Chapter 7 Sabotage
Becca’s POV
Monday morning didn’t just arrive, it smacked me awake.
The second I stepped into the Simmons Conglomerate lobby I felt it, that slow prickle up the back of my neck.
People weren’t just glancing; they were watching. Snippets of whispers hissed across cubicles and marble like spilled bleach.
It was as if I went viral on social media for some crime.
“…moved in with him…”
“…like she didn't actually earn that position…”
“…sleeping her way to the top…”
I lifted my chin, pasted on a neutral face and kept walking.
I knew the gossip would surely come around. It was what I was avoiding but what do you expect when a lady is the Conglomerate's secretary…
My heels clicked on the polished floor, a rhythm to drown the voices out. Inside, though, my stomach was curling in on itself.
Mary at the front desk; who’d been chatty and warm my first week, avoided my eyes as I passed.
Two junior analysts went silent mid-conversation when I came near. By the time the elevator doors slid shut I realised my hands were trembling.
“This is the price for crossing that line,” I scolded myself.
This is what happens when you forget who you are.
I hadn’t spoken to Mark since Saturday morning. Not since that business card with “wager” scribbled across the back had surfaced.
I’d walked out of his penthouse clinging to my dignity like it was a life raft, I checked into a hotel on my own savings, and spent the weekend lying to myself that I didn’t care.
I cared.
God, I cared so hard it ached behind my ribs.
The elevator pinged on the thirtieth floor. I squared my shoulders, ready to bury myself in work and pretend Mark Simmons didn’t exist.
I guess Mark had some other plans
He was leaning against the wall outside my office.
“Becca…”
“Mr. Simmons.” My voice came out sharp enough to cut glass. “I have files to get through. Excuse me.”
I tried to brush past but he caught my wrist, his gentle touch.
Ughh… it did a lot to my body.
A shiver of heat shot up my arm. I hated my body for responding.
“Angel, please. We need to talk.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I freed myself, keying the office door. “You’re my boss. I’m your secretary. That’s all.”
“You don’t believe that any more do you?”
He was right, we had a lot of memory to maintain a boss-secretary relationship.
But what could I do?
I turned, keeping my tone low so wandering staff wouldn’t overhear.
“What I believe is you’re keeping secrets. Something about shares, wagers, and somehow I’m caught in the middle. Until you’re honest, we have nothing to discuss.”
Pain flickered across his face; quick, like a blade of light but before he could speak his phone rang.
“Fk him,” he muttered.
Whoa, did I just hear him saying the F word. Well, it just didn't suit his personality.
“I have to take this. But Becca, please. Later. Let me explain.”
“Your office is that way, Mr. Simmons.”
He looked like I’d slapped him but he went. I shut my office door and let the tears come where no one could see.
By noon I was drowning in spreadsheets and caffeine. Third cup of coffee, eyes burning, head pounding from two nights without sleep.
Numbers blurred. Words blurred. I needed air.
I grabbed my phone and escaped to the break room on the twenty-eighth floor, far enough from the executive suite that I might actually get a moment alone.
I didn’t.
The door swung inward and I froze at the sound of Carmen’s voice, low and smug.
“…already sent the photos to his email. All we have to do is wait for him to open them.”
“And you’re sure they look real?” Olivia, nervous. “If Mark figures out they’re photoshopped…”
“He won’t. Asher was more than happy to hand over the originals. All I did was shift the timestamps to make them look recent.”
Ice slid into my veins. I stayed half hidden behind the vending machine, heart hammering against my ribs.
“I still think it’s risky,” Olivia whispered. “What if Becca,”
“Becca is nobody,” Carmen snapped. “A secretary who got lucky. Once Mark sees those photos of her with her ex he’ll realise she’s been playing him. Using him. She’ll be finished.”
“And I’ll be there to comfort him,” Olivia added, syrup dripping from her voice.
“Poor Mark, betrayed again. He’ll need someone who understands him.”
“Exactly. Now hurry, we need those photos on his desk before two o’clock.”
I slipped back out before they saw me, pulse roaring in my ears.
Photos of me and Asher? Edited to look recent?
This wasn’t just gossip. This was sabotage.
I had to warn Mark before he saw them. But as I headed for the elevator the business card flashed in my mind: Wager.
What if this was connected? What if Mark knew? What if they were all playing me?
No. Stop it. Whatever he was hiding, Mark had saved my life — twice. Opened his home to me. Looked at me like I was the only person in the room.
That couldn’t all be fake… could it?
I checked my watch: 1:30. Thirty minutes until his meeting. If I moved fast maybe I could intercept the photos, or at least warn him.
I jabbed the elevator button, rehearsing my plans in my head , catching Carmen, grabbing the envelope, something, anything …
“Miss Charles.”
I turned. Mark’s assistant stood there, polite but tense. “Mr. Simmons needs you in Conference Room B. Immediately.”
My stomach dropped. “Did he say why?”
“No, but he sounded… urgent.”
Too late. He’d already seen them.
Hands trembling, I collected my tablet and notebook and made my way to Conference Room B, a small, tucked-away room on the thirtieth floor, quiet and soundproof.
I knocked once and stepped in.
Mark was at the window, back to me, staring out at the Atlanta skyline. Shoulders rigid, fists buried in his pockets.
“Close the door,” he said without looking around.
I did, heart thudding. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Simmons?”
“Don’t.” His voice was raw. “Don’t call me that. Not now.”