Chapter Text
You don’t belong here.
The veterans room of Park Avenue Armory was filled with mostly Manhattan’s upper class, seeking to put into good use a small percentage of their money for the disenfranchised by purchasing lifeless art displayed in the drill hall. It glittered under carefully curated lighting as you stood near the edge of the gala crowd, tablet in hand, one ear tuned to the event staff, the other half to the board members. However, being on the high horse of moral ascendancy is not part of your job description for tonight. You would rather have wealthy donors and patrons throw their disposable income at a good cause. After all, you were not here to moralize their social status but to keep the machine running and ensure enough oil to grease the gears.
From the sidelines, as you try so hard to wallflower, the gala shimmered around you with a careful orchestra of champagne flutes, soulless black-tie conversations, and uptight million-dollar smiles.
Everything was perfect, running smoother than you’d expected. You had to make sure it stayed that way, especially since your boss would be announcing that a quarter of the annual profits of T.R. Lockwood Corporation would be funding a new literacy initiative without the consent of the boardroom. Otherwise, they would be having her head on a silver platter for all of the Upper East Side to see.
And, you like Kate Lockwood's head safely attached to her very lovely neck, thank you very much.
So when she finally stepped inside with her creepy himbo of a husband trailing behind, you felt a profound wave of relief as you gave her the rundown before she took the podium. Meanwhile, Joe Goldberg excused himself to the men’s room.
It was a work routine you had perfected and had been comfortable doing with Ms. Lockwood for the past three years. You kept her schedule airtight, her agendas bulletproof, and her item list color-coded to hell, while she emasculated anyone who dared not to see her as anything but a powerhouse of a woman.
After she checked in with the preparations, Ms. Lockwood went straight into business.
She didn’t stop exchanging practiced smiles and pleasantries as she murmured to you, “After tonight, find me another hairstylist because I don’t think she recognizes what a colossal fuck she did to my hair.”
If you were being honest, her hair was a mess. It was pulled into an updo, far from elegance and majestic, like whoever styled her gave no love at all. But that was the least of your concerns when you find it difficult not to check her out in a very public setting within the vicinity of her husband’s presence. At least, that dress was doing numbers for her neck and shoulders.
“Of course, Ms. Lockwood,” you replied diligently as you logged her request in your item list. “But, you do look lovely tonight.”
The compliment was earnest and objective, but professional. It wasn’t the first time you’d said it, so you’d already practiced how to compliment Ms. Lockwood without the air in your lungs being knocked out.
“Well, I don’t think the board would seem to believe so after I launch the grenade at them and skip away merrily,” Ms. Lockwood said grimly.
You smiled in response. The Lockwood Literacy Initiative was for the greater good as it would force the corporation to its knees to use its power, money, and obscenely rich connections to help those who were not as lucky as the one percent of the world’s population. Ms. Lockwood had deliberately left out a prospectus beforehand, but you have already prepared to mass email it the moment she ends her speech.
You would be bracing for the fallout later on.
Not to mention, your boss looked absolutely gorgeous as she was about to do so. She carefully stepped up to the podium with the help of her husband and proceeded to make her speech.
Joe dutifully stood at the sidelines in public support of his wife, whereas you stood back in the shadows, preparing yourself to make necessary damage control of the board members when she ended her speech.
Your attention mostly gravitated toward the fact that the curated lighting of the veterans room made Ms. Lockwood shine bright with her sparkling silver gown. She stood out from the rest of the crowds of black and white suits and gowns, making her look as if she were the starry night itself.
Perhaps, there was nothing wrong with finding your very powerful and happily married boss smoking hot with an amazingly lethal shoulder line. After all, you behaved exactly as the perfect executive assistant to the most powerful woman in America. You followed every command to the letter—schedules, logistics, item lists—everything engineered to make her day run like a Lockwood-funded bullet train, so she could tell the rich douchebags and aristobrats to kindly sod off in corporate language.
When Ms. Lockwood went on to explain the new initiative, your fingers deftly moved across your tablet, triggering the mass email blast with the full proposal. The request to put out the accessible document link on the corporate website was already done. Too late for backpedaling. The Lockwood Literacy Initiative was live, and so was the fallout.
You could see the board’s reserved table from where you stood. They were not smiling at all, let alone joining in the applause. As predicted, the board was stunned, which was replaced by a mix of disappointment and resignation. No doubt that their thoughts were trapezing towards being out-of-touch with their precious pockets for the succeeding months.
Most of all, Reagan Lockwood-Jacobs was already fuming in her seat as she exchanged glances with her younger twin, Madison Lockwood, who half-laughed, half-winced. You could already guess what they were thinking. Reagan would try to corner Ms. Lockwood later on, but at least when your boss would diffuse her half-sister’s rage more easily while they are still here in the gala than in the boardroom.
You turned back to Ms. Lockwood. Your years of working with her made you easily recognize that she was holding back a shit-eating grin, despite that the board was already shooting daggers with their glares. Like always, she did not give a damn about it. As she stepped back from the podium, she still looked regal as ever, like she was watching those rich douchebags and aristobrats burn in the fire that is the literacy initiative, and you were proud of her.
She really looked damn good.
Joe reached for her elbow with all the performative grace of a trophy husband. She didn’t take it. She didn’t need to. Although he looked proud as well. Chin tilted slightly. When he turned to you, something simmered in that look—not quite accusation, not quite admiration. But it made the back of your neck prickle.
Did he know?
Nevertheless, you followed Ms. Lockwood through the crowd as she made a beeline towards the bar area, as her husband excused himself back to their accommodations upstairs in one of the company rooms. You could still feel the lingering stare from him, so you kept your gaze fixated on his wife instead and kept your job running smoothly.
“I’m assuming that email’s out?” she asked without looking at you, leaning on one of the cocktail tables.
“Ten seconds after you made your announcement, with a follow-through of making the public link live on the website,” you replied.
Ms. Lockwood exhaled with quiet relief. It was the calm before the storm that would be the meeting tomorrow. For the first time all night, she turned and looked you in the eye.
The sparkle of the silver gown made her look like an apparition, unreal and untouchable as the world seemed to dim around you. But the tension in her jaw was real. So was the shake in her hands as she tried to smooth her hair, vividly still pissed at her hairdresser.
“Come here,” Ms. Lockwood said quietly.
You stepped forward, heart too loud.
Her voice dropped to a hush. “How bad was Reagan’s face?”
You smiled faintly as you leaned forward, only for her to hear. “Smug. Calculating. Mildly homicidal.”
Her lips quirked. “As expected. Thank you for making this go smoothly,” she said, softer now. “I know you’re the reason nothing exploded onstage.”
Your voice was quieter than you meant. “It’s my job to protect you.”
Her gaze caught yours and held it. Something flickered there. Not quite gratitude. Not quite vulnerable.
But before either of you could say anything, Reagan drifted towards the table like a storm cloud. “Katie,” she said sweetly your ears could rot. “You’ve certainly set the tone for the evening. Stunning gown. Absolutely nuclear announcement.”
“Reagan,” Ms. Lockwood said with a lightness that didn’t fool you for a second. “Enjoying the event?”
“Oh, immensely. Nothing gets the blood pumping like watching my CEO half-sister bypass board authorization in front of half the philanthropic elite and a few camera crews.”
You stayed silent. Still and obedient. Always on-call. Tablet clutched loosely in your hand.
But Reagan’s eyes didn’t stay on your boss. They slid to you.
Up. Down.
Calculating. Cold.
“And you,” she said, her tone syrupy. “The assistant. You must be tired after all that tap dancing behind the scenes.”
Part of being Kate Lockwood’s assistant meant that you would be caught in the crossfire of Reagan’s wrath. This was nothing new, but you were often at a loss for how to deal with it. At least, you are being paid twice. Aside from being her executive assistant, you also organized her personal life, which meant that you had the best shrink in New York at your disposal. Working for Kate Lockwood personally meant that you would be micromanaging her six siblings so they wouldn't go after their late father’s family house and empire that he bequeathed to her.
You opened your mouth, not sure whether to respond or stay silent, but your boss answered for you.
“She did exactly what I asked of her, Ray,” she said coolly. “If you have a problem, take it up with me.”
“Oh, I intend to,” Reagan replied, eyes locked on her half-sister now. “At the next board meeting, you’ll have your thirty minutes to explain how a Lockwood initiative magically appeared in the books without oversight.”
Ms. Lockwood’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I look forward to it.”
Reagan stepped closer. Close enough that only you and her half-sister could hear her next words. “Daddy may be dead, Katie, but some of us still remember what the Lockwood name means.”
Your boss’ jaw tightened, but she didn’t flinch. You saw the war behind her eyes. You also saw how fast she slammed the walls on it. “I’m not here to preserve the past,” she said. “I’m here to build something better.”
Reagan’s smile sharpened. “Then, I suggest you build faster because the board isn’t in the habit of backing unstable leadership. You think I won’t find a way to walk this back? Couldn’t win the board over the proper way, not so much as a fucking prospectus?”
“It’s the right thing for the company. You’ll see.”
Reagan blinked and drowned whatever thought she had in mind with a drink. Your boss had a way of placating people like Reagan by daring them to reveal their resentment, indignation, and resistance over their company’s financial standing during talks of charity and philanthropy. It effectively shut her half-sister down, but this meant steering her towards another matter.
Reagan’s eyes flicked to you again, and Ms. Lockwood stepped forward once. You stayed beside her—steady, quiet. You didn’t need to ask what came next. You’d already started the contingency folder.
Reagan held her ground—but only just. “See you in the boardroom, sister.”
Ms. Lockwood’s shoulders deflated slightly, sensing the storm was already brewing. So, she turned towards the most amicable twin, who sauntered her way to the bar for a vodka and soda when she saw Joe there.
“Maddie!” Ms. Lockwood called, almost relieved.
The twin in question squealed and held out an arm to pull your boss for a cheek-to-cheek kiss. You liked Maddie more in terms of the personal realm and the workplace since she had no qualms about political intrigue in the boardroom and her being the head of public relations, so she is warm with your boss, and you get to work with her from time to time as an executive assistant.
“You look amazing,” your boss complimented her. “Need the name of your hairdresser. Don’t know what I’m doing with mine these days.”
“Oh, well,” Maddie chuckled. “Who’s noticing your hair when you’re saving the world?”
You noticed the awkwardness in her tone. Of course, Maddie would feel a tinge of jealousy at her half-sister’s influence, even if she was a social media influencer and socialite himself.
But unlike Reagan, she had not acted out whatever scornful feelings she may be harboring. Directly.
Indirectly? An emotional warpath by flirting with Joe.
Saved by the music, a smooth and sensual saxophone played through the sound system, followed by the sultry voice of Sade passionately singing about the king of her heart. Your boss recognized the song and turned towards her husband, caught in the thoroughly unpleasant position of being between the twins.
“I love this song,” she said.
It was an opportunity to escape, you recognized it.
Like the perfect husband, Joe immediately stopped drinking and set his glass down. “Me too.”
“Yeah.”
With that, he pulled his wife to the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by other couples and investors chatting amongst themselves. When he spun her around to the beat of Your Love Is King, you felt your own heart deflating, so you slipped back to the Armory’s library to finalize the evening report—the event files synced, the itinerary scrubbed clean.
All for your boss to pore over tomorrow.
Just what you were meant to do.
On the other hand, assisting the daughter of the late Tom Lockwood gave you access to a multitude of contacts and informants ever loyal to her as the chosen successor. This meant that you could prepare her to be three steps forward from the world and whatever chaos could be thrown her way.
Tonight was no different.
When you got the anonymous tip, you were not surprised. You didn’t flinch, but your blood ran cold.
Hit piece w/ Forbes.
Alberta pipeline.
Target: Katherine Lockwood
Publication: Thursday
There were whispers about the pipeline project, but never in detail and never controversial at all. It was one of the few things your boss never discussed. Not even with you. Your mind was racing too fast—already calculating damage control strategies, PR spins, and legal defenses. Already thinking, in the most shameful, secret part of yourself, that Kate Lockwood didn’t deserve this.
Only a 400 million pound fiscal report of a pipeline built in western Canada was tied to Kate Lockwood, who approved the environmental reports on well-water toxicity. She was just a teenager at that time, so how on earth would the media be using this as dirt on her?
You didn’t even glance up when the door swung open, trying to pull up old files that could reference the tip, but you found nothing further, even with admin clearance.
Then, the chief of staff, Teddy, strolled into the library like he was hosting a reality show for his dysfunctional family. He looked too good for someone who only slept three hours and definitely drank enough to make a lesser man implode.
“Well, if it isn’t Kate’s emotional support assistant,” he sang, voice smooth and merciless. “How’s the hangover from watching the board collectively shit itself in tuxedos?”
You gave him a weary look, but couldn’t help the tug at your mouth. Teddy had a way of dragging a smile out of you even on the worst days. “Good evening, Mr. Hayes.”
“Oh, don’t do that! Mr. Hayes makes me sound like a tax scandal.”
You snorted. Aside from Maddie, you actually liked Teddy best of your boss’ siblings, despite being the one ostracized from family gatherings and his father’s will, as the Lockwood family barely tolerated him being the product of their father's affair with the help.
Except for your boss. She loved him, in the rare way she loved anyone.
"Long night," you said. “We anticipated the fallout when the announcement was made.”
He whistled low. "I caught the tail end of Reagan's meltdown. She’s going to need a new face by morning. I think she cracked this one." Then, he plopped himself into the chair that he pulled for himself. “I saw you slink off,” he continued, lazily inspecting his nails. “Right before Kate and Joe did their little swan song dance. You disappeared like a character in a thriller novel. Everything alright?”
You paused, returning your gaze to your work. “Of course. Ms. Lockwood will be needing the gala reports by morning.”
He hummed. “Not buying it, sweetheart. You’ve got that tight thing going with your mouth. Like you’re pretending everything’s fine when you’re actually screaming internally.”
You sighed. “I was organizing the files.”
“Mm-hm.” Teddy leaned back with a grin. “That’s why I like you. Efficient. Deadpan. Secretly in love with my sister.”
Your fingers stilled on your screen. Slowly, you looked up.
Teddy lifted his sunglasses. His eyes were kind. Disarming. Dangerous in the way only someone who genuinely knew you could be. “I’m kidding,” he said lightly. “Mostly. But I do notice things.”
You didn’t respond because he’s not wrong. Eventually, you found your voice. "Shouldn’t you be inside?" you asked, trying to divert the conversation somewhere else.
"Shouldn’t you?" he shot back, raising an eyebrow. "Trust me. You’re going to want to hear this."
Against your better judgment, you pulled yourself a chair and took a seat. He didn’t speak right away, which was how you knew it was bad.
Surely, a Kate Lockwood hit piece kind of bad.
Finally, he turned to you, serious now in a way that stripped away all his usual armor. "There’s a story dropping," Teddy said. "Big. Ugly."
You swallowed, pretending that you did not know beforehand. "What kind of story?"
"Something about a pipeline project? I don’t know why they are digging up something from Katie’s big prodigy era a decade ago. If it was so bad, then why now?"
You pressed your hands to your thighs to stop them shaking. Whatever information you had was also the same and limited. "How bad?" you asked.
Teddy exhaled slowly. "Bad enough to tank her image. Maybe worse, if it was airtight." He hesitated before continuing. "I looped in Joe already. Figured he should be in the know. But, like the golden retriever husband that he is, he wanted to keep this between us until we had something solid."
You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.
Teddy’s gaze softened as if he could read the storm inside you. "She’ll need you," he said, voice quieter now. "Not just in the way she thinks."
You looked away, finding the old volumes of the Armory’s collection suddenly fascinating. "I’m her assistant." The words tasted hollow on your tongue.
Teddy smiled—a real, sad smile. "Sure," he said lightly. "And I’m just a Lockwood bastard."
Regardless of his point, she was married. Sure, it did not stop Maddie from flirting with her husband, but the boundaries of you choosing her were limited to serving her within your job description, always at her beck and call. Besides, Teddy actually favors his brother-in-law, so he would not even encourage you to be the other woman to his sister at all.
He leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. “I like you,” his tone turned more serious than it was before, “which means I’m going to say this once, and gently: If you’re going to fall for her, make sure you know what you’re falling into.”
For a moment, you both sat there in the library, the weight of what was coming pressing down like a second skin.
It was only cut through with Teddy tapping the varnished wooden table in front of you with his fingers.
Then, he snapped back into his usual sardonic energy. "Get some sleep, darling. Tomorrow’s going to be bloody."
You nodded numbly as you watched him get up, fix his tuxedo, and leave you alone with the creeping certainty that everything—your job, your loyalty, your heart—was about to be tested in ways you weren't ready for.
Your chest tightened, but you nodded anyway because you already knew.
You always knew where your loyalties belonged.