10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Camila Flores
M r. Godoy said he’d be in the office tomorrow, and I’m a bundle of nerves. I’ve gotten used to working with him remotely. I can ignore his comments when they’re hurtful, and it’s easy to simply send him the files he needs if he ever requests anything that I haven’t done already.
“Mummy, can we read?” My daughter comes into my room, and I immediately know something is wrong. She’s moving slowly, and she seems tired despite us not doing much today.
“Of course. Let me see which book you brought.”
Ava rubs her eyes and climbs into my bed, making a great effort. I don’t like this one bit.
She had a chelation treatment a couple of days ago, but she usually perks up a day or two after the excess iron is removed. I hope she wakes up feeling better in the morning. Otherwise, I’ll have to take the day off tomorrow, and I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it—especially with it being Mr. Godoy’s first day back in the office.
“What’s wrong, Mummy?” my girl asks in a sleepy tone.
I smile big at her. I need her to fall asleep so I can figure out what to do.
“Nothing, baby.” I touch her cheek gently, and she burrows inside the covers.
I pick up the book she brought. “Oh, Interrupting Chicken . I love this one.”
I start reading, making different voices for Father Chicken and Baby Chicken. Ava giggles the entire time, and when I’m done, she asks me to read it again.
By the third read, Ava is yawning.
I place a kiss on her head, ready to carry her to her room.
“Can I sleep with you tonight, Mummy?” she asks. Her eyelids flutter, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say no to this angel.
“Of course. Good night, mi amor .”
Once Ava is sound asleep, I leave my room and fire up the computer in my living room. I haven’t had a free moment to look into the name Owen Clarke left for Mr. Godoy.
But something about it doesn’t sit well with me.
I start a simple Google search with the name “Gustavo Durán” and add “Colombia”, since that’s where I’m from and where I think I’ve heard the name before.
A dozen articles come up, with titles like, “A philanthropist and Entrepreneur Helping the Cacao Farmers in Santander.”
This piques my interest. I remember Owen mentioned wanting Mr. Godoy to expand his portfolio to include chocolate along with the wine.
I think it’s a brilliant idea. If Mr. Godoy had the manpower, he could expand Hacienda Carmen into a one-stop destination for delicacies. The farm-to-table concept is big at the moment, and adding chocolate to the portfolio would be a hit.
I read the entire article, and I’m impressed by Mr. Durán’s business model and his credentials. He has successful partnerships in Mexico, Panama, and Peru. It’s only understandable that he wants to expand his business. Chile’s economy is dynamic and growing rapidly.
But why would a man with so much power need a middle man to speak with Mr. Godoy? Why not contact him directly?
I create a document with all the facts I’ve found and a couple of ideas I want to share about Mr. Godoy—just in case he decides to add this venture to his portfolio.
Before going to bed, I decide to bake a batch of cookies. I want to make a good impression tomorrow, and as my mom used to say, there’s no better way to a man’s heart than through the stomach.
Of course, I’m not doing this because I think Vicente Godoy is hot as sin, or because, lately, every time I use my pink dildo, it’s him I imagine pulling my hair as he enters me from behind.
No. I’m doing this because if I want a better life for me and Ava, I need to keep this job.
I’m up and moving before my alarm goes off. Ugh. I needed my beauty sleep today more than ever. I haven’t been this excited since I was preparing everything ready for Ava’s arrival before she was born.
I left the cookies cooling last night and prepared the icing as well, so all I have to do this morning is pipe the icing and decorate them. I hope they dry by the time I head out.
Ava is back to her little, happy self this morning, and I raise a silent thank you prayer to heaven above. I hate that there’s only so much I can do to keep my baby comfortable during her treatments.
“Do we have time for pancakes, Mummy?” Ava asks as she joins me in the kitchen.
My heart bursts with pride every time I see her getting ready all by herself. She started showing signs of independence around her fourth birthday.
I remember her asking, “What can I do as a four-year-old that I couldn’t at three?”
I bit my lip hard not to laugh—there she was turning four but thinking like a teenager.
“I’m sorry, baby. We have to hurry today. I made you porridge and cut some fruit for you, but I promise we’ll make chocolate chip pancakes this weekend,” I say, rushing around.
She immediately perks up and sits down to eat. What did I ever do to deserve this angel?
After doing my makeup and looking in the mirror for far too long, I check the cookies one last time. Luck must be on my side because they turned out perfect. I can’t wait for Mr. Godoy to try them.
I make it to the office in record time. After leaving my bag and the cookies on my desk, I head to the kitchen to brew some coffee and boil water for tea. Since it’s Mr. Godoy’s first day back, I feel like I have to cover all my bases—coffee, cookies, tea.
What if he asks for a mate ? No, I don’t think Chileans drink mate. At least, I hope he doesn’t, because I didn’t bring any.
I’m staring at the coffee maker while it brews, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee takes me back to the days I would help my mom make breakfast. I remember I felt so grown up serving coffee to the adults, especially since I wasn’t allowed to have any until I turned sixteen.
“Your boss is here,” Samantha, the receptionist says as she enters the kitchen.
I jump, startled.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to scare you,” she says as she puts her lunch in the fridge.
The kitchen is a nice, big room with three cafe tables and about a dozen chairs. A fridge, a microwave, a coffee maker, and a kettle fill the space on the counter. There’s plenty of snacks and different kinds of drinks. Though there are no windows, the walls are decorated with pictures of a vineyard. I assume they are from the Godoys’ vineyard in Chile.
I try to smile as I take a couple of calming breaths, but I’m all jittery before heading to my office.
“Ms. Flores, good morning. I see you decided to be late today.”
I stop in my tracks as I see my boss leaning back against the front of my desk. He’s wearing a dark gray three-piece suit with a pink tie. His hair is perfectly coiffed—just the right amount of gel to make it look like he combed it without making it stiff. He’s freshly shaved this morning, and although he looks incredible, I must admit the scruff he sported back in Chile made him sexier.
He still looks good enough to eat, though.
“Oh, so now you’re mute?” he says, and the scowl that forms on his handsome face squashes the lust I was feeling a second ago.
“No, of course not. You just caught me by surprise. I was actually just brewing coffee and tea, in case you wanted some,” I say as heat creeps up my neck.
I can feel my face getting warmer by the second. Did he notice I was ogling him?
“I appreciate you trying to get stuff ready for me, but if I want a coffee or a tea, I can ask Samantha. Or anyone else.”
I frown. Why anyone but me?
“I’m sorry, Mr. Godoy, but as your assistant I felt bringing you a drink was a part of my job.”
“Executive assistant,” he corrects me.
I give him a curt smile. He’s not going to let this go, and I’m too damn stubborn to let it go, either.
“Fair enough. Why don’t you let me do it this one time, since I already brewed it? That way, I didn’t completely waste my time.”
He huffs, messing up his hair as he passes a hand over it a couple of times. “Fine, but hurry.” He starts walking toward his office. “And bring your tablet when you get back,” he says and shuts the door.
I release a deep breath. “So much for leaving a good first impression,” I murmur as I make my way back to the kitchen.
I prepare him a coffee just like my grandma used to drink it in the mornings back on her farm in Guarne, Colombia: dark roasted, no sugar, and a dash of cinnamon. If he feels he needs something sweet, he can have a cookie or two. He definitely needs some sweetness in his life.
I knock on his door before I go in. “Excuse me, Mr. Godoy.”
“Come in, Ms. Flores.”
As soon as I open the door, I’m taken aback by how powerful he looks behind that desk. He’s wearing glasses, and whatever he’s looking at on the computer screen has his undivided attention.
I add a bit more cadence to my step as I walk to his desk, setting down the tray with his coffee and a plate of my cookies.
“What’s this?” he asks as he inspects the cookies. The first one he grabs looks like a couple of pink disco balls with the words Let’s boogie on it.
“Oh, I bake cookies as a side gig, and thought I would bring you a platter to celebrate your first day back at work,” I say with way more enthusiasm than I see on his face.
“A side gig,” he deadpans.
I nod.
“So, let me get this straight. You work full time for me as an executive assistant.”
I nod.
“And you’re a single mom of a little girl?”
I nod again.
“And you bake cookies as a side gig?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” I say with a chuckle.
“A woman of many talents,” he simply states, and I blush furiously at the compliment.
“I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but in the spirit of having a good first day back at work, I’m going to try one,” he says.
I smile, thankful he didn’t throw the plate, sending it flying into the air.
He takes the smallest bite, pausing to savor it. “Hmm, does it have almonds?” he finally asks as he takes a bigger bite.
“Yes, almond extract.” I beam at the fact that he catches the flavor.
“This is a really good cookie. Not too sweet, beautifully decorated. Crunchy, yet not crumbly.” He takes another bite. “It’s decadent.”
I raise an eyebrow at his description. “Wow, Mr. Godoy, you’re good.”
He smiles as he goes for another bite. And, my God, what a smile. It’s not smug or forced—it’s genuine. I wish he would do it more often; it definitely paints him in a different light.
Right this moment, the arrogant, cold, bitter boss I’m so used to dealing with is nowhere to be seen. And if I’m being completely honest, it’s a little alarming.
Because if Vicente Godoy decides to amp up the charm, I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist him. And that thought terrifies me.
“You don’t grow up in a winery and not learn the art of tasting,” he says.
When he tries the coffee, he freezes.
Oh, crap . And here I thought I was going to get a standing ovation.
“Is that cinnamon?” he asks after a few beats.
I simply nod, waiting to see what else he says.
“This combination is fantastic. I think I’m going to need this every morning.” He finishes the cookie and takes a couple more sips of his coffee. “Hats off to you, Ms. Flores. Now let’s get to work.”
I put my index and middle fingers in gun position and dance toward the chair that’s right across from Mr. Godoy.
“Let’s boogie, boss,” I say as I take the seat.
When I look up at him, he’s looking at me perplexed.
“What?”
He shakes his head as a handsome smirk forms on his face. “Nothing, it’s just that I’ve heard you say that before but never saw the dance that went along with it.”
“Well, you know your life is as bright or as miserable as you make it,” I say, shrugging as I fire up the tablet. “And I choose brightness and happiness. very single day.”
He nods, and we get to work.
I thought he was going to give me hell for it, instead we went over the different meetings he planned for today. I marvel at how easy it is to have him around. I thought he was going to be a grinch in the office, but the moment he tried the cookies and coffee, everything changed.
A little kindness goes a long way.
Right after lunch, he calls me into the office.
“Ms. Flores, I’m not sure what your arrangement is for taking care of your child, but I need you to join me for dinner tonight,” he says in a monotone voice without looking at me.
I frown. Why would he need me at dinner? Is he hitting on me? No way. My cookies aren’t that magical. Not to mention, it’d be beyond unprofessional. I mean, who asks their assistant out after the first day of work?
No, no. I need to get my head out of the gutter.
“I’m meeting my friend Owen for dinner to discuss this business idea he sent you. When I read your file on your findings about Owen’s contact in Colombia, I thought it’d be good for you to join us.”
“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Godoy. I mean, everything I know about the matter is in the file. I don’t see the need for me to join you,” I say, leaving out the fact that I’ve never not had dinner with Ava. And I can’t abuse Mrs. Evans's generosity.
I internally chuckle. Yeah, he was definitely asking me out, alright .
“You’re not just any executive assistant—you have incredible insight on this matter. I’d really like for you to join me. You can let me know by the end of the day. In the meantime, you can make reservations for three at Kioko.”
I nod and go back to my desk.
All afternoon, I mull over the idea of joining him for a business dinner. Never—not even in my wildest dreams—did I imagine dining with the rich and famous. But I just can’t spring this on Mrs. Evans, let alone on Ava.
Besides, if I don’t set boundaries from the get-go, I can foresee myself working ridiculous hours.
No. No way.
I need to tell him I couldn’t arrange care for my daughter and, unfortunately, I won’t be able to join him. I’ll be direct, but at the same time, I’ll show him that I tried.
I just hope that’s good enough for him.