Trade Secrets

By VK Tritschler

What happens when your dream job turns out to be a hot mess?

 

Emily earned a spot in a top Adelaide advertising agency and was excited to be starting her professional career. But on her very first day she gets coffee spilled on her by Meg, her new and complicated co-worker; runs into Jimmy, her wildly inappropriate boss; and gets stuck in an elevator with Harry, who is the hottest guy in the industry and her company's biggest competitor.

 

When Jimmy enlists Emily to spy on Harry and his company, things become more complicated.

 

But Emily finds that her life isn't as perfect as she'd dreamed. Now, she has to choose between handsome Harry, who may not be all he seems, and bawdy Jimmy, who is exactly what she fears. Secrets and hidden agendas rip apart Emily's dreams. Will she pick the devil she knows or the one she doesn't?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkspell Publishing
• Release date: Dec 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781949931976

Book preview

Chapter 1

EMILY HAD SPENT HER entire life preparing for this job, and as she smoothed out the front of her crisp white shirt, her hands shook. The expansive glass doors beckoned her into a new world of clients, offices, and meetings in the historical city of Adelaide, South Australia. The last few years of her university degree now behind her, it was both a thrill and an honor to get a position at the prodigious Montague, Clarke, and Chandler advertising agency. As she placed her foot on the mat, the doors swooshed open and she breathed her first whiff of corporate life.

Behind her, a young woman stumbled and bumped into her, knocking them both forward. Regaining her composure, she turned to find a disarray of blonde curls, a white cheek with a smear of blue ink across it, and a slash of inappropriately red lipstick. Two large, bright blue eyes stared back at her.

Oh, I’m so sorry, the girl said, reaching forward to wipe the coffee splash from off the back of Emily’s shirt.

With horror, she noticed the large coffee carrying device had tilted, and the contents had divested themselves of their containers and flown mercilessly across the floor. And, she now rightfully assumed, her shirt.

What the heck?

A bright red patch appeared on the girl’s cheeks, and her gaze darted as she took in the mess.

Here, have a tissue, she replied, carefully balancing the container on one hand and digging into her handbag with the other. Scooping the coffees away from her grasp before the few dregs that remained in the cups also met the floor, Emily raised her eyebrow. No, I’m good thanks.

The girl gave her an apologetic smile. I would shake your hand but looks like they are full.

Emily puckered her lips. She needed to find a bathroom quickly and get the stains out before they set. Fortunately, she had arrived at work ten minutes early because she was so nervous about starting. She would need the extra time to make herself presentable now.

Here I can take them. The girl pried the carrier from Emily’s hands. But thank you for your help. Are you new here?

Yes. Emily wiped her damp fingers on the sides of her navy skirt. Just started today.

Gosh, what a shame that I ruined your shirt then. The girl smiled, oblivious to the distress this whole event had caused. My name’s Meg. Well, Megan to be exact, but everyone here calls me Meg.

Nice to meet you, Meg, but I really have to be going. I don’t suppose you know where the nearest ladies’ bathroom is?

Tilting her head toward a door at the end of the corridor, she replied, Down there and to the left. Good luck, whoever you are.

Emily, she called out to the retreating figure. My name’s Emily.

But there was no way the girl could have heard her as she flew off, blonde curls bobbing as she went. The rest of the corridor was empty and sparse. Shiny white tiles contrasted with the dark granite walls. The only beckoning sign was the silver slash of elevator doors clinging to the sides. Walking past them, she noted her reflection and the dark-brown smear of coffee across her back. This was a disaster. After pushing the large dark door at the end, she found herself in a smaller, narrower hallway with a white illuminated toilet sign about five feet away above a white door.

Through the door, she entered another sterile white room. With several stalls on one side and a stark, long counter space smattered with faucets on the other. Everything was sparkling clean. The taps were automatic, so as she moved her hand beneath the sensor, they spluttered to life. She twisted and turned on the spot, trying to reach the back of her shirt, but try as she might, it was impossible. She would have to take it off and rinse it. Checking the back of the main door, she was disappointed there was no lock. There were on the backs of the toilet doors but walking around the office in a shirt drenched in toilet water was less than appealing.

Sucking in her dignity and her stomach, she undid the buttons on the shirt and placed it carefully under the tap. As the water flowed through and started to wash out the coffee, she used some hand soap to scrub the stain out as best she could, carefully trying to mitigate the water to just the area where the damage had occurred. As she heard the door swing open and footsteps, she refused to lift her gaze. Nothing to see here, she thought, just a girl washing her top in the women’s toilets.

Crikey, if I’d known this bathroom came with a free strip show, I’d have come in here every morning, a man’s voice spoke from behind her.

Fingers frozen, she looked up to the mirror and the reflection of a solidly built man with broad shoulders and a lean waist standing inches behind her with a goofy grin on his face. His hair was graying at the sides, and he had unnaturally tanned skin as if he had been on holiday for some considerable time. It only highlighted the green in his eyes. He was attractive for a man who was probably old enough to be her father. Or maybe a dodgy uncle.

A scream slipped out as she spun on the spot and pulled the shirt across her chest like a shield.

What the fuck? escaped her lips before she could censor it.

Well, I hadn’t planned on it, but I’m keen if you are. He winked. Just give me a minute to shake the snake.

This is the women’s toilets! Legs shaking, she felt her control of her lungs loosen just enough to make it seem like she was a banshee.

He disappeared into the toilet cubicle and closed the door behind him. Really? I hadn’t noticed.

She started to fumble with the wet shirt, sliding its slimy contents quickly back onto her torso, her fingers struggling with the buttons. How could you not notice? There’s a sign above the door. It’s a picture of a woman. It’s wearing a skirt!

The tempo of her heart furiously beat a quick staccato against her ribcage.

Could have been a kilt. You shouldn’t be so judgmental. Anyway, I’ve been coming here for ages. Nobody ever uses this toilet and it’s the cleanest one in the building. It’s hardly my fault you decided today was a clothing-optional day at work.

Staring at her own reflection in the mirror, she noted apart from being pale, she was tidy. Unless someone was looking closely, they wouldn’t notice the slight stain and the damp patch on the back of her shirt. It would have to do. She needed to get away from the weirdo in the toilet and back to the normal world and her new job. As her hand touched the door to leave, she heard him exit the cubicle and call out to her.

I’m here most mornings if you ever want to strip again. I’ll make sure I bring some loose notes from now on.

She felt the heat in her cheeks as she left the room and raced through to the silver elevators. The downside of metal elevators was that they worked like mirrors. As she entered and selected her floor, she decided perhaps the stain and dampness were more obvious than she had originally thought. As she tried to drag them further down into her skirt, fingers wrapped around the elevator door and a deep voice called out.

Hold the lift!

Unable to remove her hands from the back of her skirt fast enough to push the button, she instead took a step back to allow room for him to enter. She noticed the sharp lines of his navy suit and the beautiful dark leather of his shoes right away. Other people might not have appreciated the small elemental details of a handsome man in a suit, but Emily did. Whoever this was, he was wealthy, because those clothes must have cost a fortune. As she took in his slim waist and broad chest, she noticed he was also a man who worked hard on his physique. But it was his face that made her mouth run dry. Chiselled chin, sharp, angular cheekbones, and deep, ocean-blue eyes. His hair was short on the sides but dropped forward on the front, playfully dangling dark locks over his forehead. A hint of stubble clung to his cheeks like a brazen attempt to look like he had just rolled out of bed.

He gave her a small smile as he entered, a boyish dimple showing, and then pushed the button to close the door. She knew she was staring, but she couldn’t control her eyes, they were too busy drinking their fill. He smelled like roasted cinnamon and chocolate, and it wafted around the small space, repeatedly causing her chest to tighten. Red-faced, she pulled her cell phone out of her handbag and pretended to read her texts. But every cell in her body angled for her to catch glimpses of him in the silver lining that was their lift ride.

Are you new here? he asked, making eye contact with her in the door’s reflection. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.

She nodded, unable to form sentences. His voice was deep and dark like molten molasses.

He smiled again, dimples rising to the cause and giving her face a tinge of warmth. The elevator dinged as they reached her floor, and the doors swooshed open. He moved, only slightly, to let her pass, but she ended up being dangerously close to his body. The warmth and heat of it caused goosebumps to rise on her arms as she passed. She shimmied out the door and rushed up to the reception desk before she let out her breath.

The receptionist raised her eyes from her screen and took in Emily’s flushed expression. Then she glanced back at the elevator, glimpsed the occupant before the doors closed, and gave a smug smile.

Good morning, welcome to Montague, Clarke, and Chandler. How can I help you?

Good morning, panted Emily. I’m Emily Johnson, here for my first day at work.

The receptionist’s smile now broadened, her brown eyes sparkling. Welcome, Ms. Johnson, it’s lovely to finally meet you. My name is Gwyneth and I’m the full-time receptionist in this part of the office. Mr. Chandler will be along shortly. He’s a busy man, so it’s hard sometimes to pin him down at times, but he asked me to introduce you to your working partner and get you started. He’ll catch up with you when he’s able.

She got up from her desk, and Emily noted that she moved swiftly and with purpose, rearranging the paperwork and placing the phone onto auto-answer. Gwyneth looked to be in her mid-forties, and although she was thickening around the waist, she still was a striking beauty with soft, dark-brown eyes framed with long dark lashes, and porcelain pale skin. Emily imagined she would have been breathtaking in her prime.

As she moved toward the hallway, she beckoned Emily to follow.

I noticed you met Mr. Craig in the lift this morning. Now there’s a lovely bit of eye candy for your first day. But I will order you a new shirt as soon as I get back to my desk and send it through to you. Can’t have you dripping on our carpets, can we? She raised her eyebrow, a grin pulling at the corners of her mouth as she must have watched the red flood to Emily’s face.

Thanks, she mumbled back. Sorry, some idiot spilled coffee on me in the foyer.

As the words slipped out, Gwyneth opened the door to her new office space, and the exact idiot she had just mentioned waltzed past them both.

Morning, G! the girl called out as she passed, blonde hair bobbing as she went.

Good morning, Meg, don’t suppose you’ve seen Jimmy around?

Nope, but his coffee’s on his desk when he gets in.

Good job.

They entered the small room, and Gwyneth leaned closer to Emily’s ear.

Heart of gold that one, but as clueless as an Irish setter. I’ll take you to her office in a minute and introduce you. That’s Meg, your artistic partner.

Emily tried not to let the groan escape her lips, but it did. Gwyneth raised an eyebrow.

Have you met her already?

She was my coffee incident this morning. Emily sighed.

Oh. I see. A grin pulled on Gwyneth’s lips as she held back a giggle. So this is your office, she said, giving the room a generalized sweep with her arm. It wasn’t a big space, but one entire wall was a window overlooking the surrounding buildings and gave it a large open feel. The desk was white and chic, with a large black and silver office chair behind it and a fancy computer and phone resting on top. Emily felt a rush of excitement at having her very own office for the first time. It seemed a very grown-up thing to have. I had cards ordered for you, which are already on your desk, but your name badge hasn’t arrived yet for your door. The direct dial for the reception is 9745, and you can ring me if you’re not sure where things are. The IT department has already set up your email and desktop, so you’ll find everything ready to go, and I think Jimmy, I mean, Mr. Chandler, will have already started forwarding you work to look at. The staff lounge and copier are down the hallway to the right, and we have bathroom facilities across the hall on the left. Okay, let’s head down and officially meet Meg and then you can get started.

As they walked down the hallway to Meg’s office, Emily read the names and titles on each of the doors and glimpsed some of her new colleagues as they settled into their work. Some smiled as she passed, but others were absorbed in their work. Everyone seemed busy.

At the end of the corridor, they took a sharp left into Meg’s office. It was chaotic. There was a large easel in one corner which had the half-finished sketches of what looked like a giraffe wearing shoes and screwed-up or discarded pieces of paper in random locations around the room. Her desk was a mix of plastic creatures, photo frames with smiling people, and an assortment of used coffee cups. Meg sat in her chair, staring at the computer screen with a large frown on her face.

Hey, Meg, just bringing Emily in to meet you. She’s your new copywriter. Gwyneth cast her eye around the room. And a friendly reminder that the cleaners won’t clean all this mess. You need to tidy up so they can reach the carpet...

Meg looked up from the screen and a large smile swept across her face. Ems! she squeaked. How lovely to see you again. It’s just great that we’re working together. I know we’re going to get along!

She jumped out of her seat and rushed at Emily, embracing her in a large hug. With all her alarms ringing about the invasion of personal space, Emily disentangled herself and gave her a tight smile.

Well, ladies, I have to get back to the desk. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted and start work. Gwyneth headed back toward the door before pausing for a moment. Oh, and good luck, Emily. I’m sure you’ll do just fine.

Feeling anything but confident in that statement, Meg pulled Emily back into the conversation. "So, have you logged into your email yet? I just got our next assignment, and it looks like it’s a doozy. I could use some inspiration if you want to hit the boardroom and brainstorm. I brought a new pack