Mr. Denver: The Version You Didn't Hear - Chapter #3 - by Yan Stellar

The suitcase clicked into the trunk, and the door opened with that distinct soft hydraulic sound I’d heard a thousand times. Dakota didn’t say a word as she moved around to the other side and slid into the back seat beside me. Good. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and neither was she.

Julio merged onto the main road, smooth and punctual, just the way I preferred it. I stared out the tinted window for a moment, watching the skyline shrink behind us. New York had a pulse, and for five years, Dakota Lennix had been a beat in it. She’s steady, reliable, caffeinated. But recently… things were starting to stutter.

“You have two days, Dakota.” I said it as fact, not as warning. Though let’s be honest with me, those were often the same.

“Yes, Mr. Denver.” Her voice was clipped. Submissive, as always. But I knew her too well by now. I could hear the fatigue behind her tone. She wasn’t breaking down, but she wasn’t holding it all together either.

My eyes didn’t leave the window when I asked, “I think this is your fourth time saying your grandfather is dying. Is this some kind of joke?” It was a cruel thing to say. I knew that, but I said it anyway.

“I’m sorry, Mr.Denver. I’m really sorry it’s hard to see my grandfather like this.” She looked down, knowing damn well she’s using the same excuse again. I could feel that her head is full and that she’s hesitating to say something, there’s a tension hanging in the air between us. She looked up to me and I was hoping she would explain her situation, “I'm sorry, Mr. Denver, but this time he's in the hospital with machines attached to him. I think this time his condition is getting worse and worse.”

Machines. Worse and worse. The words hung in the car like fog. I tapped a finger against my thigh. A soft rhythm, controlled. “If I find out that you're lying,” I said flatly, “you will be fired.” I meant it. But I also didn’t want it to come to that.

She responded without flinching. “Yes, Mr. Denver.”

What struck me most wasn’t the fear in her voice, it was the disappointment. She knew I didn’t believe her, and that stung her more than the threat. She had been with me for five years. People don’t stay that long unless they’re loyal or delusional. With Dakota, it was a cocktail of both.

I leaned back in the seat and folded my arms. My phone buzzed with some report I already knew the results of. I ignored it. Instead, I glanced briefly at her reflection in the window. Tired eyes. Pulled-tight ponytail. A woman who hadn’t slept, eaten, or exhaled in more than a few days.

And still, she’d packed my suitcase, checked my schedule, handled the flight arrangements. Perfect execution. She always delivered. That was the damn problem.

When we arrived at the private terminal, my team was already waiting — two assistants from the airline, clipboard and tablet in hand. Efficient, just how I liked it. I stepped out of the car without saying anything. Dakota moved quickly, grabbing my luggage from the trunk. One of the airline staff took it from her before she could drag it more than two steps.

“Have a safe flight, Mr. Denver,” she said, voice sweet, almost too sweet. I ignored her, not because I was angry, but because I couldn’t afford the indulgence of kindness. Not with her. Kindness gave people ideas. People like Dakota needed boundaries, not approval.

I followed the attendants into the terminal without looking back. If I had, I might’ve seen her loading her own luggage out of the car, standing there like an afterthought. The same woman who’d planned my entire week down to the minute.

She wasn’t part of the machine anymore, not for the next 48 hours. And yet, for the first time in five years, the machine felt strangely… empty.

Mid-flight, I pulled out my tablet and opened the files Dakota had sent earlier. Construction updates, meeting notes, itineraries. She hadn’t missed a detail. Not even the contact sheet for the Vancouver site lead — something I hadn’t even asked for.

I set the tablet aside and leaned my head back against the seat. The plane hummed around me, low and constant. It was supposed to be relaxing.

But all I could think about was her voice in that car.

“My grandfather is dying…” I wasn’t a sentimental man, but something about the way she said it made me uneasy. Like she was trying too hard to stay composed. Or maybe trying too hard to convince herself she still cared.

Dakota rarely took time off. When she did, she kept working remotely. She responded to emails faster from a hospital bed than most of my staff did from their desks.

If this was real… if this was different… I might’ve misjudged her. And that didn’t sit well with me.

I hated being wrong. Especially about her.

***

Two days, I had said. Two days to check on a dying man. Two days to untangle whatever past she never talked about.

I closed my eyes. Somehow, I had the feeling those two days would stretch into something else entirely. Something that might change the terms of our arrangement. Or end them altogether.

The office was too quiet.

It had been thirty-seven hours since Dakota left for Los Angeles. Not that I was counting. The silence had a way of making the minutes feel suspiciously loud.

Edna brought me my afternoon latte, lukewarm, watery, with too much foam. I took one sip and set it down, grimacing. She’d worked with me before. She knew the protocol. But unlike Dakota, she didn’t seem to care that I hated mediocrity.

I pushed the cup aside and returned to my monitor. My inbox was brimming with the usual clutter. Financials, vendor bids, two polite threats of lawsuits, and one email from a Vancouver associate titled “URGENT” that wasn’t remotely urgent.

I scrolled, skimmed, replied. Mechanically, but I wasn’t focused.

My gaze wandered to the glass wall dividing my office from Dakota’s. Her chair sat empty. Her tablet lay on the desk, angled perfectly, as if she had just stepped out to grab a file.

I didn’t like how wrong it felt.

Dakota wasn’t supposed to vanish. She was supposed to float around the office in her three-inch heels, juggling ten things at once, cursing under her breath when the elevators were slow. She was supposed to burst in without knocking because something needed urgent approval I didn’t remember assigning.

She was supposed to be here.

I leaned back in my chair, drumming my fingers on the desk. She said her grandfather was dying. I’d heard that before. Four times, to be exact. Each time, she came back three pounds thinner, more emotionally disheveled, but determined not to talk about it.

But this time… she hadn’t even argued when I told her she could leave. And that bothered me more than it should.

I spent my evening reading architectural updates on the Vancouver site, but my mind kept drifting. I couldn’t shake the image of her face in the car when I accused her of lying. The way her eyes didn’t blink. The slight purse of her lips. Not defensive. Not offended.

Just… resigned. What if she wasn’t lying? What if this time, she didn’t come back?

I hated the thought.

At 11:47 p.m., I stood by the window, watching the city flicker beneath me. My office was still lit, my tie was still on, and the coffee I hadn’t touched all day had gone cold.

I told myself I was annoyed because I was losing productivity. That my systems were out of alignment because a staff member abandoned their post. But that was a lie. I’d worked with countless secretaries, dozens of executive assistants, even a temp from hell named Alicia who set my calendar two hours behind for a week.

I replaced them all like faulty printer cartridges. But Dakota? She wasn’t just part of the system. She was the system and that terrified me more than I cared to admit.

***

The next morning, I skipped my usual morning briefing with Edna and tried to fill the void with meetings. Vancouver. Berlin. Tokyo. The hours blurred into one another, each call less satisfying than the last. I was a machine with missing screws. The clicks weren’t lining up anymore.

By noon, I found myself standing at the edge of Dakota’s empty office.

Her personal items were still there. A mug with “#SecretaryLife” printed in worn gold lettering. A stack of colored notepads, each one labeled with my initials. A faint scent of citrus perfume lingered near her chair. She always sprayed it once when she walked in. Claimed it helped her “get in the zone.”

My phone buzzed with a call from Joseph—my grandfather.

“Are you free for dinner, my favorite boy?” he asked in a very excited tone.

“I’m in the middle of a report. What is it?”

“Come to the house. It’s important.” Joseph only said something was ‘important’ when he was about to deliver a lecture disguised as wisdom.

So I arrived by 8 p.m., already regretting it. He was in the study, swirling a glass of scotch like a retired king.

“So,” he said as I entered, “how’s your secretary?”

“Out. Family emergency.” I walked around his study, going through his newest reading shelf.

“Ah,” he said, as if he already knew. “I see.”

“Why are you suddenly asking about my secretary?” I’m pretty sure the mighty Joseph doesn’t care about people that way.

“I was just asking, boy. Is it wrong to ask? She’s usually tailing behind you and since I don’t see her anywhere…” He pretended to look behind me. I swear that he’s been acting extra these days.

”You’re being weird.” I stared at him.

“You know my best friend Tim, right?”

“Yeah, why? Did you two gamble again?” I shook my head, knowing that the two of them always do bad things together.

“Tim and I made a pact,” Joseph said calmly. “When we were younger. About our grandchildren.”

“You arranged my marriage, huh? I’m not interested, grandpa.”

He sipped his scotch. “We arranged your futures.” I sat down, suddenly exhausted. My grandfather went on about legacy, honor, and bloodlines. But all I could think about was the woman who’d been five feet from me for half a decade, running my life like a well-oiled storm.

“Thanks for offering, but you better tell Tim that I’m not interested in getting to know his granddaughter. I’m busy and don’t have time to deal with a spoiled princess.” Out of the blue, he laughed like a maniac. I raised my eyebrows, looking at him confused.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just… nothing.”

“Look, old man. I’m busy and I need to go.” I walked towards the door, planning to go out, but he stopped me.

“I want to introduce you to her, boy, and I’m ready to bet all of my assets that you will like her.”

“Funny joke, grandpa. Very funny.” He’s bluffing and I knew it. There’s no way he’s that confident, but let me hold on to his words for now.

The day started like every other. Dakota greeted me the moment I stepped out of the car, holding out my iPad with the day’s construction site reports already queued up. Her tone was business as usual. Smooth, crisp, efficient. A routine we’d perfected through years of repetition.

We stepped into the elevator, and she began listing my schedule: meetings, site reviews, calls. I only half-listened.

“Set me up a meeting with John Travis tomorrow,” I said as the doors closed. “Tell him we need to talk.” She nodded and scribbled the note without missing a beat.

“What should I get you for lunch, Mr. Denver?” she asked.

“Steak. My usual. Extra mashed potatoes.” I walked ahead, entering my office, already thinking about the report I needed to review before the Travis meeting. But the moment I reached my desk, I saw it. An envelope lying neatly on the surface, addressed in her handwriting.

I paused. My hand hovered over it for a second longer than necessary. Dakota followed me in, her heels clicking softly behind me.

“Anything else, Mr. Denver?” she asked, her voice calm. Too calm. I picked up the envelope and opened it.

Inside was a resignation letter.

I stared at it. My chest tightened, but I didn't let it show. I snapped my gaze to her.

“Sit down,” I ordered, gesturing to the chair in front of me. She sat without protest, but her eyes didn’t meet mine.

“Are you expecting me to let you go tomorrow? Are you crazy?” I asked, tossing the letter across the desk in front of her. “What’s your reason?” No response.

“Dakota! What is your reason? Or else… you can’t resign.”

She lifted her head slowly. “I have to move back to LA. My grandpa is really sick. I want to be on his side.” I leaned back, narrowing my eyes.

“How much time do you need?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Denver?”

“How much time do you need to stay with him? One month? Two weeks? Three? Give me a time frame.”

She hesitated. “I will be moving to LA permanently. I won’t come back to New York.” Permanently. The word rang in my ears like a damn fire alarm.

“You can’t just leave tomorrow! I have to find your replacement and you need to train her—”

“Edna will be my replacement.”

I blinked, stunned. “I’m the boss here!” I slammed my palm against the table, not out of rage, but frustration. She jumped slightly, her posture tight.

“You can quit next month. After you teach—”

“I can’t, Mr. Denver. I have to go back to LA tomorrow.” There was something in her voice. Panic, not typical nerves, not even guilt.

Desperation.

“Did you commit a crime or something?” I asked, trying to find out why is she acting so weird.

She shook her head violently. “No… no… I’m getting married.”

I froze. She was what? She’s going to get married? To whom? When? How? With what time? She practically lived in this office.

“Married?” I echoed, trying to process the word. I narrowed my eyes, grasping at explanations.

“Did you get a cat call?” I asked dryly. “Did you meet this person on Tinder? Did he ask you to go to LA and marry him? Is he rich? Are you a gold digger?” Her jaw dropped in disbelief. I could feel the fury radiating off her like a heatwave.

“Mr. Denver,” she said icily, “I might be a secretary, but I’m not that low.”

Her voice was sharp, cold, and unflinching. The kind of tone I had never heard from her in all our years working together. Not even when I chewed her out in front of the boardroom. Not even when I made her cancel Christmas dinner with her friends.

I said nothing.

“Then why are you suddenly getting married?” I asked.

“It’s a long story. And it’s my privacy, Mr. Denver. I was hoping you’d understand. I don’t have a choice.” I sipped my latte slowly, masking the weight in my chest.

“So your grandpa isn’t really sick? You’re going to LA just to get married?”

She sighed. “My grandpa is arranging a marriage for me. It’s his last wish.” I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“This is the 21st century. Arranged marriage? You’ve got to be kidding me.” But she wasn’t. She stared back at me, she’s dead serious.

“Do you need anything else, Mr. Denver?” she asked, standing up.

“No,” I said quietly, waving her off. She left the room. The door clicked shut behind her. I picked up the resignation letter again, reading the neat lines, the polite tone, the finality of it. Her words didn’t sit right.

Something about it all felt…off. I turned my chair toward the window and read the letter again. And again. Her grandfather was forcing her into marriage. Why? For power? Legacy? Guilt?

None of it added up.

I crushed the letter in my hand and tossed it into the trash.

Let her go, I told myself. Secretaries were replaceable. Hell, I’d gone through a dozen before her.

There are thousands of people out there who would kill for this job. And yet…

I leaned back and glanced toward her office across the glass. She was pacing, phone in hand, visibly agitated. Her voice rose, inaudible but fierce. Then she threw her phone to the ground and collapsed onto the sofa, her head buried in her hands.

What exactly is going on with her? And why the hell did I care this much?