Rachel Brockman Novels & Stories

She hadn’t meant to stare, but she didn’t look away either. Friday morning arrived. After Diego left for work and the girls went to school, Rachel picked up a tray of cookies and leftover carrot cake, took a breath, and headed across the lawn. She rang the doorbell. A moment later, the same blonde woman opened the door with a warm, easy smile. “Hi. I’m Rachel, from next door,” she said. “I thought I’d bring you something sweet to welcome you.” “Oh, that’s so kind,” the woman said, her eyes lighting up. “I’m Kristen McCarthy. Please, come in.”

Probably some guy gave her a fake number in the bar. "I know what it is. But who are you?" She again asks me anxiously. "I am secretary of the President of the Damison Group. My name is Ethan Stone." I reply to her irritatingly, as she is wasting my time. I need to go home and take a lavender bath with my rubber ducks.

I don't know why they did it but when I find them they are going to be three very sorry mother fuckers. "How are Rachel and Tara doing?" I ask Bonnie while she remains cuddled into me. "Neither of them has said much. I think they're both still in shock." While Tristian and Alberto were mateless, Shaun had a mate. The moment I told Rachel what he had done, the way she reacted made it more than clear that she had no idea about what he was planning on doing. There was no faking her shock and hurt and for that, she will be supported, not blamed for his mess.

Then, out of nowhere, an unfamiliar number lit up my phone screen. "Hello, is this Brady?" A woman's voice rang out, mature and composed. "Yes, speaking. And you are?" I asked. "I'm Rachel Booth." "Oh, Mrs. Booth! Hello! Is there something I can help you with?" Rachel was Colin's wife. I'd met her a few times before. Every time she showed up at the office, she'd strut in like she owned the place, barking orders at people, and making sure someone ended up humiliated before she left.

By the time he made it back to his desk, Rachel, another member of the finance team, was standing nearby, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Luke,” she started, a bit shy. “I just wanted to say... you’re really impressive. I’ve been following your pitches, and I can’t help but admire how you do it.” Luke paused, offering his usual half-smile. “Thanks, Rachel. I appreciate it.” “No problem,” she said, clearly flustered as she turned to head back to her desk.

“We’re gutting the rot.” Camellia sat at her desk, staring at the outline of the report she’d been asked to co-author. Her name. Her job. Her trauma—now intertwined with every corner of this movement. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. A knock. Rachel entered quietly, holding a protein bar and a calming tea. “You’re burning out,” she said. “I’m fine.” Rachel crouched beside her. “No. You’re not. You’ve been surviving for too long, and now you don’t know how to just live.”

But he just didn’t know when. Just then, he heard Rachel speak. “I have shown you all the evidence, that is, the money that went missing, the bullying and the cover ups. Now it’s time we address the people behind these disgraceful acts.” She said with a sweet smile on her face, making them really scared, because they knew her smile was not genuine. Looking at their scared face, she turned to Sam, who clicked on the next slide which read “Names and Offenses” in bold black letters.

“I’m good, but lately I’ve been thinking; I need a personal assistant. Someone who understands art, someone reliable. I want to take my painting career more seriously.” Rachel’s eyes lit up. “That’s great! I actually have the perfect person for you. She’s incredibly talented. But she’s out of town right now I’ll need to reach out to her first.” I nodded. “That sounds great. I knew you were the right person to come to” As we talked, my mind wandered back to the art gala from weeks ago. “Rachel, do you know Adrian Volkov?” Rachel’s smile faltered slightly. “I do. Why?”

KELVIN'S POV The boardroom is already full when I walk in, with shareholders, senior executives, legal advisers, and board members filling every seat, and not a single person bothering to pretend this is just another ordinary meeting. Rachel slides into step beside me carrying a tablet. "You've got this." "You sound unconvinced." "I am unconvinced." I glance at her. "That's not encouraging." "I believe in honesty." "You could've chosen optimism." "I tried." She shrugs. "It didn't suit me."

Zita asked curiously. Rebecca replied in a nod. "Your grace, would you be glad to share the journey your love with me? I promise to listen without judgement." Zita persuaded her, eager to know more. "Probably when I've fully let go of the pain and shame I feel within." Rebecca answered calmly. Zita didn't force herself and hummed. She got bitten by an insect-a little ant-and slapped it off her leg. She looked at her mistress and her eyes widened. "Your grace!" She exclaimed fearfully.