Corporate Secrets

CHAPTER 12

ANNE

When I wake up, I don't immediately realize where I am. Then I remember the events of last night and press my hand to my mouth, stopping the gasp that would have escaped.

Gingerly, doing my best to make as little noise or movement as possible, I get out of the bed. I can't believe I slept in his bed last night. What on earth was I thinking? It's easy enough to locate my phone on the table where I left it.

I turn the flashlight to the lowest setting so that I don't disturb him, and search around for my shoes, my purse, and my jacket. As soon as I have everything, I head to the door. The knob creaks a little when I turn it, and I hear a small snort from the direction of the bed.

I freeze, waiting for him to call me out on trying to sneak away from his house. After a moment of nothing but silence, I finally breathe again, opening the door and shutting it quietly behind me.

It's easy enough to get out of the apartment and head to the elevator. I don't breathe easy until I'm out on the streets. I don't know why I feel so jumpy. It's not like I'm carrying drugs or doing something else that's stupid.

Okay, so maybe me leaving his home so early while he's still asleep is cowardly, but I know it's better this way. I can't let things get awkward. We've slept together once. I can't let it happen again. Men... Men can have sex without getting their feelings entangled. Some women can do it too, but I'm not one of them.

I was already having crazy thoughts after kissing him twice. If we end up having sex again, I'll probably start planning our marriage in my head. And then he'll move on, and I'll be crazy disappointed. I can't take the chance of that happening.

Besides, we already agreed that it was a one-time thing. Me sleeping over at his house, even if it was a mistake, might signal something that I don't think I want being out there.

So it's better this way. This way, things don't get messy. This job is too important to me, and I can't afford to lose it. His apartment isn't too far from mine, though they are worlds apart.

He has a penthouse suite in a crazy expensive part of the town, and his rent is probably twenty times what I pay for my tiny room.

But I'm proud of my space. I've worked hard for it, going without a lot of things just so that I can be independent and take care of myself. I'm paying off my student loans at a steady rate, I have a good job. There's nothing worth losing all of that for.

At the front door of my building, I stop to see if there's any mail from me. Since I got that second email at the office, I've been a little jumpy. Not knowing who is sending them is kind of scary and weird all at once. The second I see the package, I know it has to be from whoever has been sending the emails.

What if it's a bomb? I ask myself, shaking my head as I reach for it. What if there's like things about national security and whatnot in it?

I debate leaving it there for all of a second, but I decide not to. I hold it the way you'd hold a basket of eggs as if it's going to fall down at any time. I set it gingerly on the ground to get my keys and set it on the table just as carefully once I'm inside.

I only pause to dump my jacket and purse on my bed before I turn to the package. "Here goes," I mutter to myself as I tug open the strings that are used to keep the wrapping in place. When it opens and all I see is a sheaf of papers, I feel a little foolish and at the same time quite disappointed.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I take the one at the top. It's addressed to me.

The second I open it and see the handwriting, my heart skips a beat. It's Saul Manning. I would recognize that scrawl anywhere. I had to decipher memos and letters and everything in between when I was still his assistant.