart racing.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs.

“I’ve been thinking of joining you on camera just to see what it’s like. I’d keep my face covered. Wear a flight mask, or something. But I want to understand it. I want to know what it feels like, for you. And now that I know that the money’s so good, it seems almost stupid not to try.”

I blink, stunned. “You’d do that? With me?”

He shrugs, a little embarrassed for the first time since I’ve met him. “I can’t be more of a cliché at this point, can I?”

The idea floods me with a strange, buzzing joy. “You would be a huge hit. You’d make my entire fanbase combust because believe it or not, quite a lot of my customers would like to see me perform with a partner. A real, live, male partner.”

Jack laughs, then squeezes my hand. “We’ll see.”

We talk for another hour, plotting out insane scenarios—me as the bratty secretary, him as the stern officer, variations on a theme that are both hot and hilarious. It’s the most fun I’ve had in ages, and for the first time in forever, I feel like the truth might actually set me free.

When I leave my boyfriend’s house finally, the folder is lighter, and so is my heart. The future is still a mess, but at least now, I’m not facing it alone.

When I get home that evening, the house is so bright it hurts to look at it. Every single light is on, like they’re filming a hostage video in the living room, and sure enough, my parents are waiting. Nancy sits at one end of the sofa, hands folded over a balled-up tissue, eyes as red as her favorite Pinot Noir. Gerald is parked in the recliner, hunched forward, forearms resting on his thighs like he’s about to stand up and tackle me through a plate glass window.

I want to turn around, but I don’t. I close the door and drop my keys into the dish, the jingle echoing through the silence.

“Eliza,” Dad says, voice flat and final. “Sit.”

I sit. My heart’s already thumping out a fight-or-flight rhythm, but I try to look as blank and harmless as possible. If there’s an award for “Best Impression of a Daughter Who Has No Idea What’s Coming,” I nail the audition.

Nancy breaks first. “Honey,” she whispers, “we need to talk.”

I don’t answer, just wait for the bomb.

Gerald clears his throat. “I checked the browser history on the iMac,” he says. “On Tuesday morning, and again yesterday. There’s some unusual activity. Websites that aren’t, um, appropriate.”

My stomach lurches, but I keep my eyes steady. “I use the computer for work sometimes. What kind of sites?”

“Don’t play dumb,” he says. “This isn’t pop-up stuff. These are cam sites, Eliza. With chat windows. I even clicked one. It’s…” He shakes his head, at a loss for words. “It’s filth.”

Nancy dabs at her nose. “Sweetheart, why would you even⁠—”

“I don’t,” I say, cutting her off. “I mean, it could be anything. Malware, a virus, a bot⁠—”