Prologue – Meghan

The day I met Cooper Jackson will forever be ingrained in my mind. I remember how my breath caught in my throat, how my mouth went dry, and the way my skin tingled at the contact of his skin on mine as he shook my hand. It was a simple introductory meeting at a job interview, but deep down, I knew this was the start of something. The start of something that would change my life forever. It was the start of our story; of how Cooper Jackson and I would come to be.

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It’s a cold and wet January morning and I’m racing down the sidewalk on my way to an interview with the HR Manager of Jackson and Partners. In typical Meghan Taylor fashion, I’m running late. The position I’m interviewing for is Assistant to the Managing Partner but I’m not holding my breath on getting this position. I’m very aware of the fact that I’m only being interviewed because of my best friend and that my prior waitressing and bar work experience will not help me here. She put in a good word for me and all but begged for her friend who’d just moved to the city on a whim to be interviewed.
“Have you got your warm coat on?” my mom worries down the phone to me.
“Yes, momma. I’m wrapped in layers upon layers.” I chuckle down the phone. Although she says she understands my desire to move to New York–she doesn’t get the need to be independent, but she understands me being drawn to the city–she still worries that her twenty-seven-year-old daughter is going to get hurt or worse. My mom is the biggest worrier I know.
“I just don’t want you to get poorly.” she clucks.
“I know, mom. And I promise I’m looking after myself.” The urge to roll my eyes is strong. I could understand her worry if this was my first foray out into the world, but when I left home to go to college to study business–which ended up not finishing–I found my own place and got a job to cover my bills. I know I can make this work.
“Good. Did you prepare enough?” I take a deep breath, knowing she’s just being my momma. It’s in her nature to worry about me even though sometimes it can make me feel like I’m fourteen again and failing science class.
“As well as I could. And if I don’t get this role, it’s New York. There’re plenty of opportunities out here.” I try to reassure her because I know if I don’t, she’ll get herself worked up over nothing. In the background I can hear my dad trying to reassure her too and before I know it, he’s taken the phone from her, and his gruff voice fills my ears. Briefly closing my eyes, I allow the sound to soothe me.
“Now dear, you show them you’re the best person for this job.”
“Yes, sir.” I smile into the phone and say my goodbyes as the building comes into view. This is it; I need to get this job. I need to not be staying on my friends couch any longer than necessary and this is the first step. Taking a deep breath and releasing it, I make my way into the building and towards the reception desk. Once I’m booked in, I’m guided towards a seating area to wait for Maria Fernandes, the HR Manager.
“Meghan? Meghan Taylor?” a petite woman in her mid-fifties comes towards me in three-inch heels, wearing a bright red fifties style dress and a white cropped cardigan. I didn’t expect her to look like this. She reminds me–-looks-wise–of my mom. She screams comfort and openness. Pasting a smile on my face, I stand from my seat and extend my hand towards her.
“Ms. Fernandes, it’s so nice to meet you.”
“Oh, please, call me Maria. This may be a law firm but I’m not one for formalities when it comes to names.” she flashes me a grin and envelopes my hand in her own. “We’re going to be in the conference room on the twentieth floor today.” she states as she walks towards the bank of elevators.
The elevator ride is swift and before I know it, we’ve arrived on the twentieth floor. Stepping out of the elevator, I follow Maria down a long corridor, taking in the office space. Evenly spread doors line the walls on each side of the corridor and although there are very few windows, the decor makes the space feel light and open.
With each step, the feeling in my stomach that says something significant is going to happen grows and I’m not entirely sure it’s anything to do with the interview. We arrive at a breakout area at the end of the corridor and in front of us is a door to another room that I can only assume is the conference room. The blinds and door are closed and so Maria knocks before opening the door and stepping inside.
“Mr. Jackson, our ten o’clock interview is here.” I follow Maria into the center of the room and internally frown at the fact that I had assumed my interview would just be with her, which in hindsight was a poor assumption. My mind is whirling as I mentally go over the correspondence I’ve received, but those thoughts disappear when I look up into the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen. From my research this week, I know that Mr. Jackson is Cooper Jackson, the Managing Partner I would work for if I get this job.
“Good morning, Miss Taylor. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” he stands from his seat and makes his way towards me. I grasp his outstretched hand and I’m zapped with a current of electricity through my palm and up towards my shoulder causing me to jerk away from him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Jackson.” I murmur, praying he hasn’t noticed my response, although the slight narrowing of his eyes and furrowing of his brow, before he schools his features, tells me he most likely noticed. Taking a seat, as directed, at the large mahogany table, I rub my sweaty palms on my thighs, which are encased in my simple black pants, as I prepare myself mentally for the next hour.
I leave the interview feeling like I’ve completely messed it up as I’m distracted the entire time by the blue eyes boring into me throughout the interview. He didn’t ask me a single question, just stared at me with a brooding look on his handsome face.
To my surprise, I receive a call that afternoon and am offered the role with a start date of the next day. This is where the story of me and Cooper Jackson starts.

Chapter 1 – Meghan

Rubbing my temples, I moan under my breath as the dull pain of a headache looms in the back of my eyes. I need to stop the mental images running through my mind if I’m going to get this report completed on time. Pushing my glasses up my nose, I sit up straighter and stare at the screen in front of me. The numbers jumble on the spreadsheet as another image of sweaty and entangled bodies flashes behind my closed eyes. I blink my eyes furiously to get rid of the images. Just the thought of him, naked and losing control, has my panties soaked through when I’m supposed to be working.
Shit, pull yourself together, Meghan. Coffee... I need coffee. Letting out a sigh of frustration, I push my chair back from my desk and make my way towards the office kitchen. There is a ballpen of desks in the middle of the floor. It’s surrounded with one wall housing meeting rooms, while another wall gives a floor to ceiling view of Manhattan. A third wall has a bookshelf running the length, filled with all kinds of law books. The last wall is blank but contains the door to the large kitchen area for this floor. The offices for Jackson and Partners are open plan, clean, white, and bright spaces. I’ve always thought it was almost clinical, but you definitely get the whole Suits vibe from it, just with less glass.
The man I’ve been daydreaming about sits in the office behind my desk; I see him every weekday and occasionally on weekends. He isn’t my husband, boyfriend, or lover, but my boss. Cooper Jackson would never look at me the way I daydream he would; with passion in his eyes and a need to own me. He most definitely wouldn’t get me naked and bless my ears with the sounds of his groans.
I’ve never slept with him, but I know it would be fantastic based on the way he carries himself, the sexy huskiness of his voice and the dominance he oozes, even in his work life. I know being with him would be hot. Steamy. Sensual. Maybe even a little rough… like grab you by the throat and tell you you’re his and only his. Swoon–I think I’ve read too many romance books.
I’ve worked for Mr. Jackson for nearly one year–or ten months and thirty days, to be exact–as his assistant. The day they offered me the job, I swore to myself that I would treat Mr. Jackson like my boss and nothing more, but for the last eight months, I’ve had a crush on him. I’m talking daydreams, getting myself off to the thought of him, not being able to make eye contact with him because of his beauty–you get the idea. My best friend Alexandria, or Alex as she prefers to be called, thinks I should seduce him and then maybe I can get over him. She believes it would be as simple as that to get him out of my system, and that once he’s out of it, I can go on dates with other men and move on. I’m not so sure about this idea of hers though, if I’m being honest with myself. I couldn’t face the inevitable rejection and having to find a new job when I love the one I have.
I haven’t had sex in over ten months because he has had me infatuated with him, hoping maybe one day he would notice me how I’ve noticed him. It’s because of that I can’t seem to be interested in anyone else. He’s one of the most respected family attorneys in New York City and is one of the Managing Partners at Jackson and Partners. The sensible side of my mind tells me he would never be interested in me.
I have no doubt that he would have me screaming his name, forgetting anyone that came before him and comparing every man that comes after, to him but I don’t want to risk my job. Mr. Jackson exudes power and dominance; a lion if you will. I’m sure that it’s not just in the boardroom, but the bedroom too. I, on the other hand, am shy and reserved at the best of times and I know he would have no interest in me like that.
Today I’m dressed in a pair of loose black pants, probably a size too big for me, a flowing black blouse, again a size too big, and my trusty cream cable knit cardigan–because it keeps me warm on cold December days–which is a staple winter wardrobe piece for me. The cardigan may have seen better days with the color slightly off and worn-looking, but I seem to have an aversion to spending money on clothes and it doesn’t have any holes in it. On my feet are a sensible pair of black pumps. I wear a simple chain necklace and my grandmother’s wristwatch for my jewelry. My natural blonde hair, that typically falls in beachy curls to my waist, is pulled back into a neat bun. Without a scrap of makeup on my face, my peaches and cream skin glows from the moisturizer and face oil I applied this morning.
I wear some variant of this look every workday–it's appropriate attire for the office, especially when I don’t want to draw attention to myself. Not that I would get any, but I don’t want to be like all the other women in the office. I much prefer to be inconspicuous and remain in the shadows. The only person whose attention I want, I would never get, even if I changed the way I dressed for work.
In the kitchen, I rinse out my mug before making a cup of coffee from the machine. The kitchen on our floor is another modern room, with all the appliances you could need. It also has a variety of breakfast items that are brought in fresh every morning and so I go to the pastries that are calling my name and help myself to a croissant. Making my way back to my desk, I sit down and take a bite of the warm flaky pastry, savoring the buttery taste on my tongue before sipping the piping hot coffee and getting back to work.
As I’m trying to get my eyes to focus on the spreadsheet in front of me, the office door behind me opens. I brace my body for the way his voice caresses me as I wait for him to speak. His deep and masculine baritone does things to me and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide this from him–I’ve noticed the smirks he tries to hide, probably laughing at my expense. When no words are uttered, I slowly turn in my seat, my eyes staring at his shiny black Oxfords traveling up the long solid legs encased in light gray suit pants. My eyes meet the impressive bulge hidden behind the zipper, causing my tongue to sweep across suddenly dry lips. I drag my top teeth along my bottom lip, pulling it into my mouth as my eyes become heavy. I continue up his body and look somewhere over his left shoulder, mentally shaking my head to clear the inappropriate thoughts from my mind.
“Are you done?” his deep masculine voice asks me.
I can hear the humor in his tone, I’m sure if I looked at his face now I’d see one of his sexy smirks gracing his full mouth. I’m sure he finds it funny that his average-looking assistant is checking him out–it must be hilarious for him. Although I’ve never seen him with a woman in person, I know he only dates supermodels–of which I am not one–because although he’s a private man, his social life is splashed all over the society pages.
I can feel the heat of my embarrassment from having been caught ogling my boss flush across my cheeks. My eyes grow wide, flashing over to his devastatingly handsome face; with blue, all-seeing, ocean eyes. My God, he’s beautiful. He towers over my seated five foot five frame at six foot four, and I struggle to maintain contact with his dazzling eyes. Even if I wanted to, I can't. I become nervous under his gaze, afraid I might say ‘fuck it’ and do something stupid like offer myself to him. I do what I always do when I become the focus of his attention and divert my eyes to the floor with a blush slowly creeping up my neck.
Mr. Jackson’s hair is light brown, with hints of natural blond highlights. It’s short on the sides and perfectly coiffed on top. It’s not loaded with product so he could run his fingers through it if he so desired and on many late nights of going over cases, I’ve seen him do just that. He has a slight five o’clock shadow dusting his well defined jaw.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Jackson. Did you need something?” I ask, trying to mask my embarrassment behind a professional facade.
“I need the file for Walker...” he pauses, waiting for me to react–which I don’t–before adding, “now, please.”
“Of course, Mr. Jackson, I’ll get it for you.” rising from my seat, I keep my eyes fixed on his shiny shoes as I move past him. My arm brushes his and an audible hitch in my breath escapes my lips from the spark that zips through my arm. I don’t comment on it and silently pray that he didn’t hear me as I make my way to the file room. Stepping inside, I close the door behind me and lean against it, dragging in deep breaths and willing my racing heart to calm down. Using my hands as fans to get this stupid blush to go away. I wish he didn’t affect me like this.
What the hell is wrong with me? I wouldn’t be surprised if I got fired by the end of the day.

• Update #3 - Happy New Year Dec. 31, 2022

  I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and are looking to ring the new year in in style! 
  

  I only have a small update for you at …

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• Update #2 - 🎉A Couple of Fun Announcements🎉 Nov. 30, 2022

  It’s been a long time since my last update but I’ve been beavering away adding more words to Meghan and Cooper’s story and plan to have …

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• Update #1 - Update on Process Oct. 25, 2022

  Hello, 

  I hope you are well and having a good week so far. 

  I wanted to provide you with an update on Don't Tell Anyone …

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