Chapter 11
SARINA
Neither of us know what to say. Or how to act for that matter. We’ve not only learned each other’s name but also that Lorena was correct, despite the fourteen floors that comprise the law firm, our paths did cross. Faster and more unexpected than I think either of us anticipated.
Deciding to be the one to break the ice, I push through the awkwardness and ask, “Would you prefer I call you Tomás or Mr. Ramos instead?”
He stuff his hands inside his pockets.“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”
“I guess fate has a funny sense of humor, huh?”
“That it does.” A grin exposes his dimples. “But to answer your question, you can call me whatever you’d prefer.”
Why does he have to be this way? Smooth and flirtatious yet so gentlemanly… and Lorena’s freaking brother.
I feel so stupid.
How did I not notice the similarities in both of their features before? Because now, as I’m staring at him with no decent —or work appropriate— thoughts floating throughout my head, seeing how fine he looks in yet another custom suit, the resemblance is glaring.
“I think we’re a little past what I’d prefer since calling you Mr. Armani would raise some questions, and I don’t think calling you papi would be office appropriate.”
His dimples show themselves further as his grin remains.
“Tomás it is,” I settle for.
“That sounds nice.”
“Well, it’s your name, I’d hope you like how it sounds.”
“No, I mean it sounds nice hearing you say it,” he says with an undertone of flirtatiousness that his stoic facial expression contradicts.
Silence lingers between us as he motions for me to sit. I do, and it’s not until I’m walking past the chair in front of his desk and halfway to his chair that I realize what I’m doing.
“Jesus Christ today,” I breathe out, and before I know it, we find ourselves sharing a laugh drenched in relief. Though the longer it simmers between us, the more it highlights the line we’re tiptoeing.
“You meant that chair.” I point to the one across from his, ready to pivot toward it, but it’s too late. He’s already standing behind his chair, with his large, vascular hands adhered to either side, pulling it out for me to sit on.
“Are you going to sit down or are you going to make this more difficult for me than it already is?”
Difficult. That’s one way of describing our situation.
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“Sarina.” The way my name rolls of his tongue, even with the sternness that has interjected itself in his voice, has me wanting him to say it again. “Please, sit.”
“Fine, if you insist.” I sit down in his chair, and ever the gentleman, he rolls it in for me.
“So.” He lets out a sigh, attempting to break the ice as he slouches his posture on his desk.
“So…you’re an attorney.” I reduce my voice to a whisper, shooting a glance at the door. “And not a mobster.”
His index finger presses to his lips. “Shh. I don’t want that getting out.”
“Got it,” I say, gliding an invisible zipper over my lips. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Appreciate it. And you moonlight as a paralegal when you’re not dancing, I take it?”
I lift my hands. “Guilty.”
“Why?” He asks, full of genuine curiosity. “I mean, Luxe is way more exciting than anything a law firm can offer. And I know what the entry-level membership rate is, so I’m sure you’re paid well.”
“I am. But…” I hesitate for a moment, uncertain how to answer.
The short answer? Because I’m in a lot of debt.
The more accurate answer? I’m in a lot of debt with an impending due date that my lapse in paychecks, coupled with the recent increase in my rent, gave me no choice but to accept this job, even if it’s temporary.
“You know what, that’s a long story. Forget it.”
“I have time.”
I draw in a deep breath. “I know, but I’d rather not talk about it.”
“Of course, I’m sorry.” He settles into the chair across from me.
“Yeah, it’s a whole thing, and now I’m suspended-”
“Wait a minute, what do you mean suspended?”
Fuck my life. So much for not getting into it.
“You’re a smart guy. They didn’t teach you the definition of suspension at law school?”
He skates right over my sarcasm, seeing it for what it is, a deflection. “Do you mean to tell me that after that guy was bothering you, you are the one being punished? That’s—”
“The way the world is,” I interrupt him.
The look on his face is anything but in agreement with that statement.
“That’s fucking bullshit.”
I wish I could share in his anger, but unfortunately, I’ve grown accustomed –and in part numb– to situations like this.
I’m used to men behaving badly, always justified by others under the antiquated guise of “Boys will be boys”.
He’s right . It is bullshit. It’s fucked up how any time a woman stands up for herself she’s perceived as the problem instead of addressing that actual problem that made her need to defend herself in the first place.
Tomás’ phone is back in his hands, his fingers feverishly gliding over the keyboard.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Finding Luxe’s number so I can …”
I spring to my feet, leaning over the desk with every intention of swatting his phone out of his hands, but fuck my fucking life today.
As I go forward, he pulls back, lifting his hands, and apparently my brain didn’t get the memo.
Instead, I continue to move forward, and I don’t stop until my hand lands on something of his all right.
And it’s not his phone that he managed to move away from me.
Nope, that would be too convenient and not as awkward as where my palm is now resting, nestled on his – growing– bulge.
My mouth waters at the memory of his pierced tip scratching the back of my throat.
Temptation, like I’ve never felt before overtakes me but instead of acting on it, I settle back into his desk chair, apologizing and getting back on topic “It’s okay, you don’t need to call them. Seriously. I’m okay.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
If anything, he looks as flustered as I feel right now, but being the man that he is, he respects what I’m saying and drops it.
The silence that has fallen over us is quickly replaced by the sound of papers shuffling and keyboards clicking, with me awkwardly settling into his desk and him on the other side, with his focus on his laptop.
At this point I’m not sure what it is I’m supposed to be doing while I wait for him to say something. I’m just busying myself going into my personal email, because I don’t have my work one set up yet.
As the minutes drag on, and it’s clear that I’m going to have to make the first move. “What’s your email?”
He doesn’t bother looking up from his computer. Whatever he’s looking at really has all of his attention. That, or this man is in need of …
Oh. My. God.
As if he couldn’t look any hotter than he already does, his squinting has led to him putting on a set of thick black rectangular-framed glasses that suit his defined features.
“Sarina,” he singsongs.
“Umm sorry. What?”
His mouth stretches to a half grin. “Your email?”
“Oh, I didn’t receive a work one yet.”
He sighs. “Ralph really didn’t think this through, did he?”
Assuming that question was rhetorical and not intended for me, I keep quiet. “I’m assuming you didn’t receive your onboarding email then?”
I shake my head no.
He takes off his glasses, and instead of putting them on the desk, he decides to have the arm skim his lips as he mutters something to himself, seeming agitated, though not at me, before he recites his email address for me to write down.
His wrist flicks up, staring at his watch that looks like a contradiction to his pristine suit, with its weathered leather band and cloudy face display.
“I’ll make sure that you receive all the onboarding documents you need.
Included in them are all the basics so we can get you on payroll, as well as some intro stuff, including the code of conduct. ”
There appears to be more he wants to say after that last part, but he leaves it at that.
“In the meantime, you can go ahead and send me the closing documents my secretary Grace sent you. I need to head to the closing in a few minutes, and I want to be able to review the few changes you may have made.”
I laugh. Unintentionally. But I can’t help it. “A few changes? I had to pull an all-nighter to get it done. I was seeing double with all the red-lining I had to do. I hope that was a boilerplate contract and not something you drafted up.”
Realization slaps me in the face that temporary position or not, that wasn’t the best way of wording how in dire need of editing the contract was.
But it’s too late. I’m not saying anything, not when there’s a visible knot sprung from his jawline as he intensely reviews my edits.
“Clearly my head was elsewhere when I put this together.” He pauses, staring at his watch once more, this time rubbing his finger over the face in what appears to be a sentimental gesture.
“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately.” There’s a tinge of sadness in his voice but just as quickly as it came on, it disappears.
“But if you’re going to work with me, you’re going to have to get used to all-nighters.
Comes with the territory unfortunately.”
“Got it.”
“Boring, I know.”
I nod in agreement, and his dimples are on full display again. “I could think of much better ways to occupy myself all night long.”
I drink him in, unintentionally, but I can’t help it. It’s as if for a moment we aren’t here…at work…but back in the mirrored room.“Me too.”
His phone sounds with a notification and just like that, we’re reminded of where we are.
“Shit. I’m going to be late.” He gathers his laptop and some folders off his desk, cramming them into his briefcase. “Where’s your office? I’ll stop by after this meeting to check in on you and see how it’s going.”
“I don’t have one.”
That causes him to pause. “What do you mean you don’t have one?”
“Exactly what I said. I don’t have one yet. I was planning on working down in the coffee shop in the lobby until I get one.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” he huffs out. “Never mind then, I’ll see you here when I get back from the closing.”
“Here, as in your office?”
He moves to the doorway. Standing at the threshold, he turns to face me. “You work for me now.”
“With,” I correct him, drawing a grin on his face. “I’m your paralegal, yes, but you don’t sign my paychecks.”
“Semantics. However you want to spin it, you’re with me now. As my paralegal, like you said. So, what’s mine is yours. It’s our office.”
I hate how much I love how that sounds.
“But…”
“No buts. You need this job, and I need…” He takes in a deep breath. “Help,” he settles for, as he lingers in the doorway.
“You’re going to be late,” I remind him, pointing to my watch free wrist in jest.
“It was really nice seeing you again.”
“Same,” I respond truthfully.
And I don’t know if I should be relieved or worried about that.