Chapter 12
Lucia
Flashes of the night before heat my skin, a welcome side effect in the morning’s icy wind. Last night was…memorable. My body is utterly, gloriously used.
We ate straight from the dish, with blankets across our shoulders and little else. We never opened the wine. He crinkled his nose at my discount purchase and mumbled something about hangovers. But I made tea, and we talked and laughed like friends. Like he wasn’t the wealthiest person I’d ever come in contact with, like he wasn’t sending my boss into nervous fits with worries he’d take his job on a rapid escalator to the top, like I wasn’t an executive assistant with little hope of becoming more unless I secured a job elsewhere. If I was a Swiss citizen, the chances of promotion might be greater, but I’m not.
Yes, my days in Switzerland are ending. Whether I move to Portugal or another EU country, with my Lumina work experience, eventually I’ll net out with a proper livelihood.
My body hums with optimism, which is odd. Maybe all I needed was a good night of hot sex to drag me out of my doldrums.
The departure of my friends had me down, but a revolving door is part of the expat life. People move. And my turn approaches.
Sex with a handsome, skilled gentleman feels like a splendid goodbye kiss. A cherry on top of an era spent exploring an unknown part of the world while stashing money for my family. With my Miguel in prison now, along with my father, there’s no one to send money to. My brother should have come with me to Portugal. But he didn’t.
The Brazilian prison system needs an overhaul and I won’t be overhauling anything on my income, which the attorney I hired made clear. But I can focus on my life. Save up to secure my independence and eventual retirement. What Aline and Geraldo have in Portugal is lovely, and I can have that one day too.
These things I knew yesterday. Yet somehow, after a night of multiple orgasms, I feel it in my soul today. The thought has me smiling, and because my scarf covers the lower half of my face, there’s no need to hide it.
I push into Lumina’s lobby and stop inside the doors, stomping on a damp mat. Elias assists a delivery person, signing for something, but he smiles at me in greeting. I wave my badge at the entry point and the glass door glides open.
In the elevator, I’m joined by two executives. My heels are in my bag at my side, and I wish I was wearing them instead of my old rain boots. I’m late. Both of the executives are in dress shoes, underscoring they’ve already arrived and changed shoes.
Tristan didn’t make it easy to leave the bed this morning. He suggested a shower, but then took another look at my tub situation and set about finding new ways we could join against the wall. A lovely start to the day, but I was late starting the tub and I couldn’t exactly skip bathing after our excursions last night.
The elevator door opens and one executive asks, “What song are you humming?”
The question takes me a second, as I didn’t expect him to speak to me. Was I humming? The elevator door glides and I’m frozen, watching it close but not reactive to either stall it or answer.
“Pas de probleme,” He says just as the door closes. The last thing I hear him say in French is that he can’t place the song.
I don’t hum music, so it’s confusing he thought I was the source of music. But I’m running late, and as I rush down the hall, Mr. Peltz’s office door is open. Shite. I’m later than I thought. Tristan’s office door is closed, as expected. He had to make it home and shower before coming in. There’s no way he could beat me.
My stomach tosses about like a boat on a windy day at the thought of seeing him again. He’ll be in his professional armor and assume his position in an office. And I’ll be at my desk in the hallway, setting about like I’ve never seen him naked. Like I don’t know what his face looks like as he comes, how his skin flushes, or how he feels pulsing deep inside me.
All things I cannot consider. I must put the memories away. With my heels on and my computer coming to life, I scurry down the hall to check on my boss.
But he’s not alone.
Mrs. Wagner stands near his desk, arms crossed below her breasts. Her glare halts me in the doorway.
“Ah, sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to let you know I’m in. I’m sorry, we lost utilities last night, and it took me a bit?—”
Mr. Peltz’s hand waves. “Nasty storm last night. Can you get me some coffee? Mine is—” He holds Carasso branded ceramic mug up in a gesture I’ve been trained to understand means he needs more.
“Absolutely. Would you care for anything, ma’am?”
“No, thank you.”
Based on the firm set of her lips, she’s quite cross. But, it can’t be to do with me. Can it? What would she care if I’m late? And she can’t possibly know what happened last night.
I repeat this to myself over and over while retrieving Mr. Pelz’s coffee. If I hadn’t ridden her son last night like a horny cowgirl, I wouldn’t be thinking twice about her expressions. I’d know that once again she and Mr. Pelz were having a disagreement. There’s nothing for me to get worked up over. Nothing to do with me at all, actually. Any other scenario is an impossibility.
My stride slows as the voices within the office drift down the executive hallway.
“Nelson.” Her tone has the heat of a woman about to lose her shit. I pause and hope my boss has the good sense to recognize he’s about to detonate dynamite.
“Victoria. I thought you would be pleased. ZenFire is our most valuable client.”
“That account won’t grow. It’s stagnant at best. Tristan won’t be properly leveraged. We must have fifty account reps on that account.”
“We?”
I take a step back to remain unseen. Mr. Pelz isn’t backing down.
“I’m still on the board. Do I need to remind you of that? We may no longer have majority control, but we have a significant interest. This is still very much?—”
There’s a pause and I take another step back. The coffee threatens to jostle over the rim.
“It’s still your company. You can say it.” He sounds more congenial now.
“I simply think Nova Pharmaceutical is a client with growth potential. And they’re based here in Switzerland, so his relationship-building skills can be put to better use.”
He has skills. I’ll give her that.
“Victoria, everyone has offices in Switzerland.”
“You know what I mean. The power players for ZenFire are in New York.”
“This is his first job out of university.”
The unspoken addendum is that Tristan is in his mid-thirties. I can’t blame Mr. Peltz, though. This is his department. If something goes wrong, he can’t exactly use placating a board member as his defense to the board. Tristan might be Miriam Victoria Wagner’s son, but I have more experience than he does. And Mr. Peltz would never trust me to build relationships with the senior executives who are, for the most part, significantly older than Tristan and far more experienced.
I do not want to interrupt, so I sit back at my desk. If the coffee gets cold, I’ll collect a fresh pour.
From my desk, I can hear heated intonations, but I can’t make out the words. And I don’t want to. As I type away at my keyboard, it feels like my parents are fighting.
Minutes pass. My fingers press against the side of the porcelain and it’s still warm. The cracked door swings wide and Mrs. Wagner exits. Her expression is muted. I’ve no way of telling if she got her way or not. Her gaze falls on me and I lower mine instantly, hand on my mouse, focus trained on Mr. Pelz’s calendar.
Her olive green suit coat comes into view and stops.
I swallow and look up, forcing a smile that I hope doesn’t give away that I’m well aware she’s been arguing with my boss.
“Tristan’s not here?”
“Ah, no ma’am.”
The door is closed. It should be obvious, but I suppose he could be in his office working away with the door closed.
“Can you ask him to call me?”
“Of course.”
She lifts her glasses and holds them between her thumb and index finger. Her nails are thick and painted a lovely pale pink.
“Are you married?”
The question has me blinking and questioning my hearing.
“Ma’am?”
“There’s no ring, but are you married?”
“No, ma’am.”
“You’re not his assistant, are you?”
“No. No.” I glance behind me at the door. “We used to use that office for storage. It was one of the few vacant offices. That’s why he’s?—”
“Good.” Her lips press into a thin line. “You’re Tristan’s type. Don’t let Nelson assign you to assist Tristan. Do you hear me?” She steps back, like she’s looking for something. “Lucia. That’s your name, right?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You don’t want to deal with that.” She waves her hand at the closed door. “Trust me. Stay well away from him. He’s my son, and I love him dearly, but…” She slips her glasses back on. “You’ve been here quite a while, correct?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Do you have any interest in cosmetics?”
“Victoria,” Mr. Pelz calls from within his office. “Don’t go pilfering my employees.”
She grins at me. “He’s so touchy.”
We share a smile and I feel like I’m in on something. But then her heels click away and I’m left with a message for Tristan to call his mum, and instructions to refuse to assist her son.