Chapter 9
Laura
The fluorescent lights flicker above as I stride into Mr. De La Cruz’s office, clutching a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a stack of case files in the other. My heels click against the tiled floor, fueled by the three shots of espresso I downed on my way into the office.
I am ready to tackle anything. Bring it on Monday.
As I set the files on Mr. De La Cruz’s desk with a satisfied thud, a glint of gold catches my eye. There, beside his laptop, is a framed photo of a woman with wavy brown hair and a radiant smile. She looks familiar. A sister? Cousin?
My curiosity spikes. I haven’t heard him mention any family. He is tight-lipped about his personal life, but he has to have someone. A wife? Girlfriend?
I lean in for a closer look, tilting my head. The woman’s smile seems almost melancholic, as if she is gazing into the distance at something long gone.
Who is she? More importantly, who is she to him?
My heart races as I contemplate snooping through his desk drawers for more clues. This is dangerous territory, I know, but when has that ever stopped me before? I live for adventure, and this mystery woman is proving irresistible.
Just then, the door bangs open behind me. I jump, upending my coffee, and spin around to find Mr. De La Cruz looming in the doorway. My face burns under his flinty gaze.
Busted.
Mr. De La Cruz strides past me without a word and sinks into the leather chair behind his desk. I stand frozen in place, unsure if I should apologize or pretend nothing happened.
After a long moment of silence, he picks up the photo frame and runs a finger down the edge. His stony expression softens into something I can’t quite decipher. Sadness? Longing?
I clear my throat. Now or never. “Sir, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but who is the woman in this photo?”
His gaze flickers up to meet mine. “My wife, Amelia, she passed away ten years ago.”
My eyes widen. His wife? He had a wife? All this time, I assumed he was a lifelong bachelor, married only to his work.
Mr. De La Cruz runs a hand over his face, looking older and more careworn. “I don’t speak of her often. It’s still...difficult.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
My heart squeezes with empathy. I know that kind of pain all too well. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whisper.
He waves a hand, blinking back the sheen of tears in his eyes. “It was a long time ago.” But his tone says otherwise. The wound is still raw, still bleeding.
“Some losses stay with us forever.”
Mr. De La Cruz meets my gaze again, his eyes soft with understanding. In that moment, I feel our roles of boss and assistant fade away, leaving only two people bonded by the deepest, most profound connection of all: loss, and the love that comes after.
He gazes at the photo, lost in memory, a sad smile touching his lips. “She always knew how to make me laugh. We used to love going dancing together, even after all those years. Every night when I came home from work, she’d greet me at the door with a kiss.”
His voice catches, and for a moment he can’t continue. A lump rises in my throat, imagining the depth of love and loss in his words. This is a side of my boss I never could have imagined—a glimpse into the tender heart beneath the stern exterior.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I want to reach out and comfort him, even though we rarely share any personal contact. He seems so alone in his grief, holding onto the memory of a love cut tragically short.
Mr. De La Cruz’s pain mirrors my own, and the barrier between us crumbles. He isn’t just my demanding boss anymore; he is a man who has suffered a terrible loss. Against all odds, I realize we have a connection—and the beginnings of an understanding.
I clear my throat, self-conscious. We shared something deeply personal, and now the normal boundaries of our working relationship felt blurred.
Mr. De La Cruz seems to sense my discomfort. He straightens in his chair and folds his hands on the desk, adopting his usual formal manner. “Thank you for your condolences, Miss Stevens. Now, was there something you needed to discuss?”
I nod, grateful for the return to familiar territory. “The Hartman brief. I’ve reviewed the documents and believe I’ve found a loophole in the language of the original contract that could strengthen our case.”
“Excellent work,” he says with an approving nod. “Please elaborate.”
As I launch into an explanation of the details, I find a newfound respect for the man across from me.
My boss has depths I never suspected, layers of love and loss and longing beneath the polished professional exterior.
It makes me see him in a whole new light—and realize how much more there is to discover about the complex, multi-faceted person he is.
Mr. De La Cruz isn’t the stern, demanding figure I have always seen him as.
Beneath the intimidating exterior is a man who felt as deeply as I did, who had loved and lost in the way only those who have lived can understand.
Gone is the barrier between boss and employee, melted away by the fires of shared grief and the balm of mutual understanding.
I see into his soul, and he into mine, and when I leave his office, I carry with me a newfound respect for the complexities of the human spirit.
Mr. De La Cruz is no longer simply my boss—he is a friend.
Maybe this job will be an adventure after all. I smile, already looking forward to the next surprise Mr. De La Cruz might have in store.
Another long night is ahead of us to find these financials. He wasn’t kidding when he said he doesn’t get out of here until ten almost every night. The circles under my eyes are getting worse.
I settle in for another long night of paperwork. I stifle a yawn, steeling myself for the barrage of demands that are sure to come from Mr. De La Cruz the moment I stride through the door.
“I, uh...I brought you a coffee. Hazelnut latte, right?”
I blink. He remembers my coffee order? “Yes, thank you,” I say, a bit stunned.
He has dark circles under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. It seems the notorious workaholic hasn’t been sleeping well lately either.
We aren’t so different, he and I. Two restless souls chasing purpose through the daily grind.
When he pokes his head out a few minutes later, I venture a hesitant smile. “Everything alright, Mr. De La Cruz?”
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Please, call me Dallas.”
My smile widens into a grin. “Only if you call me Laura.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “Touché.”
I take a sip of the latte, savoring the burst of hazelnut flavor. Maybe this won’t be such a long night after all. Dallas and I...we have an understanding now. A spark of hope that this job can turn into something more. A partnership, even.
“Any leads on those financial records?” Dallas asks, stifling a yawn.
I shake my head, blinking blearily at the stacks of papers strewn across the conference table. “Nothing yet. But there has to be a money trail somewhere. People like this always slip up, eventually.”
“You’re right,” he says. “Let’s keep digging.”
Despite the late hour, a surge of determination rushes over me. Dallas trusts my judgment. He sees me as an equal, not just an assistant. I am not about to let him down.
As the hours drag on, we fall into an easy rhythm, trading theories and ideas. Dallas’s razor-sharp mind complimented my own, and together we are able to connect dots that previously seemed disparate.
By the time we stumble upon a crucial discrepancy at 3 AM, exhaustion has given way to exhilaration. We exchange a triumphant grin, the thrill of the chase bonding us together.
“We did it!” Dallas says, a rare smile lighting up his face. “I couldn’t have solved this without you, Laura. You’re a heck of a worker.”
I flush with pride at the compliment. “Back at you, Dallas.”
He claps me on the shoulder, and for a moment his hand lingers there, his eyes soft with unspoken warmth.
My heart skips a beat. A partnership, indeed. Maybe there is something more to be found here after all.