Chapter 2 - The Apartment Jared Told Her to Hide
For five full seconds, I forgot there were nine other people in the conference room.
I forgot about Marsden.
I forgot about the presentation.
I forgot about the eight months of work displayed on the screen behind Kiera.
All I could see was the message glowing on her phone.
Jared ❤️
Don't tell her about the apartment.
Kiera snatched the phone from the table and turned it facedown.
Too late.
My eyes moved to Jared.
He knew.
The instant our eyes met, I knew he knew I'd seen it.
There are certain moments when people confess without speaking.
A shoulder stiffens.
A face loses color.
A breath comes half a second too late.
Jared did all three.
“What apartment?”
His expression changed.
“Annalise.”
“What apartment?”
The client's managing director, Richard Marsden, slowly leaned back in his chair.
Nobody spoke.
Jared looked around the room.
“This isn't the place.”
I almost laughed.
That sentence again.
Not here.
Not now.
Not in front of people.
Jared's favorite rules always appeared when witnesses did.
“You're right.”
I closed my laptop.
“This isn't the place.”
He relaxed slightly.
Then I continued.
“So let's finish the meeting.”
Kiera stared at me.
Jared did too.
I turned toward Marsden.
“Richard, I apologize for the disruption.”
He glanced at the screen.
“I think the disruption may have been useful.”
Jared jumped in.
“Richard, the internal comments you saw are preliminary management discussions. They have nothing to do with the quality of the proposal.”
Marsden looked at him.
“My name is Richard now?”
Jared's jaw tightened.
The CFO coughed into his hand to hide a smile.
I stood.
“May I?”
Kiera was still standing beside the presentation laptop.
She moved automatically.
I took her place.
My place.
Then I closed the comments panel.
Slide five remained on the screen.
“Let's start over.”
Marsden nodded.
For the next forty-seven minutes, I presented the strategy I'd spent eight months building.
No notes.
No hesitation.
When the CFO challenged the growth assumptions, I explained the sensitivity analysis.
When operations questioned the restructuring timeline, I showed the phased implementation model.
When Marsden asked why our original projections differed from the current version, I explained that the figures Kiera had presented came from an outdated working file.
I did not insult her.
I didn't need to.
Competence is devastating when someone has tried to replace it with politics.
By the end, Marsden had stopped looking at Jared entirely.
He looked at me.
“When could your team begin implementation?”
“Thirty days after authorization.”
“Your team?”
“Yes.”
“Who leads it?”
I understood the question.
So did Jared.
“I do.”
Marsden nodded.
“Good.”
Jared leaned forward.
“We'll obviously determine staffing internally.”
Marsden looked at him.
“No.”
The room went quiet.
“I want Ms. Bennett leading the account.”
My last name.
Not Jared's.
Not yet.
Thank God.
Jared smiled tightly.
“Of course. Annalise will remain involved.”
Marsden shook his head.
“I didn't say involved.”
His eyes stayed on Jared.
“I said leading.”
Silence.
Then he turned to Kiera.
“No offense, Ms. Parker.”
Kiera looked miserable.
“But whoever put you in front of this presentation did you no favors.”
Her face turned red.
“I understand.”
Marsden closed his folder.
“We'll speak with your managing partner before signing anything.”
Jared went pale.
That was bad.
Very bad.
Our managing partner was Evelyn Shaw.
Evelyn had built her career on two things.
Winning clients.
And detecting bullshit.
Jared was good at hiding things from people who loved him.
Evelyn did not love him.
The client team left.
The door closed.
Silence.
Then Jared turned on me.
“What the hell was that?”
I stared.
“What was what?”
“You deliberately undermined Kiera.”
Kiera looked at him in disbelief.
Even she couldn't believe he'd chosen that angle.
“I didn't need to undermine her.”
I gestured toward the laptop.
“You put an intern in front of a client with outdated numbers and internal comments visible.”
“I didn't know she had the working file.”
“You sent it to me,” Kiera whispered.
Jared turned.
“What?”
“You sent me that version.”
“Not with comments.”
“Yes.”
“No, I didn't.”
“Yes, you did.”
Something shifted.
Until then, Jared and Kiera had been one unit.
Now survival had entered the room.
And survival makes alliances fragile.
I looked at Kiera.
“The apartment.”
She froze.
Jared stepped toward me.
“Drop it.”
“No.”
“Annalise.”
“What apartment?”
He looked toward the glass conference-room walls.
Employees were moving through the corridor outside.
“I'll explain later.”
“No.”
I picked up my phone.
“Explain now.”
Kiera started crying.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
“I didn't know.”
Jared snapped:
“Don't.”
She looked at him.
“You told me she knew.”
My stomach dropped.
“Knew what?”
“Kiera.”
Jared's voice became dangerous.
“Stop talking.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Kiera was young.
Scared.
Humiliated.
And suddenly aware that Jared was willing to blame her for the presentation.
Her loyalty collapsed.
“He said you knew we were getting the apartment.”
The room tilted.
“We?”
She covered her mouth.
Jared closed his eyes.
I looked at him.
“You rented an apartment with her?”
“No.”
Kiera stared.
“Yes.”
Jared turned.
“It isn't ours.”
“You gave me a key.”
“Kiera, shut up.”
I had never heard him speak to her that way.
Her face crumpled.
I felt something unexpected.
Not sympathy exactly.
Recognition.
I knew that tone.
The tone Jared used when a woman stopped cooperating.
“Where?”
I asked.
Kiera wiped her face.
“Buckhead.”
Atlanta.
Our city.
“How long?”
“Three weeks.”
“What did he tell you it was for?”
She looked at Jared.
Then me.
“For me.”
“With whose money?”
“I don't know.”
Jared answered.
“Company relocation budget.”
My head snapped toward him.
Kiera wasn't relocating.
Our Miami trip was temporary.
She worked in Atlanta.
“Why would she receive relocation funds?”
“It was temporary housing.”
“For what?”
No answer.
I looked at Kiera.
“Were you sleeping together?”
Her silence lasted less than two seconds.
That was enough.
My chest tightened.
Jared stepped forward.
“It happened once.”
Kiera looked at him.
“What?”
I almost laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because Jared was now making mistakes faster than I could process them.
She whispered:
“Once?”
“Kiera.”
“You told me you loved me.”
There it was.
Nobody moved.
Jared stared at her.
I felt almost nothing.
That surprised me.
Maybe there is a limit to how much betrayal the human nervous system can process at once.
After that, everything becomes information.
“How long?”
I asked.
Kiera looked at me.
“Six months.”
She had worked at the firm four months.
Interesting.
“You knew him before you joined?”
Her face changed.
“Yes.”
“How?”
Jared said:
“Enough.”
I ignored him.
“Kiera?”
She swallowed.
“We met at a conference.”
“When?”
“February.”
She joined in April.
“So Jared recruited you.”
“Yes.”
“He told HR you applied independently.”
Her eyes widened.
“I didn't know that.”
Of course she didn't.
I looked at Jared.
His entire face had changed.
No charm.
No irritation.
Fear.
Now we were approaching the real secret.
“Why did you bring her into the firm?”
“She was qualified.”
“She had six months of experience.”
“She's talented.”
“Then why did you need my work to make her look talented?”
Silence.
I stepped closer.
“What was supposed to happen after the wedding?”
“Nothing.”
“The comment said you'd move me off the account.”
“That's not what it meant.”
“What did it mean?”
“We were discussing workload.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
I laughed.
“How considerate.”
“You said you wanted children.”
My blood went cold.
“What?”
Jared saw the mistake immediately.
“You said eventually.”
“And?”
He swallowed.
“I assumed after the wedding you'd want to slow down.”
I stared.
“You planned my maternity leave before I was pregnant?”
“No.”
“You planned to remove me from my biggest account because you assumed I'd become pregnant.”
“It wasn't like that.”
“What was it like?”
He said nothing.
Kiera whispered:
“He said you'd probably quit.”
I turned.
“What?”
“He said once you were married, you wanted to focus on family.”
I almost couldn't speak.
“I never said that.”
Kiera looked horrified.
“He said you hated traveling.”
“I love traveling.”
“He said you wanted to leave consulting.”
“No.”
Her eyes moved to Jared.
The truth was finally reaching her too.
He hadn't simply lied to me.
He had built two different versions of me.
To Kiera, I was the aging fiancée preparing to retreat into domestic life.
To me, Kiera was the harmless intern who needed mentoring.
And Jared stood between us, translating each woman to the other.
Controlling the information.
Controlling the opportunities.
Controlling the future.
“What about the finances?”
I asked.
He frowned.
“What?”
“The comment.”
She'll be easier to manage once finances are combined.
His face went blank.
“That was a joke.”
I laughed.
“A joke.”
“Yes.”
“What finances?”
“We were getting married.”
“We don't share accounts.”
“We were going to.”
“No.”
He stared.
“We discussed it.”
“You suggested it.”
“And you agreed.”
“I agreed to one joint household account.”
His jaw tightened.
“You're splitting hairs.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“I'm protecting assets.”
That word hit him.
Assets.
Suddenly I remembered something.
The wedding deposits.
The condo.
Our investment accounts.
Jared's “temporary liquidity problem.”
His insistence that after marriage we should refinance my condo and put his name on the deed.
My stomach turned.
“What did you need my money for?”
“Nothing.”
“Jared.”
“Nothing.”
I pulled out my phone.
“Then you won't mind if I call Evelyn.”
His face changed.
“Don't.”
That was confirmation.
I dialed.
Evelyn answered on the second ring.
“Annalise?”
“We have a problem.”
“How large?”
I looked at Jared.
“Potentially criminal.”
His face went white.
Evelyn's voice sharpened.
“Conference room?”
“Yes.”
“Don't leave.”
“What?”
“I'm already in Miami.”
I froze.
“You are?”
“Marsden called me twenty minutes ago.”
Of course he did.
“I'll be there in ten.”
The line disconnected.
Jared looked at me.
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
“You don't know the truth.”
“Then this is your chance to explain it.”
He grabbed his laptop.
Kiera stared.
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
I stepped in front of the door.
“No.”
His eyes hardened.
“Move.”
“Evelyn said don't leave.”
“You don't work for Evelyn right now.”
“Yes, I do.”
He tried to move around me.
Then the door opened from outside.
Evelyn Shaw stood there.
Sixty-one.
Five-foot-four.
Gray hair.
Navy suit.
Absolutely terrifying.
Beside her stood our general counsel.
Evelyn looked at Jared.
Then at Kiera.
Then at me.
“Nobody leaves.”
Jared's shoulders dropped.
Evelyn entered.
The general counsel closed the door.
“What happened?”
I told her.
Everything.
The presentation.
The comments.
The apartment.
The relationship.
The plan to transition me off the account.
When I finished, Evelyn looked at Jared.
“Is any of that inaccurate?”
Jared loosened his tie.
“This is a personal dispute.”
“No.”
Evelyn pointed toward the laptop.
“You turned it into a corporate dispute when you used firm resources to advance someone with whom you were having an undisclosed sexual relationship.”
Jared said nothing.
“Did you approve housing expenses for Ms. Parker?”
Silence.
“Jared?”
“Yes.”
“Under what budget?”
“Business development.”
Kiera stared.
“You told me it was part of my compensation.”
He ignored her.
Evelyn looked at general counsel.
“Freeze his expense authority.”
Jared stood.
“Evelyn.”
“Sit.”
He sat.
I had never seen him obey anyone that quickly.
Evelyn continued.
“Disable his access to client files pending investigation.”
“Are you suspending me?”
“Yes.”
“You can't do that without—”
“I just did.”
His face turned red.
“You're making a catastrophic mistake based on the accusations of a vindictive ex-fiancée.”
Evelyn looked at me.
Then him.
“Your fiancée left you yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nobody answered.
Kiera whispered:
“He gave me her business-class seat.”
Evelyn blinked.
“What?”
For the first time all morning, she looked genuinely confused.
I almost laughed.
Then Evelyn looked at Jared.
“You gave your intern your fiancée's seat?”
“It wasn't—”
“Never mind.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“I don't want to know.”
Then general counsel's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His expression changed.
“Evelyn.”
“What?”
“We found the apartment.”
Jared froze.
The attorney continued.
“It isn't under business development.”
“What is it under?”
He looked directly at Jared.
“Bennett-Mercer Integration Project.”
My last name.
His last name.
My stomach dropped.
Evelyn looked at me.
“What is that?”
“I have no idea.”
The attorney opened another file.
“Apparently, it's an internal project code created six months ago.”
Six months.
Before Kiera joined.
Before the apartment.
Before the wedding.
I stared at Jared.
“What were you integrating?”
He said nothing.
The attorney continued reading.
Then stopped.
“Oh.”
Evelyn turned.
“What?”
“There are reimbursements.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand dollars.”
My mouth went dry.
“For what?”
The attorney looked at me.
“Several expenses appear to reference Ms. Bennett's client accounts.”
I felt the room tilt.
“My accounts?”
“Yes.”
Jared stood.
“I want counsel.”
Evelyn's face became ice.
“That may be the smartest thing you've said all morning.”
And suddenly I understood something terrifying.
The apartment wasn't the secret.
Kiera wasn't the secret.
Even the affair wasn't the secret.
May you like
The real secret was hidden inside a project bearing my name.
And Jared had just decided he needed a lawyer before anyone told me what it was.
