Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 174

Maya’s POV

The text comes at two in the afternoon: Can you meet me? Coffee shop on Meridian, three blocks from the house. 4pm?

No casual greeting, no explanation—just the request, formal and careful in ways Archie's messages never are. The ones he usually sends are short, direct—’miss you or tonight?’ or ‘thinking about last night.’ Personal. Intimate.

This is neither.

I stare at my phone screen, reading the message three times like repetition will change the tone. My stomach drops. Something has shifted, something has broken. and I'm about to find out what.

‘I'll be there.’

***

I arrive five minutes early. The coffee shop is quiet this time of day—mid-afternoon lull between lunch rush and evening crowd.

A few scattered customers with laptops, a barista wiping down counters with methodical boredom.

Archie is already seated at a corner table—away from windows, away from other patrons. Maximum privacy.

There's a folder on the table between his hands.

My heart rate spikes. I force myself to walk normally, to not scan for exits or calculate how fast I could leave.

Force my face into something neutral, concerned, appropriate for a woman meeting her boyfriend who seems upset.

"Hey." I slide into the chair across from him. "What's going on? Your text seemed—"

"I need to ask you something." He cuts me off, his voice is steady but there's something underneath. Something that sounds like it's costing him to maintain control. "And I need you to tell me the truth."

My mouth goes dry. "Okay."

He opens the folder, slides a printed page across the table. I recognize it before I read it—have that obituary memorized. I have stared at it so many times the words are burned into my brain.

Lora Morrison, age 27, passed away suddenly...

"Six years ago." Archie's eyes never leave my face. "A woman named Lora Morrison died. The obituary mentions a sister—Maya Morrison."

My heart detonates against my ribs. Every instinct I have screams run, leave now.

Before this conversation reaches its inevitable conclusion. Before I have to choose between confession and a lie that will compound every betrayal I've already committed.

But running is a confession, and I'm not ready to confess. Not to him. Not like this.

I keep my face neutral, let confusion and mild concern show through. "I... okay?"

"Are you related to her?" Direct. No hedging, just the question that will determine everything.

I could tell him the truth. Could admit that Lora was my sister, my entire world, the person I loved most who died because of Gerald and his connections to this family.

Could explain everything—the six years of planning, the careful infiltration, the mission that brought me here and kept me searching through files in the middle of the night. Could watch our relationship disintegrate in real time.

Instead, I nod slowly.

"Yes." I pause, let the admission hang for a beat. "She’s a distant cousin. We shared a great-grandmother on my mother's side. Saw each other at family reunions when we were kids, but we hadn't been close in years before she died."

The lie tastes like betrayal of everything Lora sacrificed. Like denying the person who gave up everything to raise me, who worked three jobs to put me through college, who died alone because I wasn't there to save her.

I'm erasing her, reducing her to a distant cousin, to someone I barely knew.

Lora's ghost screams in my head, but I keep talking.

"I didn't even know she'd..." I let my voice catch slightly, like this is painful to discuss.

"I didn't know she'd gotten involved with anyone connected to the Hale family until months after I took this job. When I heard about Gerald's case and started putting pieces together."

Archie's eyes narrow fractionally. "You've been researching Gerald's case."

It's not a question. He knows. He's seen the files I've accessed, the searches I've made, the late-night excursions through archives. All the evidence I thought I'd hidden carefully enough.

"When I have downtime, yes." I meet his gaze directly, let him see honesty, or the performance of it.

"I'm trying to understand what happened. How someone in my family, even distant family, ended up tangled with people who would become my employers. It felt... I don't know. Like I needed to understand the connection."

The lie builds on itself. Each sentence adding credibility, creating a narrative that explains everything he's found without revealing the truth underneath.

"I should have mentioned it when I took the job. But honestly, I didn't think it mattered." I let regret color my voice.

"She was a distant cousin I barely knew, the connection felt too tenuous to bring up. And by the time I realized how it all tied together..." I gesture helplessly. "It seemed too late. Too weird to suddenly announce."

Archie studies my face with the intensity of someone trained to detect deception. His eyes track every micro-expression, every shift in my features, every tell that might give away the lie.

I hold steady, the woman he's fallen for—the one who told him the truth about her parents' death, about Lora raising her (just not that Lora was her sister, not her distant cousin), about grief that still haunts her six years later.

I let him see confusion and mild hurt that he's questioning her, sitting across from her with evidence and suspicion instead of trust.

The silence stretches. My pulse hammers in my ears. I force myself to breathe normally, to not fidget, to maintain the exact level of concern and slight defensiveness appropriate for someone being interrogated by their boyfriend.

Finally, Archie exhales. The tension in his shoulders eases fractionally. Not completely, there's still wariness in his eyes, still calculation happening behind his expression, but enough.

"I'm sorry." His voice softens slightly. "I had to ask. I needed to understand the connection. I had to be sure…"

"That I wasn't here for some nefarious reason?" I let a small smile through. Sad but understanding.

"I get it. Security is your job. You're protecting the family. I'd be suspicious too if I found out someone on staff had any connection, even distant, to Gerald's operations."

The words feel like glass in my throat, but they work.

Archie closes the folder, slides it back toward himself. "It's just... with everything happening right now—Vincent, the threats, the family being vulnerable... I can't afford to miss red flags."

"I know." I reach across the table, put my hand over his. Feel the warmth of his skin, the strength in his fingers when they curl around mine.

"I should have told you, should have mentioned it when we started…" I gesture between us. "Whatever this is. I'm sorry I didn't."

He squeezes my hand, believes me. Chooses to believe me despite whatever instincts are screaming otherwise. Because he wants to.

Because he's falling for me and believing the lie is easier than facing what the truth would mean.

We leave the coffee shop together. His hand finds mine on the walk back, fingers threading through mine with familiar comfort.

Like nothing has changed, like we didn't just have a conversation that should have ended everything.

I exhale slowly, feeling the adrenaline start to drain from my system. That was close, too close even. My heart is still racing, my palms damp with sweat. I'm hiding by keeping them clasped in his.

Knowing the next confrontation might not end with him choosing to believe me.

Knowing Eleanor's twenty-four-hour deadline is ticking down. Knowing Archie's suspicions aren't gone, just temporarily satisfied.

Knowing the walls are closing in from every direction and I'm running out of room to maneuver.

But for now, right now, his hand is warm in mine and he's walking beside me like I'm someone worth trusting.