She pulls in a shaky breath, fresh tears rising in her eyes. “If I lose this job, I’ll be underwater in less than a month. It’s impossible to put anything into savings with three kids under the age of nine.”
I put a gentle hand on her shoulder, willing strength into her petite frame. “I’m so sorry, Lulu. I know some of the old guard can be ridiculous about working from home. Maybe that’s something the company should address from the top down? Is there a place where employees can anonymously suggest policy change?”
Lulu shakes her head. “The last woman who complained about the attitude toward mothers in the office was out in a month.”
My lips part to tell her that’s bullshit, and that I’m going to bring this up with Jack and Ryan personally, but of course I can’t say that.
I’mEric, not Ellie, and I need to stay undercover if I want to get the rest of my scoop.
And I need that scoop, not just to please my editor Denise, who is completely psyched about the new direction for my article, but to do right by the people working for my brother and Jack. And the best way to prove my good intentions is to keep my secret.
At least for now.
So I furrow my brow and nod sympathetically. “I get it. But if there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
Lulu pats my arm. “You’re sweet. You’re going to do great here, I know it. We’ve got a few rotten apples in the office, but the big bosses are great guys. Keep it up and you’re going to impress the hell out of them.”
It’s good to hear. And it makes me feel awful at the same time.
I hate lying to Lulu—to anyone, really.
By the time I make it to my desk, my giddy has vanished, replaced by concern about what I’m going to do when it comes time to show my cards. Eventually, anyone who reads my article will know that Ellie and Eric are one and the same.
What will Lulu and the rest of the people in the office I’m coming to respect and care about think of me then? Will they understand why I lied? Will they realize how much I truly want to be a catalyst for positive change?
Or will they hate me for being a nosy journalist?
All of these worries are still swirling in my head when a floral-sugar-citrus scent envelopes me from behind, signaling the arrival of my very nice-smelling nemesis.
“Hey there, workaholic. What time did you get out of here last night?” Blair asks, tapping a shiny nail on my desk.
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear there was a spark of challenge in her eyes, and my brain swirls with a new batch of panicked questions. Did she see me outside Jack’s office last night, passed out like a helpless wimp? Did she hear him call me Ellie? Watch as he practically carried me out the door? Has she seen the “girlfriend got laid” glimmer in my eye and put two and two together to identify me as a reporter in drag who’s banging her fake boss?
Is my cover completely blown?
Taking a deep breath and attempting to remain calm, I say, “Not too late. Maybe around seven. You?”
“Oh, I was here until midnight going through those personnel files. Speaking of which…” Her talontap tap tapsagain, right next to my laptop. “I took a peek at yours, and I noticed a few, shall we say, discrepancies.”
“Discrepancies?” My voice breaks, but I clear my throat and soldier on, ignoring the pounding of my heart. “Well, I’m happy to talk with Jack about that. I thought we had everything in order, but I’m sure I can help fill in any gaps.”
She purses her lips, pondering my words. Mylies.
Filthy, filthy lies. God, I’m so bad at this!
“It’s nothing we need to bug Jack about.” She pats the lapel of my suit coat, batting her eyelashes again. “I just noticed that you don’t have your Series Seven and Sixty-three licenses yet. Is that correct?”
I consider lying but think better of it. “That’s correct. But I’m planning to take the exams. As soon as possible.”
“I should hope so. You’ll need to put that to bed before you start trading on behalf of clients.”
I nod. “I think Jack’s idea was for me to get the lay of the land and then transition into a more active role with clients.”
“Of course.” She flashes a smile, and I try not to sigh in relief. But then she scrunches up her passive-aggressive nose. “It’s just that, given your level of experience with Hannaford Capital, I’m surprised you don’t already have your licenses. Was your last firm aware of that?”
“I had more of an analyst role there.” My gaze darts around the office in search of a savior, any savior. Barb from accounting? Hannah? Jack? Heck, I’d take Rictor riding my ass at this point, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
“Listen, Eric. I need you to make this a top priority. If finances are an issue for you,” she says, scanning my slightly off-kilter suit, “I’m sure Jack wouldn’t mind authorizing S and H to cover the fees.”