Dirty Laundry

During my second visit to Franklin & Roberts, I began wondering if the one-week deadline I’d promised Genevieve had been too ambitious. I’d been alone in Harry’s office for almost twenty minutes and he hadn’t flirted with me once, and I knew it wasn’t because of anything I’d done. I had friends in unholy places (the fashion industry) that taught me a long time ago how to dress for certain situations, one of which being seducing someone without being obvious. I spent two hours at the gym that morning and got my hair done in the afternoon. Anyone else would’ve been salivating, but not Harry.

I wasn’t an idiot. He’d done an interview with The New York Times and it was selling like crazy. Financiers from all over the world were now clamoring to make an appointment with him, and here I was wasting his time. I’d look back on this in a few years and laugh, I’m sure, but now it was frustrating as hell.

“Do you have anyone that can help you with these?” I’d given Harry a stack of documents I’d printed off Google and Liam changed what needed to be changed in order to look more legitimate. According to him, they were expense reports.

“I have an accounting guy, but I’ve been toying with the idea of firing him. I don’t think he’s very good.”

Harry shrugged. “The documents themselves look fine. All the calculations are correct.”

I gave him my best puppy-dog eyes. “So what does that mean? What’s going wrong?”

“I honestly have no idea.”

I sighed, trying to visibly deflate as I sat across from him. He looked even better the second time around, like if I stared too long I’d turn to stone. His appearance seemed a bit more disheveled than it had during our first meeting, but it worked for him. It was the appearance of a man who didn’t have to try to accomplish anything. Things were handed to him now, and he’d adjusted accordingly.

I began stacking the documents with every intention of leaving. “I don’t want to waste any more of your time, Mr. Styles.”

“Harry,” he corrected me.

“Of course.” I smiled. “I’m sure you’re incredibly busy and I’m just being a nuisance.”

Harry moved to stop me. “We can take care of this, Evangeline. If anyone can figure this out, you know it’s me.”

“I know, but there’s no point in fighting a losing battle. Sometimes you just have to cut your losses and move on.”

There’s a certain look people adorn when they’re desperate but aren’t trying to look that way, and that’s exactly how Harry appeared as I stuffed all my paperwork into Liam’s briefcase. I’m sure it had everything to do with his ego and very little to do with me individually. Here was a world-famous, highly-touted businessman and I was walking out of his office empty-handed. It wasn’t a good look for him, especially if I decided to take it to the press.

I was halfway to the door when I felt a hand on my wrist. It was gentle, and I came to the conclusion that it was probably the first time in years that Harry Styles had been anything less than demanding with a woman. I cocked an eyebrow and he stared right back. Genevieve had cautioned me about that look—the one that nearly buckled my knees and required a change of all southbound clothing.

“Please.” He spoke quietly, and I weighed my options. There were two ways to play this: storm out in a rage and demand he give me my money back, subjecting him to countless hours of trying to make it up to me; or I could take the passive-aggressive route and let his failures fester for a while.

Once he realized he still had a hold on my wrist, he apologized and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry, I’m just not used to…”

“Failing?” I offered. He flinched slightly, as if he’d never heard the word before but knew it was bad.

“I didn’t…” He paused, struggling to find the words he meant to use. “Let me fix this. I know there’s something I’m missing, I just need to find it.”

Against my better judgment, I cupped his cheek. “I told you, I don’t place any of the blame on you, Harry. You’re a brilliant, lovely man, and I do wish we met under different circumstances.” He eyed me, probably trying to figure out what I was getting at. “You aren’t half as dry as those interviews make you seem.”

Harry laughed before he smiled, and when he did it went all the way to his eyes. I had yet to figure out exactly what color they were, only that they were the perfect shade to bring a woman to her knees. “You’ve been reading my interviews?”

I shrugged. “I wanted to hire the best. Those interviews say that’s you.”

My hand was still cupping his cheek when he placed his over mine. He was warm and slightly clammy, as if little old me could make him nervous, but it was a welcomed change from the chill of his office. “They’re right, I am the best. At everything.”

Harry’s words hung in the air as I kept quiet. Their meaning wasn’t lost on me, and how could they be? Someone like him didn’t need to be subtle, because even if he was an unattractive mess, women still flocked to men with money. And he had tons of it.

I let him move his hands down to my hips and walk us to the edge of his desk. This wasn’t going anywhere, not with an office full of people and a spiteful secretary, but he wanted to send a message. I was getting paid to jot down the details and return it.

“I saw the way she looks at you.”

Harry, whose eyes had been trained on the spot where my shoulder and neck connected, met my gaze. There was hope for him yet as he tried to look confused, like he had no idea what I was talking about, but that only lasted as long as I let it.

“Your secretary,” I clarified. My palm ghosted over the crotch of his suit pants and his eyes fluttered. “Are you fucking her, Mr. Styles?”

I had no delusions about receiving an answer, and Harry made good on that when the only response he offered was a raspy chuckle. It’s well known that sometimes the lack of an answer is an answer in itself.

A knock on the door sent Harry stumbling backwards quicker than I could pretend to look disappointed. Emma, the aforementioned secretary, cleared her throat as she stood in the doorway. “Sorry, Mr. Styles. I called but you didn’t answer.”

Harry ran a hand over his face. “That’s all right. I’ll be out in a second.”

Emma nodded before closing the door behind her. I tried not to laugh as he adjusted his pants, all the while wondering if I’d backed myself into a corner. Genevieve might be satisfied with knowing her fiancé was screwing his secretary but I still needed some sort of proof. Harry wasn’t budging, so that only meant one thing.

“Should I make another appointment?”

Harry seemed surprised by my question. “Oh, uh…sure. Bring any additional paperwork you have. I’ll have my partner take a second look at these expense reports just to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

As I turned to leave, Harry called my name. He placed a glossy business card in my palm, making sure to linger just a second longer than he should’ve. “Call me personally to set it up. With the way things are going, it’ll be months before Emma can fit you in.”

I agreed, promising I’d call as soon as I located the paperwork he wanted. On my way out of his office—successfully this time—I opened the app on my phone that recorded voice memos. As expected, the reception area was full of people, every last one looking more professional and expensive than I ever would.

Emma made sure to glare at me as I approached her desk. “I need to make a follow-up appointment,” I told her.

She thumbed through the appointment book, probably trying to gauge how far she could push it back before I complained. “I have a nine-o’clock on September second.”

Making sure my phone was recording, I pretended to open my calendar. “Hmm, I have something going on that day. Are you sure you don’t have anything sooner?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s the earliest I could fit you in.”

I smirked, keeping my voice low so no one would overhear. “Now, I really hate to do this, but I’m almost positive you can squeeze me in before September.” Emma began to protest but I held up a hand to stop her. “Don’t give me that, sweetheart. Either pencil me in for next week or I sell my story to the highest bidder.”

“And what story would that be?”

“Oh, where should I begin? Maybe I should sell them the story of how today’s hottest businessman couldn’t solve a simple financial crisis for a no-name company such as mine after I funneled him thousands of dollars. Or,” I made sure to lean in extra close for added effect, “I could sell them the story about how today’s hottest businessman is fucking his secretary when he’s engaged to be married. Your pick.”

If you’ve ever seen someone on the verge of passing out, you know they lose all the color in their face and their lips go pale. They almost look like a ghost, or just a very sick human being, and that’s exactly what Emma looked like as she digested my threat. “Our lawyers—”

“Ah, ah, ah! It’s only libel if it’s false.”

“I’m not sleeping with my boss.”

I frowned. “Well, if you insist. I suppose I’ll be seeing you in September.”

I made it approximately two strides from her desk before Emma had an epiphany. We set up an alternate appointment for the following Thursday and I was sent on my way, voice memo and all. After I was enclosed in the elevator, I emailed the file to Sloane and told her to make a copy for our archives before forwarding it to Gen.

My phone vibrated with a new message from Sloane as soon as I reached the lobby: Another one doing the dirty w/ his secretary? So cliche! She even included an emoji rolling its eyes.

Laughing, I typed out a reply and hit the send button. I thanked the man who held the door open for me without looking up.

“Evangeline?”

Now, the trouble with using an alias is that sometimes you don’t remember who you are on any given day. That’s why Mia didn’t always use one. It took me a second before I realized the man was talking to me.

“Sorry,” he said, a blush rising to his cheeks. “For a second I wasn’t sure it was you.”

I knew his face but couldn’t place it immediately. Not that I was too worried. I only ever freaked out if someone called me by a previous alias. This guy was new. “It’s me all right. I had another appointment with Mr. Styles.”

He nodded. “He was telling me about it. You’ve really got him stumped.”

The attorney. “Oh, are you two close?”

“Been mates since university.”

“It’s good to see his success hasn’t strained your friendship.”

“I’m lucky, yeah?”

Lou—whose name I finally remembered—didn’t seem very impressed with his luck, though he was certainly pleased to be talking about it. Harry was his boss, the more famous, more wealthy, more well-off version of him, but who was eager to pull the trigger on that admission?

I nodded as I attempted to hail a cab. Three drove right by without even the slightest attempt to stop. “Unbelievable.”

After having a laugh at my misfortune, Lou stepped to the curb and successfully hailed a cab for me. I thanked him, told him I’d be back in the office next week, and rattled my address to the driver.