Two Little Secrets From My Boss

Chapter 22

The business lunch was held in a private hall reserved for such occasions—all polished wood and crystal water glasses, the kind of room where deals worth millions were negotiated over overpriced salads.

I was there to take notes and assist with scheduling follow-ups.

A professional role. An invisible one. I should have blended into the background, nothing more than a quiet presence with a tablet and a pen. But Gerald Morrison had other ideas.

He'd positioned himself in the seat directly beside me, despite the place cards clearly indicating he belonged at the other end of the table.

No one questioned it. Men like Gerald did what they wanted.

From the moment I sat down, his eyes crawled over me. Every time I moved, reaching for my water glass, adjusting my tablet, shifting in my chair, I felt his gaze traveling places it had no right to go.

"You know, I've been thinking about you since the gala," he said, leaning too close, his breath warm against my ear. "Couldn't get you out of my head."

"That's... flattering, Mr. Morrison." I kept my voice neutral, professional. "If you'll excuse me, I need to review the agenda."

"Always working." He chuckled, the sound oily. "I like that in a woman. Dedication."

The first course arrived, and I tried to focus on my notes. But Gerald's attention never wavered. His compliments kept coming—each one wrapped in something that made my skin crawl.

"That blouse is a lovely color on you. Really brings out your... assets. And you have such delicate hands. I bet they're good at all sorts of things."

Then, as the main course was served, he leaned closer still.

"No wonder someone with your legs and hips became an assistant," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear. "Can't blame Xander for hiring you. Who wouldn't want to have this view every day?"

His hand dropped below the table. Brushed against my thigh. Lingered.

I froze. My skin crawled, revulsion rising in my throat like bile.

I wanted to scream, to slap him, to overturn the table and run. But I was trapped—by professionalism, by the eyes of a dozen powerful men, by the knowledge that causing a scene would only hurt me.

Across the table, Archie watched.

I saw his eyes flicker down, saw him register what was happening beneath the tablecloth. His fingers tightened on his fork, knuckles going white.

He saw it. He knew.

And he did nothing.

"So, Gerald," Archie said smoothly, steering the conversation toward quarterly projections, "tell us about the Tokyo expansion. I heard you've secured the permits."

Gerald's hand finally moved away as he turned to answer. The conversation flowed on—business talk, laughter, the clink of glasses.

As if nothing had happened. As if I hadn't just been violated in plain sight.

I survived the rest of the lunch on autopilot. Took notes I wouldn't remember. Smiled when required. Counted the minutes until I could escape.

The moment the lunch concluded, I fled.

I found Archie in an empty hallway near the service entrance, checking his phone. He looked up when he heard my footsteps, and something flickered across his face before he smoothed it into a pleasant expression.

"Daphne. Good work there. I know those lunches can be—"

"That man is disgusting." My voice shook with barely contained fury. "The way he looked at me. The way he talked to me. The way he touched me."

I stepped closer, my hands trembling at my sides.

"And you saw it. You were right there, Archie. You watched him put his hand on my thigh under the table, and you… did nothing."

His expression flickered again, guilt, discomfort, but he smoothed it over quickly.

"Look, Gerald is... he's just old-fashioned. He doesn't mean anything by it. You know how these guys are. Different generation, different standards."

"Old-fashioned?" I stared at him in disbelief. "He had his hand on my thigh! Under the table, right in front of everyone! That's not old-fashioned, Archie. That's assault."

"That's a strong word…"

"It's the accurate word!"

Archie sighed, running a hand through his hair. He tried to appear gentle, caring—the same warmth he'd shown me in his apartment, in his car. In all those moments when I'd let myself believe he was different.

"Look, I understand it made you uncomfortable. I do. And I'm sorry you had to deal with that." He reached for my hand, but I pulled away. "But Gerald is important. His investment keeps half my projects afloat.”

"So your deal is more important than my safety."

It wasn't a question.

"That's not what I'm saying." But his eyes wouldn't meet mine. "I'm just trying to explain the situation. These things are complicated. If I'd called him out in front of the whole table, it would have embarrassed everyone, ruined the lunch. Potentially cost the company millions…"

"And what about me?" My voice cracked. "What about what it cost me?"

Silence.

Archie stood there, mouth opening and closing, searching for words that wouldn't come. And in that silence, I finally understood.

I'd trusted him. Confided in him. Even slept with him. Let myself believe that he was the safe choice, the uncomplicated one. The man who would stand by me when things got hard.

But when it mattered, when I needed someone to stand up for me against a man who treated me like meat, he'd chosen his deal. His reputation. His comfort.

"You don't have to say anything else," I whispered, tears welling up despite my desperate efforts to hold them back. "I can see it very clearly now."

"Daphne, wait…"

I turned and ran before he could respond, my heels clicking against the marble floor, my vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall in front of him.

I made it to the empty conference room before the first sob escaped. Walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, overlooking the city and pressed my hands against my mouth, muffling the sounds of my breakdown.

How had I gotten this so wrong?

Archie was supposed to be the safe choice. The uncomplicated one. The man who made everything feel simple and warm and possible.

Archie spoke so sincerely about wanting to be with me, to be a support system for me and the twins, only to... What? Abandon me at the most crucial moment? To shatter into pieces that fragile hope that had grown stronger for the first time in long years?

And the worst part, the part that made me cry harder, was that I wasn't even surprised.

Some part of me had always known.

Had seen the way he'd laughed off Gerald's behavior at the gala, the way he'd smoothed over discomfort with charm and deflection.

I'd just wanted so badly to believe in something easy.