The Assistant

Chapter 1

Second day in a row. For the second day in a row, Sarah spaced out at her desk and completely forgot what she was supposed to do.

This was not business as usual for one of the most meticulous executive assistants in the country – a title she never gave herself, but heard many times from those who tried to poach her from her bosses.

But Sarah hadn’t achieved her lofty title by being a daydreamer who stared at her computer monitor all day.

“Ms. Clayborn.”

She glanced between her notebook and the computer screen. Dates, times, names… they needed inputting so she could print them off and pass them on to others around the office. The well-oiled machine she worked for demanded nothing less.

“Ms. Clayborn.”

The monitor flickered. At first, she feared her spreadsheet was crashing. Then she realized she didn’t give a shit if the whole thing exploded right now.

“Ms. Clayborn!”

She jerked back, alert. Beside her stood her boss, Danica Moreau, her perfectly groomed hair immaculate and her sharp gaze impossible to ignore.

Danica could carefully control her frustration all she wanted, but Sarah had worked for her long enough to see her future severely compromised if she kept up this bullshit.

Sarah already walked a tenuous tightrope with the Moreaus.

“My apologies.” She stood, office chair nicking the back of her knees. “Lost in thought.”

Ms. Moreau’s leveled gaze often left people romantically flustered.

Sarah had seen plenty falling over themselves to get an arousing date with the woman.

Her? Danica could wear the nicest suits, dresses, and lingerie while dousing herself in the most scintillating scent in the world, and Sarah wouldn’t give a shit.

Danica Moreau had always been off-limits. She wasn’t Sarah’s type, anyway.

“So I see,” Ms. Moreau grumbled. “Hopefully, you were thinking about Monday’s meeting with Blackbourne Corp, because those are the figures I need right now. Well? Do you have them?”

As it happened, Sarah had a stack of figures already highlighted and noted on her desk. Impeccable, like the rest of her workspace. Like her simple, drab clothes. Like her clean and functional hair. Like her damned room in the apartment she shared with her brother, Nigel.

“I do.” Sarah handed her the folder. It bothered her that the movement caused one of her crystal paperweights to turn askew.

She would stare at it until Ms. Moreau was done flipping through the work, some of the colorful stickies bending and papers slightly falling out.

Danica didn’t have the same love for perfection that Sarah did.

Not when it came to her things. People? Sarah had sat in the front row of that spectacle for over two years now.

“Let me know if you need any changes, ma’am. I’m working on your and Mrs. Moreau’s schedules for next week right now.”

“I thought Ms. Oduya was taking care of that.”

“I took it on so she could attend Mrs. Moreau’s meeting with her.”

“Well…” Satisfied with the work, Danica tucked the folder beneath her arm and turned toward her office. “Just don’t take on more than you can handle.”

“Do I ever?”

She usually wasn’t that snarky with her boss, causing Danica to double-take in her direction. Immediately, Sarah regretted it. I certainly have taken on more than I can handle around here. Not at her job. In her personal life.

Danica probably didn’t remember where her wife was.

Sarah did. Of course, it was her job to know what the power couple was up to every moment at work.

But when Mrs. Alicia Moreau packed her Gucci purse after lunch, Sarah knew she didn’t want to deal with the lawyers involved with her father-in-law’s legal affairs, including his marriage to an Asian heiress.

The less Sarah had to look at Russell Moreau, the better.

Besides, she made great spreadsheets. Alicia Moreau always complimented her organizational skills and easy-to-read calendars.

Danica backtracked from her office. Her beeline for Sarah’s desk meant she was either in trouble or Danica had forgotten something.

“You’re off this weekend, correct?”

Sarah sighed, although it was so subtle that Danica never noticed. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be back from New York Sunday afternoon. Otherwise, I’ll be taking time off.”

Her boss nodded. Before her marriage a few months ago, the woman would have scoffed at Sarah’s assertion for personal time and kept her on-call.

Sarah could see a trip to New York City as a guaranteed, “Turns out I had business here. Make the meeting, please.” Now, with a new wife and a baby on the way, Danica had mellowed out when it came to granting personal time.

Which was hilarious, because Sarah was supposed to have weekends off, anyway.

Not that it ever worked out like that in the corporate world.

“Have a good trip.” Danica disappeared into her office for the rest of the afternoon.

Yes, I hope it will be.

Sarah went to New York City at least once a month. Sometimes twice, if her brain were particularly fried and her body begging for a break. Yet getaways to New York, even with her connections to cheaper accommodations and travel tickets, were not cheap.

Her getaways were escapes. Escapes that allowed her to explore sides of herself she desperately needed to embrace.

Otherwise, incidents like the one Danica found herself in became all too frequent.

Despair mounted. Depression returned. Determination to implode took over an already frayed mind.

The flashbacks were the worst, and they were getting worse recently.

Sarah hurried to finish her work for the week while still maintaining her outstanding level of quality. Occasionally, her brother texted her.

“Gonna bring home dinner from work. Carly’s coming over. You want anchovies?”

She bothered to send him one text before tuning her twin out indefinitely.

“No pizza for me. I’ll make my own dinner.”

No carbs or extraneous sodium before her big trip. She needed to fit into her travel clothes. Comfortably, even.

Finishing work early meant she could leave early. Anything her boss needed could be taken care of by Abby Oduya, the other assistant on duty. She and Alicia returned exactly ten minutes before Sarah hoped to clock out.

“Is my wife in?” A pregnant woman in Valentino approached Sarah’s desk.

Aside from the bulge announcing the impending arrival of the next great Moreau heir, Alicia Moreau was as impeccably styled as Sarah’s desk.

Straight blond hair brushed against her squared shoulders.

A Cartier diamond tennis bracelet dangled from her wrist, an emerald ring as big as the woman’s eye twinkling on her left hand.

The dress was so fitted to the new mother’s pregnant frame that Sarah added up the costs in her head.

Five thousand for the dress. Another five for the personal tailoring.

A couple grand knocked off by the designer if she’s photographed in it.

Even more if she shows up in the society pages clearly wearing a maternity dress of this caliber.

No comment on the flats already kicked off, so Alicia could wiggle her swollen toes.

“Thought I’d ask before I trek all the way over there. I need to sit down.”

“I haven’t seen her leave, no.”

“Good. Need to talk to her about what happened. Er, Abby will fill you in.”

No matter how much she avoided waddling, Alicia still succumbed to the uncomfortable gait so many pregnant women before her had already embraced.

The other assistant slumped in front of the desk adjacent to Sarah’s. My brother used to sit there when we worked together. He had been fired a few months ago. For pushing Alicia down the stairs. By Russell Moreau’s command, but who was keeping track?

“God! What a bullshit meeting,” Abby groaned. “Glad you’re on the same page I am, girl, ‘cause I need to tell someone about that stupid lawyer.”

“Mr. Lowenstein is considered the best in the business.” Sarah would know. She was the one who put the Moreaus in touch with the property and inheritance lawyer.

“I don’t care. He thinks that monster’s new wife is going to be entitled to half the Moreau estate when she dies. Yeah, right. That money is supposed to go to Ms. Moreau and her wife. Maybe his ex-wife, you know? Pay some of those medical bills. The new wife’s got money.”

“And a boyfriend on the side,” Sarah added.

“That, too. She’s only marrying the monster because it’s good for the family business. Otherwise, who the hell would…” Abby stopped. “Sorry.”

“No worries.” Sarah assembled her personal belongings. Need to get more tissues. “It doesn’t bother me.” That’s why she totally needed to swap work with Abby, right?“Anyway, I’m heading out early. Have a good weekend.”

She thanked whatever guardian angel followed her so she was alone in the elevator. She needed some time to breathe and cry a little.

Sometimes, shit was too overwhelming. Particularly when a survivor like Sarah did her best to store away the more painful memories of her recent history.

Russell Moreau was certainly the monster Abby kept calling him. Sarah knew firsthand. So did Alicia Moreau, but her father-in-law hadn’t succeeded in killing her baby.

Nor had she fathered that baby in the first place. To think, that was one of the better memories.

Sarah knew it had been foolish to have an affair with her boss’s father, a man she occasionally worked for, too.

Back then, Russell Moreau had been somewhat charming.

Handsome and fit for his age, too. While he wasn’t Sarah’s perfect type, the poor woman didn’t have much time to date and rarely thought about it, anyway.

I should have said no. I should have walked away when he asked me to sleep with him.

The Sarah of then had run out of logic. Sleeping with a man who only made her feel special when he rolled over and fell asleep wasn’t her best moment.

When she found out she was pregnant with who could very well be second in line after Danica to the vast Moreau fortune and legacy, she took a couple of days to weigh her options, ultimately deciding to go straight to Russell to see what he thought.

He had promised her everything.

Maybe not marriage, but recognition of their child on top of having all of Sarah’s medical needs taken care of by the best obstetrics team in the country. She would see enough child support to let her retire with their child to wherever the hell she wanted.

All of this was promised with that fake smile Sarah should have never trusted.

She had heard rumors that the death of Russell’s second child was because his ex-wife was beaten within an inch of her life while pregnant. By Russell’s own hands.

He didn’t beat Sarah. Not directly. First, he knocked her out with pills and had his bodyguard do the honors. Sarah would never remember the event, and she was grateful for it.

Still, waking up with a miscarriage was enough to scar her for the rest of her life.

Scars she quickly bandaged up and kept hidden until the truth came out a few months ago, when it also came to light that her brother was working with Russell to take out Alicia. Because, as Nigel claimed, Russell threatened to hurt Sarah “again and again” if he didn’t cooperate.

Bonds were supposed to run deep between twins. Yet not only had she never told her brother about the baby until it was too late for him to get used to becoming an uncle, but they had also grown even more apart since her disgust for him grew.

They still lived together.

Sarah saw him the moment she walked into their apartment, his uniform still on his thin frame as the scent of pizza permeated the place.

He waved in greeting and went back to watching TV with his girlfriend, Carly.

She was a recent addition, acquired shortly after Nigel began working as a manager of an upscale pizza restaurant.

She was nice. Sweet. Content to have a simple life with her English-descended boyfriend who spoke with an American accent.

She also didn’t bother Sarah. Which was a plus. Because when Sarah came home, she wanted nothing more than to eat dinner, take a bath, and hide in her room until it was time to come out again.

The pizza was beyond enticing to Sarah’s empty stomach. She almost stole a slice until she remembered her upcoming trip.

“Hey, wanna watch Severance with us?” Nigel asked as she walked by with the health food she picked up on the way home. “We just started it.”

“No, thanks. I need to pack.”

Carly pushed herself up from her boyfriend’s languid embrace. “Where are you going? Somewhere good?”

“New York.”

“Woo! I’d say take me with you, but I ain’t got any money.”

“Sarah goes a lot,” Nigel added. “Every other week, basically.”

Sarah stopped halfway to her room. Don’t give me that look. What right did Nigel have to be judgmental?

Not like Sarah ever told him what she did in New York.

He probably thought his sister had a sugar daddy or mama paying her to come visit them in New York. He was almost right. Sarah certainly did go for romantic purposes.

She streamed Lana del Rey on her phone while eating dinner and flipping through a magazine. A wind-down before a bath and packing. Or maybe the other way around.

She had missed Angel.

Deep in Sarah’s walk-in closet was where she kept most of her items for her trips to New York.

A few sexy dresses she had amassed over the years, some so outdated they were fashionable again.

Lingerie as sheer as rain. Fuck-me heels she had to practice walking in before packing.

And a long, curly blond wig that fooled many people into thinking it was real.

These were not things Sarah Clayborn wore. Oh, God. Never. Not plain and boring Sarah, who didn’t know how to act any differently.

No.

This was the flirtatious wardrobe of Angel, the persona Sarah adopted whenever she went to New York City for the weekend.

She loved Angel. The woman who was everything Sarah was not.

Angel could flirt with, fondle, and fuck a one-night stand without second-guessing her motives. She took risks Sarah would never dare. Same body. Different mind.

The wig fit snugly over Sarah’s head. Already dressed down in a baggy sleep shirt, Sarah admired the come-hither way her persona batted her eyelashes and got whatever she wanted.

Mates. Money. Madness.

For a woman who had so much power taken away from her in such a short amount of time… well, Sarah wouldn’t hate Angel for being the empowered one. As long as Angel shared the spoils.