"Welcome back to bullshit central," Marisol Gonzalez told me as soon as I stepped into the office that Monday.
She and I were the two idiots who reported directly to our boss, an asshole who went by the name of Jean Paul Mercier. Which we all knew to be an artistic name that forced people into asking him, "Like Jean Paul Gautier?" He loved it, it made him feel important, and I'd never met anyone in my life with as much of a need to feel superior as him.
Only the CEO of the company knew Jean Paul's real name, but Marisol and I secretly called him Mr. Diapers. Since he was so full of shit.
If that weren't enough, the fifty some strong company wasn't doing so well in the books. For a year and a half there had been a lot of red on them, and our CEO and acting CFO Angela Fernandez had spent the best part of this year out looking for investors. And we all knew what that meant: if none were found, heads were going to roll.
Before I'd left for the Keys last week, we'd been informed of an important announcement today. I'd begun sending out resumes just in case.
"It's great to be back," I told her as I dumped my bag under my work bench.
This morning I'd made a concerted effort to look good. I figured if I was going to get fired from my second job at a fashion company after busting my ass to make its vision come true, I was going to go in style in a fluttery burgundy dress of my own design that made me look like I was disappearing in a cloud of smoke as I walked away. I'd put on a full face of makeup and styled my hair in artful waves around my face. Fashion was armor, and I needed defense today.
As she and I headed over to the kitchenette to get some coffee I asked her, "Any rumors?"
"Only that there's going to be a big change." She shrugged and looked around, which prompted me to do the same. "That's what I heard Mr. Diapers discuss on the phone with Angela. Whatever that means."
I cringed. "That doesn't sound good."
Marisol's lips made a downward u shape. "Change rarely is."
"Let's get to work everybody," Mr. Diapers said as he stormed into the main office area, as though people weren't doing just that already. "We have only a couple of productive hours before the big announcement, so chop chop."
If only he would be the one to get the chop chop.
Marisol and I dragged our feet back to our work benches and my brain struggled to catch up to the fact that it wasn't the weekend anymore. I was back to the grind time, prime time. And by that I meant grinding prime neurons trying to make Jean Paul's ridiculous design ideas fit into the laws of physics of our 3D world, in the crazy timelines that our customers wanted. That was basically what my job consisted of, even despite the fact that I was a senior designer and that my own ideas should be part of what drove this company's path to success.
My colleague was wrong, change wasn't always bad. It was exactly what we needed right now—to change Jean Paul to a different company so I could do my thing.
Unfortunately I had a feeling that wasn't going to happen, which was why regardless of today's news I'd begun looking for a different job. I needed to get into another company that paid a decent wage and had good benefits until I got close to paying off my student loans. Once that happened, I'd be able to have the flexibility of starting my own business—with a damn good credit that would get me a bank loan for it, that was.
The one silver lining of this place was that Jean Paul was basically the only person who sucked. Everybody else was pretty cool and we were all united under the banner of hating the head designer. He at least did that much, bond the team through the common spite.
It ended up being close to lunch when Angela came in and stood in the middle of the main area. We all stopped doing what we were focused in. Designers, purchasing, IT, talent, council—all departments gathered around her. My heart was beating so loud that for a moment I wondered if it was the sound of all of our panic combined. Her smile was very confusing, though.
"Good morning, Tropicana." Using the name of our company was her favorite way to address the collective.
I quite liked Angela. First, because she let us use her first name, even though she was this mega rich and successful socialite from the Philippines who owned entire buildings in Brickell and mostly kept this company as side entertainment. The one thing that made me hesitate about her was that she was the only person in the room who adored Jean Paul. Mr. Diapers stood next to her, beaming as though whatever was coming next had been his idea all along.
"I'm so pleased to inform you all that Tropicana has secured the support of an investing company."
It felt like a long time had passed until the news registered and we all broke into cheers.
She laughed and when we calmed down she continued. "The MB Investment firm has acquired 60% of Tropicana, and its owner will join our staff to oversee the finance team directly."
Marisol raised her hand, and Angela prompted her to speak. "What about you?"
Angela shrugged. "I have agreed to step out of the role as part of the transaction and remain solely as the CEO. I trust this young man's judgement far better than my own, so I believe we are all in the best hands."
"As a matter of fact," Jean Paul cut in, clasping his hands together in what I thought was the definition of the dreamy pose. "He will be joining us from today."
"Yes." Angela nodded. "I wanted to give you all the news before introducing the newest face to the team, but I think we can bring him in now. Jean Paul would you please-"
She hadn't finished the questions and he was already parting the crowd. We all turned, straining our necks to see who the new person was. I was closest to Angela but my height gave me the advantage over everybody else in the room. Which was how I was able to see him before everybody else and I would have passed out, hadn't there been so many witnesses.
He saw me as soon as he stepped into the room. His serious, businesslike expression cracked for a second. The same shock I felt was mirrored on it.
"Everybody," Jean Paul said. "Please meet Mr. Miguel Bernal."
I wouldn't be able to tell what happened after that. One second I was standing among all my colleagues, the next my worlds were colliding. My mind went on a spiral so fast that I was sure if someone were observing me they would be able to tell I wasn't well. But no one was paying attention to me. Questions were fired at our new CFO and he volleyed back answers, shook hands and who knew what else. I casually sneaked behind the crowd and locked myself in the bathroom.
"What the fuck just happened?" I asked my fabulous reflection. Had I really slept with my new CFO last weekend? I was sure that wouldn't be something HR would approve of. Oh God, nobody could know. Miguel wasn't the kiss and tell kind of guy, and I certainly wasn't going to go around bragging to anybody who cared to hear the reason why I was wearing makeup around my neck today.
But I knew myself. I knew the way my body reacted at his nearness. That alone could reveal some history to anyone clever enough to see the signs. How was I going to survive?
I pulled out my cellphone from my dress's pocket and checked my email. No bites yet on those resumes I'd sent out. I was going to have to hold on to my sanity somehow.
Once I returned outside, I saw everybody had settled back into their designated work areas. Jean Paul was showing Miguel something Marisol and I had been working on. Meanwhile, the poor girl was looking at Miguel the same way a regular person did when meeting a celebrity. They all looked up at my approach and I braced myself.
Jean Paul waved one hand. "Oh, yes. That's our senior designer, Adele Holt."
Before Miguel could react I stuck my hand out, "Very nice to meet you, sir."
His eyebrows went up. All the way.
Still, he didn't let me down and shook my hand. I sagged in relief.
"Please don't call me sir," was all he said. I looked down at our joined hands, wondering how was it that that little contact was already making me tingle. When I looked back up, his green eyes twinkled like stars exploded in them. "Just call me Miguel."
"W-Well," I stumbled upon my words. "Feel free to call me Addy."
"That's enough of that," Jean Paul said, deliberately walking between Miguel and I, tearing our hands apart. "Come with me, Miguel I'll introduce you to the rest of the crew."
I definitely didn't imagine the way Miguel's attention lingered on me for a while longer before he allowed Mr. Diapers to pull him away. I plopped on my seat.
"I know, right?" Marisol said, resting her chin on her hand. Her dark gaze was very focused on Miguel's perfect bubble butt. "Here's a business idea, what if instead of making him our CFO we make him our model? Because damn girl, with a face and body like that he can sell millions."
I blew out a breath. "Let's propose it during Friday's design review."
That made us both giggle.
I tried to focus on work after that, but my attention kept drifting to wherever Miguel went. He spent a long time chatting with the IT guys, which put him in profile for my view and, Lord, forgive me for I was sinning in my mind. I couldn't get the images of the weekend out of my mind and I was deeply thankful that I was a girl and my ahem, excitement didn't show under my dress.
I wasn't going to be able to survive this way. Something had to be done.
My chance came later that afternoon. I was in the copy room, about to scan a couple of pages from a magazine I'd bought last week, when Miguel walked by. I dropped the 'zine, looked all around and saw that no one was looking this way, and grabbed his arm. I hauled him all the way outside of the office into the elevator lobby and out into the stairs. Then I turned to him, about to let him have a piece of my mind, but Miguel had ideas of his own.
His hand expertly held onto my nape and tilted my face. A little voice in my mind told me that the reason I'd dragged him out here wasn't to make out with him, and yet that was exactly what I was meeting him halfway to do. One of my hands splayed over his chest and I was satisfied at feeling the hard staccato of his heart. Like he was as affected by me as I was by him. He did this thing where his lips caressed mine so sensually that I forgot myself or where I was. It was the echo of my moan around us that snapped me out of it.
I jumped away from him and glued my back against the door.
"What the hell was that?" I asked, clutching at my chest.
Very calmly, as though nothing was amiss, Miguel wiped his bottom lip with a thumb. His eyes smoldered me and I had no doubt I was in flames.
"I just wanted to make sure you remembered me."
I threw my head back and laughed.
And laughed some more.
"Trust me," I said, wiping a tear carefully to not smudge my mascara. "I don't need any assistance in that department."
"Oh yeah?" Miguel folded his arms. "Sure could've fooled me with that whole pleased to meet you, sir."
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered, flapping my arms about. "I was shocked, okay? My brain shut down and went on defense mode."
"Defense from what?" he asked. "It's not like I was going to say oh hey, Addy, great to see you again after you fled the morning after we had the most amazing sex. This is the workplace and I respect that."
The flames he'd ignited earlier settled on my cheeks.
"I know that, I'm sorry." I sighed and ran a hand through the pale blush locks of my hair. "I overreact sometimes and I really wasn't expecting to see you again, let alone here."
Miguel tilted his head, eyes narrowing in thought. "Is that why you ran? Because you were planning on never seeing me again?"
"No!" Words caught in my throat for a moment, my jumbled thoughts piling on top of each other and not letting a single one out. I took a couple of deep breaths and counted to three. When I opened my eyes again, Miguel was still standing there, arms folded and waiting for whatever excuse I was going to feed him. I went with more or less the truth. "I thought you were living in Canada. I didn't want to, you know, dwell."
He nodded a few times before saying, "Well, if you'd stayed longer I might have been able to tell you I moved down to Miami last week for this job. We might have even found that we were to be coworkers and would have avoided this entire scene."
I pursed my lips.
"If you're trying to get me to apologize for sparing my own feelings, it's not going to happen."
"Feelings?" he immediately asked, latching onto the one slip of the tongue I'd committed. I sucked all the air in the area as he took a step closer. His eyes sought something in mine. "What kind of feelings?"
My thick swallow didn't go unnoticed to him. In front of his gaze I felt like I was back at the hotel room, naked. Like I was back to college, secretly pining for him while trying to settle for just being his friend. Like I was back to high school, a large, awkward teenage girl with an itty bitty crush on an older classmate. Trying to get senpai to notice me.
Well, he'd noticed me last weekend, alright. Now I needed to get him to unnotice me, and I needed to find a way to stop thinking and yearning for him.
"Miguel." I hated the want that could be heard in my voice, so I cleared my throat. I tried pushing him away, but all my hands did was sneak under the lapels of his sharp suit, seeking his hardness and heat.
His hands came around my waist. "Yes?"
With great difficulty I tore the words out of my throat. "Listen, I'm not the most mature and worldly woman you've probably been with. That's why I act like a dumb teen when you're around."
He smiled. The idiot liked it. I smacked him softly.
"Stop being happy about it, this is a big deal to me, okay?" I sighed. "Despite having a horrible boss, I really love my job and I'm afraid that if you and I—if we appear too close, it will put my position at risk."
Miguel looked down and I thought he was focusing on my cleavage, but no. His gaze was lost somewhere. His hands loosened around me and eventually he stepped back, running a hand through the longer curls at the top of his undercut.
"Yeah, unfortunately people don't hold men and women to the same standard," he whispered. "I don't want to do anything to hurt your career."
We stood a foot apart, staring at each other like we both wanted to say more, but couldn't.
I rubbed the palm of my hand on my side and extended it. My voice was low and hesitant as I asked, "Friends?"
A little smile came from him.
"With benefits?"
I rolled my eyes as he started laughing, but he agreed to be a perfect stranger at work. I was pleased with that, but it was only until I made it back to my work bench that I realized he hadn't agreed to be just friends.
My forehead fell onto my table. What did this mean?
what could this possibly mean, indeed?
also no, it's not Tropicana for the juice. there used to be a fashion brand in Venezuela called Tropicana that was amazing and i don't even know why it disappeared. i'm paying a little homage to that lost piece of Venezuelan pop culture