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Cole: I made it early. Do you want me to wait at a coffee shop near your place?
I tap the tip of my shoe on the floor and glance at Mr. Burke’s door. Would he care if Cole hung out here for a bit? Surely, he wouldn’t care. I tap the screen. I should ask first.
After lifting the office receiver, I connect to my boss’s office.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Burke, I was–”
“I need to speak to you in the office. It’s important.” My boss’s voice is strained, which is rarely the case, causing my nerves to go on edge. Maybe now is not a good time for Cole to pop in.
Me: The coffee shop on the end of my street would be perfect. I’ll meet you there.
After I give him the name of the place and the street address, he messages back.
Cole: See you soon.
While raising my hand to knock, the door swings in, causing me to jump. “Sorry….” I chuckle, but the sound peters out over the expression on his face. His eyes are serious, matching the set of his jaw. “What’s wrong?”
“Come on in. We need to talk.”
The door snaps shut behind me as he rakes a hand through his hair. “I need to apologize.”
“For?”
He sighs, marches behind his desk, and slumps into his chair. “For putting you in an awkward position.”
“What do you mean? You haven’t put me in an awkward situation.” My stomach churns.
What is this about? It’s not like Mr. Burke to be cryptic or to show unnecessary emotions. He’s cool and professional to a fault. Working for him is a dream. Clearly, too much of a dream. Maybe I won’t have to choose where I live. I might be out on my ass.
But why? I’ve not screwed anything up. And even though I’ve been mooning over thoughts of seeing Cole again, I’ve stayed on top of my job. Maybe even more so in hopes of getting out of work a few minutes early.
“Go ahead and have a seat.” He nods toward my usual chair across from him.
As I perch on the edge of the seat, my back remains stiff, and I wait for the other shoe to drop. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, not at all. Here….” He spins his tablet around to face me and taps the button. There, in the middle of the screen, is an image of my boss squeezing my shoulder. That’s from the other night. How’s this a big deal?
I frown and look up at him. “What’s the big deal?”
He massages his temples with his free hand. “Read it.”
As I hold the tablet in my hand, my eyes fly across the screen.
‘Henry Burke is enamored with his assistant.’
‘I always knew he put on too good of a front.’
‘He’s like all the other politicians and rich men of the world, a young mistress at his side to do his dictations. Heavy on the first part of the word.’
‘You can’t deny the happiness on their faces as they each step out of the limo.’
My face flames as I scan farther into the article, where there’s another set of images showing us on our phones.
‘The love birds try to appear inconspicuous, but they’re clearly talking to each other.’
‘The young woman in the photograph is Henry Burke’s 23-year-old personal assistant. The assistant he spends countless hours with and has set up in a luxurious condo near his headquarters. The young woman was heard gushing to her lover over the phone as soon as they separately entered the building and lost track of each other. An eyewitness overheard Ms. Slater saying, “I hate that we can’t talk out in the open.’’’
