14
I’m up at seven thirty Monday morning. Curro is calm. I give him his breakfast and medication. Then I take a shower. Ten minutes later, I get dressed and put on my makeup.
I get to the office at eight thirty. I run into Miguel in the elevator, and we high-five over the Euro Cup. We go up to the cafeteria and take a seat at our table to have our coffees. Ten minutes later, I drop the madeleine in my hand when I see Eric come in with my supervisor and two others.
He looks impressive in his dark suit and light-colored shirt. I can tell by his dour expression that he’s talking business. When they get to the counter and order their coffees, he sees me. I keep on talking, enjoying my colleague’s company, though I can see in my peripheral vision that they’ve taken a table far from ours. Eric sits in the chair facing me. He looks at me and I look back. Our eyes connect for a fraction of a second; as expected, my body reacts.
“Well, well, the bosses have arrived,” says Miguel. “I heard you got stuck in the elevator the other day, with the new big boss.”
“Yes, with him and a bunch of other people,” I say indifferently. But determined to learn more about Eric, I press Miguel. “Hey, since you were his father’s admin, do you know how he died?”
Miguel glances back at the bosses’ table.
“To be honest, he was a strange man who didn’t talk much. He died of a heart attack.” When he sees my supervisor laughing, he whispers, “But what I see now is that your supervisor likes the new big boss. Just look at how she laughs and touches her hair.”
I can’t help but look back at the table, and again, my eyes meet Eric’s cool and icy stare.
“Did the elder Mr. Zimmerman have any other kids?”
“Yes, but only the Iceman lives.”
“The Iceman?”
Miguel laughs. “Eric Zimmerman. Haven’t you seen that frigid expression of his?”
That makes me laugh.
“From what I hear, he’s a tough nut to crack, much tougher than his father.”
“He’s the only living child?” I ask.
“He had a sister, but she died a few years ago.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, Judith . . . Mr. Zimmerman never talked about it. I only know because one day he told me he had to leave, that he was going to Germany for his daughter’s funeral.”
This makes me feel terrible. Two deaths in such a short time must be very painful.
“Mr. Zimmerman was separated from his wife,” Miguel continues. “He and the Iceman didn’t have a good relationship. That’s why Eric never used to come to Spain.”
These details disturb me.
“Why didn’t they have a good relationship?”
“I don’t know, gorgeous,” Miguel responds as he tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “Mr. Zimmerman was pretty private when it came to his personal life. By the way, when are you going to go out for drinks with me?”
I put my elbows on the table and let my chin fall in my hands. I gaze up at him adoringly.
“I think never,” I say, “because I don’t like to mix business with pleasure.” I’m being ironic, but Miguel doesn’t really get it, and that charms me too.
He comes a little closer. “When you say ‘pleasure,’ what kind of pleasure do you mean?” he whispers.
I don’t move a muscle. “Let’s see, handsome. You’re the piece of candy everyone in the office wants, and I’m a very jealous woman who doesn’t like to share. So . . . you’d better find someone else, because you’re getting nowhere with me.”
“Oh, I like a challenge!”
This makes me laugh again, and Miguel too. Suddenly, I see Eric get up and leave the cafeteria, and I can breathe once more. It’s a relief to not have him so close. Ten minutes later, Miguel and I return to our posts.
Back at my desk, I see the big boss’s door is wide open. When I sit down, my cell buzzes.
“Flirting during office hours?”
That bugs me at first, but I end up smiling.
Deep down, Eric’s sense of humor appeals to me. I look toward his office and see him sitting in what was once his father’s chair. He’s trying to provoke me, but I don’t plan on playing his games.
Suddenly, my supervisor’s at my desk, blocking our line of vision. “Judith, if someone calls, connect the call to Mr. Zimmerman’s office.”
I don’t open my mouth, just nod. Swinging her hips, my supervisor disappears into Eric’s office and closes the door. I get back to work, and then, midmorning, the door opens again. She emerges with a folder in her hands.
“Judith,” she says, “I’ll be out of the office for one hour. If Mr. Zimmerman needs anything, please take care of it.” Then she turns to Miguel. “Come with me.” Those two!
As soon as they leave, my phone rings. I just know it’s him. I pick up.
“Miss Flores, may I see you in my office, please?”
“Right away, Mr. Zimmerman.”
I get up, go straight to his office, and ask, “How may I help you, Mr. Zimmerman?”
He’s leaning his head back on the black leather headrest.
“Close the door, please,” he says, looking right at me.
I sigh, then feel my skin start to burn. My damned neck is going to give me away, and that irritates me more. But I’m going to ignore it. I close the door.
“Congrats on your Euro Cup win.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Then a thick silence grows between us.
“Did you have a good time last night?” he finally asks.
I don’t respond.
“Who is that guy you kissed and with whom you spent seventeen minutes in the men’s room?” he asks.
Stunned, I stare at him.
“I just asked you a question,” he insists. “Who is it?”
Incensed at what I’m hearing, I try to contain my murderous impulses.
“That is none of your business, Mr. Zimmerman.”
Has he been spying on me?
“And what’s going on between you and my admin?”
He’s gone too far!
I blink a few times. “Look, Mr. Zimmerman, I don’t want to be disagreeable, but everything you’re asking is out of bounds. So if you don’t need anything else from me, I’m going to return to my desk.”
Fuming, and not giving him a chance to respond, I leave his office and shut the door with purpose. Who does he think he is? No sooner do I sit down at my desk than the phone rings again. I curse but still pick up.
“Miss Flores, in my office, now!”
His voice is angry, but so am I. I hang up and head back to his office, exasperated.
He comes around from behind his desk. He sits on it with his arms crossed and his legs apart. He’s trying to intimidate me. The distance between us is diminished. This makes me nervous.
“Jude . . .”
“Miss Flores to you, if you don’t mind.”
He gives me his usual caustic expression; the tension is once more thick enough to cut.
“Come here, Miss Flores.”
“No.”
“Come here.”
“What do you want?” I demand.
“Come here, please,” he mutters between clenched teeth. His sourness remains unchanged.
I sigh and take a step forward. His demeanor demands I step closer, but I refuse to be intimidated.
“Mr. Zimmerman, I’m not coming any closer. Fire me if that’s what you need to do to continue feeling like the King of the Universe.”
He stands up from the desk. He takes two steps toward me, and I take one back. He snorts and grabs my arm, pulling me toward the archive room. He jerks me inside, and once in the intimacy of that room, he takes my head in his hands, brings me to him, and kisses me with gusto.
He pushes me against the file cabinets, and when he feels that my body can’t back up any more, he pulls away.
“I could barely sleep thinking about you and what you might have done with that guy last night,” he confesses.
I’m flabbergasted. “But I didn’t do anything,” I say in a thin voice.
Eric presses his hips to me, and I feel his erection.
“He grabbed you by the waist. You let him kiss you, and you went into the men’s room with him. How can you say you didn’t do anything?” he says, looking desperate. “I was just outside. I saw the whole thing through the window.”
Crazy because of what he’s making me feel with his proximity and by what he’s saying, I respond, “I do with my body and my life whatever I please, Mr. Zimmerman.”
I shove him off and pull away.
“I’m not one of those little dolls I suppose you’re used to ordering about. Don’t touch me again or . . .”
“Or?” he asks hoarsely.
“Or I might be capable of anything,” I respond.
His jaw tenses. Then he steps up close to me again. “Jude, you want me as much as I want you. Don’t deny it.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. His immediacy provokes all kinds of sensations in me.
“Are you getting nervous?”
I touch my neck. I’m about to let him have it, when he makes a face at me.
“Don’t scratch, Jude.”
Before I have a chance to move, he leans down and blows on my neck. I close my eyes. My indignation decreases considerably. This was his goal, and he’s scored.
“I’m sorry I made you nervous,” he whispers in my ear. “I’m sorry, sweetness.”
His power is overwhelming. Now he has me where he wants me. I’m such a weakling!
He kisses me. This time, it’s out of desperation. All I can think about is kissing him and letting him kiss me.
What is going on?
I want to control myself, but I can’t. I’ve never been a toy for any man, but he manages to play me every time. I want him as much as I need air to breathe, and that scares me. My sex is on fire, my skin is burning, and I feel my panties moistening. All I want is for him to undress me and take me.
I look him right in the eyes. I love his serious tough-guy face. It drives me crazy. He’s so sexy and devastating that I’m incapable of saying no to anything he asks. It’s the first time in my life I’ve felt this way, and I don’t think there’s anything I can do to stop it. He unbuttons my pants. His hand swiftly finds its way into my panties.
“You’re wet for me,” he whispers.
He pushes his hand down farther, and I feel one of his fingers come inside me and then, seconds later, another. He grabs me by the hair, tugs on it, and makes me look up. He kisses me again, impatiently, while his knee pries my legs open and his fingers begin to pump in and out of me. With his mouth on mine, I swallow my moans; my orgasm is so close.
“Come for me, Jude.”
Once more, my body responds to his words.
The gleam in his eyes makes me crazy, makes me want him to undress me, to throw me on the floor and slam his penis inside me. I bite my lip. If I don’t, I’ll scream and the whole office will come running to see what’s going on.
“Jude, let yourself come.”
My back tenses and my legs arch as I gladly let him overwhelm me. My muscles contract over and over under his touch, and I feel my inner thighs get wet. Eventually, he slows down, stops, and when he finally pulls away, I want to protest. He takes my head in his hands again.
“You owe me an orgasm, sweetness,” he murmurs.
I can’t respond.
All I can do is open my mouth and tangle my tongue with his. I love his exciting, dangerous taste as I forget about everything around us again, and about my anger too. I don’t want to think he uses me like a toy. I don’t want to remember he’s my boss. Simply put, I don’t want to think.
Two minutes later, our breathing having returned to normal, he ceases pressing me against the filing cabinet, and I regain control of my body. I curse.
What have I done, again? How can I be such an idiot every time I see him?
“Have you thought any more about my proposal?” he asks.
I try to meet his eyes, but I find that whenever I try to confront the Iceman, I lose my composure.
“I answered you yesterday, and I said no.”
He purses his lips and I sigh.
“Why are you so stubborn?” he says. “What I’m proposing will also bring you some financial benefits.”
“Just financial?”
Eric’s mouth had started to form a smile, but now the smile stops cold.
“That depends on what you want. You decide, Jude. Right now, I need an assistant. Sex will happen if it needs to happen.”
“And if I refuse to let it happen?” I ask, trying to believe my own lie.
He lowers his hands to my pants and buttons them back up.
“I’d accept your refusal,” he says evenly. “Someone else will agree to it.”
What kind of imbecilic, conceited, full-of-himself jerk . . . ?
Then he exits the archive room, abandoning me. For a second, I close my eyes and scold myself. Why am I so damned easy when I’m with him? I finally straighten my shirt and hair and go after him. He’s already at his computer, his face all scrunched up. I make my way calmly to the door.
“I told you I’d give you until Tuesday for an answer, and that’s how it’ll be,” he says before I can leave his office. “Now you can go back to your desk. If I need you again, I’ll call.”
I’m flabbergasted. I leave his office. I close the door and lean back on it while looking around for a few seconds. Everyone in the vicinity of my desk is working. It seems no one has a clue about what just happened. I grab my bag and go to the bathroom. I need to wash up.
Twenty minutes later, I’m at my desk. Miguel and my supervisor have returned. Eric and I don’t talk; we don’t even look at each other. At two o’clock, his office door opens, and he and my supervisor emerge. “We’re going for a bite to eat, Judith,” she tells me.
I nod and breathe, relieved. I see Miguel gather his things as my phone rings. It’s my sister.
“Judith, you have to come home now!”
I close my eyes and sit down. My legs are shaking. I don’t need her to say any more. I know what’s happening.
When I hang up, I suppress my tears. I don’t want to cry at the office. I’m a tough gal, and that’s not my style. I look for Miguel and find him talking to Eva. They look like they’re flirting. I tell him something urgent has come up and I won’t be back this afternoon, but he’s not paying too much attention. I return to my desk, sit down, drink some water, and gather my things.
My hands are trembling, and my face is flushed. I need to cry. I make the effort to turn off my computer, contain my pain, and make my way to the elevator. When I get to the lobby, I run to the parking lot, and that’s when I let the tears flow.
At home, my sister’s eyes are wet with tears. Curro is having a really hard time breathing. I immediately call my veterinarian. The vet, who’s known me for years, says he’ll wait for me at the clinic.
At four thirty in the afternoon, after a shot the doctor gives him to ease the transition, Curro leaves me. I’m left with a broken heart and the feeling that this is an irreplaceable loss. I lean over his lifeless body on the table. I kiss him and caress his furry head for the last time, as hundreds of tears cloud my eyes.
“Goodbye, love,” I whisper.