Chapter 3 Cupcakes, Confessions & Close Calls
Cupcakes, Confessions I didn’t realize people made such a mess in other people’s homes,” Gabriel said as he tossed cups and paper plates into a garbage bag.
“It’s fine. Luckily, I don’t need a cab to get home,” Laila replied, her voice cracking slightly as she tried to make light of the situation. She removed her constricting jean jacket and blew cool air over her dress in an attempt to calm herself.
“Your cupcakes were delicious, by the way,” he added while bending over to pick up discarded paper cups from the floor.
“Oh, yeah. Um... that’s great,” she responded, her gaze drifting to his posterior. It was almost midnight, and she had work in the morning—she should be tucked into her own bed instead of ogling this man.
“Maybe I overdid the celebration a little, but this tenured position means everything to me.” Gabriel sank to the edge of his sofa, taking a deep, satisfied breath. “My family lives in Morelia, Mexico, and unfortunately, we’ve had a long-distance relationship for far too long. But now, I can finally start the process of bringing them over and visit more often.”
At the mention of “family,” Laila quickly glanced at his left ring finger; it was unadorned. “That must be a wonderful feeling. I’m so happy for you—if there’s anything I can do—” she began, then stopped, realizing she had no business offering help.
“Do you know any good immigration lawyers?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Actually, I do,” she said with a smile. “Me.”
“I’m aware, Mrs. Malik—I did a little light Googling on you,” he replied sheepishly.
“You did?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Why?”
He glanced briefly at her lips. “Let’s just say when we spoke this morning, I thought you were...interesting.”
Interesting? What did that mean—was it a compliment, like ‘hot girl’ interesting, or more like ‘serial killer’ interesting? She needed more time—more time with him to understand what she was feeling and why. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Let me be your lawyer.”
“ Perdóneme ?” he asked, raising his left eyebrow.
Mesmerized, she gave a little laugh to cover the awkward silence. “I mean, if you’re looking for an immigration lawyer, I can help.” She moved over to the couch, retrieved her purse, and pulled out a business card. “My office is only a few blocks away. You should come by next week so we can discuss your case in detail.”
He looked at the address, perplexed. “If your office is only a few blocks away, why were you taking the Metra this morning?”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she realized her faux pas. “Oh, um, I was meeting a client in Logan Square. But then I realized I didn’t have her file with me.”
He met her gaze. “Because you left your work bag at home?”
Laila swallowed uncomfortably. Why did she feel like she was facing an inquisition? He took the card from her, his fingers lightly brushing hers. “Thank you, Penthouse. I’m going to take you up on this offer.”
She smiled in relief that he had abandoned his line of questioning. “You have a very pretty smile,” he said, lightly touching her cheek.
Alarm bells rang in her head. It was one thing to covet a man from afar, but until now, every desire had lived only in her imagination. Could she really do this? Was she capable of stepping out on her husband?
Noticing her discomfort, Gabriel backed away and walked over to the antique record player in the corner. Laila felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Did she want him to make a move? Should she make one herself? And what did “making a move” even look like in this day and age?
“Oh, that actually works,” she said, distracted by the music emanating from the record player.
“Of course it works—it belonged to my grandfather. He believed everything should have a purpose.”
A sweet melody swirled through the air. “And, um... what is the purpose of this music?” she asked, unnerved as he walked toward her.
“The purpose of this song is to dance with the beautiful woman in my living room,” Gabriel said, extending his hand. She placed her hand in his as he led her to the center of the floor. With one arm around her waist and the other holding her hand, he expertly twirled her into a position where they fit perfectly—hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, her bare feet brushing against his socks. Her breath caught in her throat, and for the first time in a long time, she had no idea what would come next.
“The song is called ‘ Adoro ’ by Armando Manzanero—a famous singer from the ’70s. May I translate the lyrics for you?”
She nodded, acutely aware of her breasts pressing into his chest and the heat of his hand on her lower back. All the blood rushed to her head, leaving her a bit unsteady as he looked at her—as if no one else in the world existed.
In his low, mesmerizing voice, Gabriel began to speak while holding her gaze with his liquid, honey-brown eyes:
“I adore the street where we saw each other, and the night we met. I adore the things you tell me and our happy moments. I adore them all, my love. I adore the way you smile—and the way you sometimes scold me. I adore the silkiness of your hands and the kisses we share. I’m dying to have you next to me. Close—really close—because you are my existence, my sensations. You’re my moon, you’re my sun.”
Laila forgot to breathe as her hands tangled in his hair. His arms enveloped her, his fingers lightly caressing her spine, drawing her even closer. She could feel his warmth through her thin cotton dress. They stopped dancing, and her breath hitched as her gaze met his—deep, dark eyes filled with a longing that made her legs wobble.
Wait—she was married. She struggled to remember this. She was married to a man named Jay. He didn’t deserve this.
And yet every fiber of her being longed to be nearer to Gabriel—to feel his skin against hers. She was an inch away from tasting his lips. But she knew that if she did, she would forget who she was. She would forget the Laila Malik she had spent a lifetime creating. If she tasted him, she would never recover.
Summoning an inner strength she didn’t know she possessed, she pushed down the tide of heat threatening to engulf her. Reluctantly, she uttered the words that would bring them back to reality, “I should go. My husband comes home in the morning.”
A flicker of disappointment and irritation flashed in his eyes before Gabriel nodded in understanding. “That would be wise.”
In Laila’s rush to leave, she left her shoes behind.
Present Day
July 8th
Los Angeles
Kat Kar
Kat kicked off her Converse and settled into the plush business class seat. Slipping on her noise-canceling headphones, she tuned out the pilot as he began to drone: “Welcome aboard Flight 171 non-stop from LAX to Chicago. The approximate flight time will be four hours and fifteen minutes. We invite you now to fasten your seat belt, relax, and enjoy the flight.”
Instead, she paused to analyze her reflection in the window once again. The chic new bob suited her face beautifully—and she felt a bit smug. Thanks to Christian’s impressive contouring and highlighting skills, her features now resembled Laila’s more closely than ever.
Christian and Kat had reached a truce of sorts, both tactfully ignoring the overdue rent notice, the looming court date, and the fundraiser that was now trending on Twitter.
“Are those hot towels? I cannot believe we sit in a section that gets hot towels. I’m dead. Quick, take this video for YouTube now!” Christian’s hyper, effervescent voice erupted beside her.
Cueing the latest trendy song. Christian shimmied and swayed while theatrically raising a hot towel over her head, declaring with a saucy wink in Kat’s direction, “Jesus washed feet. But I’ll take a hot towel.”
Kat’s stomach curdled a little. Did she really look like that when she created content? God, she hoped not!
Regardless of how Christian looked now, Kat begrudgingly admitted that she had proven to be a way better asset than Kat had ever expected. It was Christian who had combed through her wallet with a fine-tooth comb, separating compromised credit cards items from those that they could still use.
Kat knew she should also be snapping photos and reels for her feed. Instead, she felt reflective as her nails lightly scraped over a piece of paper in her jacket pocket. She wasn’t sure why she had taken it out of the wallet—everything else remained intact.
But these few words stayed with her:
“I am made and remade continually
Different people draw different words from me”
Virginia Woolf
1 Week Ago
June 28th
Chicago
Laila Malik
Something about him made her feel undone. Laila adjusted the hem of her skirt and smoothed down the fabric of her blazer for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. She inhaled shakily. She knew what to expect—she had handled hundreds of immigration cases, met countless clients, and negotiated hard terms—but today, waiting for Gabriel by her office door, she felt strangely unprepared.
“Carol, what time is it now?” Laila called out to her administrative assistant.
“Still 9:56 in the morning,” Carol replied wearily. “And the last time you asked it was 9:55. Did you want me to announce every minute?”
Laila rolled her eyes. “No, Carol. That won’t be necessary.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I could bark out the time every minute, just for the sheer fun of it. I mean, it’s not like I have any actual work to do,” Carol grumbled.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you, Carol.” Laila’s assistant was a tank of a woman—she moved very little and did even less. Laila had inherited her when she joined the firm last year. Most days, Laila spent her time doing her own casework and apologizing to Carol for some offense or another.
She heard him before she saw him.
“Hola, I am here to see Ms. Laila Malik.”
His voice triggered the fantasies she had been trying to repress all week—his eyes, those fingers, and that mouth. Oh my God, she had been so close to— no, no, no ! She sternly reprimanded herself. I am his lawyer. A full-fledged, adult lawyer. And he is my client.
Laila heard Carol make a sound she had never made before—a guttural giggle. “Oh well, you’ve come to the right place, darling.”
“Darling?” Laila mouthed silently.
“Laila is a little tied up at the moment. Can I get you anything while you wait? Sparkling water or coffee?”
Carol hadn’t offered anyone anything in the company since 1989, when she accidentally performed the Heimlich maneuver on one of the senior partners—slapping him on the back so hard that his gum popped out and landed on a client’s forehead. Laila was curious to see how this would play out.
“Oh, no thank you. I’m fine,” Gabriel replied.
“I can tell—you’re a man who likes to keep hydrated,” Carol responded coyly. “I, too, try to keep up with my girlish figure, if you know what I mean.” This was followed by another burst of giggles.
Laila shook her head in silent laughter. She needed to reign this in. Stepping outside her office, she said, “Hey, Carol, have you heard back on the Kumalo case?” Then, glancing over at Gabriel with a cool gaze, she added, “Oh hey, you’re here.”
Carol’s giggle quickly became a grumble. “Haven’t had the chance, what with you asking the time every five seconds.”
“Mr. Santos, please step into my office,” Laila greeted him courteously. She closed the door and took her seat, letting her desk loom authoritatively between them. She was in charge—and he was just another client.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably, sensing the shift between them.
“So, last week you mentioned bringing your family over. Whom specifically do you want to bring? And what is your current status in the U.S.? Are you a citizen or a resident alien?”
“I currently have a green card.” He handed her a manila envelope filled with documents. “I would like to bring my two sons into the U.S.”
She tried to focus on his words, but her eyes wandered over him instead. His hair was slightly damp and even curlier than last week. He kept rubbing his right eye uncomfortably—had he not been sleeping well? Had she been on his mind?
He looked at her expectantly, and she realized she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. Fumbling, she managed her next question, “And, um... who are they currently staying with?”
Gabriel hesitated before responding, “Their grandmother.”
“And their mother?” she inquired delicately.
Gabriel’s face went impassive as he looked out the window behind her. “My wife’s name is Maria Sofia.”
Laila inhaled sharply and jotted down the name. The tip of her pen broke. She took another deep breath to steady herself.
Gabriel cleared his throat and waited until she looked back up at him. When he caught her gaze, he began, “I say is because she stays with me no matter where I go. She is the love of my life—I carry her in my heart, always.” Gabriel broke eye contact and looked down at his shoes. “Maria Sofia passed away five years ago from breast cancer. That’s why I ended up taking the job here—I needed to start again. Everything reminded me of her. But I didn’t mean to leave the boys behind for that long. It’s something I regret. I didn’t think things through.”
Laila exhaled in relief that he wasn’t married, then immediately felt guilty for that relief. She took another deep breath and tried to summon the right emotions. Her heart broke for Gabriel—yes, that was the right thing to feel. Glancing up, her chest tightened with a sudden squeeze. She could see the pain in his eyes, even after all these years.
Could she be the one to kiss away his sorrow? Her hand waved off the unwanted thought as if shooing away a fly.
“We FaceTime every night, and I visit when I can—usually during the holidays. But I miss them so much. It’s hard being a long-distance parent. Adil is really into soccer—or football, as we say in Mexico—and Alejandro is quite the talented chef. His mole sauce is so good!” Gabriel continued.
“Gabriel, I’m so sorry for your loss,” Laila interrupted softly.
Gabriel tipped his head in acknowledgment of her words.
“What about their grandmother? I’m sure they’re all very close. Would you like to apply on her behalf as well, so the transition isn’t so sudden for the boys?” Laila asked.
Gabriel fiddled with his watch and shook his head jerkily. “No, just the boys.”
“Got it. Well, we need to make you a U.S. citizen first. I’ll file the paperwork to get that started. After that, we can file an I-130 petition for your two sons. The process can take up to seventeen months, but I’m here to ensure everything goes smoothly for you all.” Laila grabbed another pen and jotted down notes as they talked.
“Okay. And how much will all of that be?” Gabriel asked.
“I promise you, it will be incredibly reasonable. I’ll have Carol draw up the paperwork and email you a complete list of fees, along with a possible payment plan. I’ve handled dozens of cases like yours. I truly believe I can have your entire family here within eighteen months.” Laila closed the manila folder and couldn’t help but smile at him.
“Gracias, Laila. I’m so glad we ran into each other yesterday. I think it was destined, no?” His smile made something contract painfully in her chest.
“Well, we can’t have you missing any more football games, right?” she said, not fully meeting his eyes.
“Laila—I wanted to thank you properly for giving me some direction on all of this. I’m having an art show in L.A. next week. I would love for you to come. I’ll pay for your plane ticket. I will not take no for an answer.” He held out a hand as she began to protest.
She glanced at him, surprised that he was an artist as well as an art professor. But then again, it made sense. The tattoos peeking out from beneath his otherwise crisp button-down hinted at something raw beneath the polished exterior. She didn’t know why, but it made her want to peel back his shirt and see what else lay hidden underneath.
Her gaze lingered a second too long, and she quickly snapped herself out of it. This was ridiculous. She was his lawyer, not some starry-eyed teenager with a crush. She cleared her throat and struggled to maintain the facade of their lawyer-client relationship.
“That’s not necessary. I’m swamped with work. I don’t have a minute to spare—”
“It’s important. Consider it work-related. I’ve seen you in your place of work, and I’d like you to see me in mine.”
She finally met his eyes and instantly wished she hadn’t—they were dark and all-encompassing. She could feel herself falling in with no way out.
She shook her head and cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. She was married. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t.
But when was the last time she’d taken a trip out of town? Staring at Gabriel, it was hard to recall her own name, let alone plan a trip. He was right, though—she was overdue for a much-needed vacation. Not even a vacation, just a quick holiday. In and out. No harm, no foul.
His laugh sparkled through the air, causing her to smile.
“I can see you’re changing your mind.”
“How?” she asked.
“Your eyes give everything away,” he said, walking over to her desk and leaning forward. He smirked. “Never play poker, Penthouse. You won’t win.”
The challenge irked her. “I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. Don’t count me out yet, Mr. Santos,” she replied, her voice taking on a husky, suggestive quality she barely recognized.
Gabriel’s eyes roamed over her, bathing her in his heat. “I’m looking forward to seeing you in Los Angeles, Penthouse. Bring a swimsuit—just in case.”
Gabriel’s smile sent a shiver down her spine.
“I am looking forward to being seen,” Laila responded with her own enigmatic smile.