Chapter 5
Laura
At work the next day, he seems different. Something is going on and he isn’t the best at hiding it. Barking orders, getting angry with others over nothing… what is his problem?
The piercing ring of the telephone shatters my concentration and I wince, glancing over at Mr. De La Cruz. His jaw is clenched as he barks into the receiver, one hand clutching at the papers on his desk.
I study him through my lashes, taking in the furrow between his brows and the tension radiating from his broad shoulders.
There is something almost predatory about the way he prowls around the office, all coiled energy and restrained aggression.
What will it take to crack that impenetrable facade of his?
“This is unacceptable!” Mr. De La Cruz slams the phone down, startling me from my thoughts. I jerk back, eyes widening at the fury etched into his handsome features. My heart lurches into my throat.
He rakes a hand through his hair, mussing the dark strands. I bite my lip, fighting the ridiculous urge to smooth them back into place. Get a grip, Laura! This is your boss, not some heartthrob.
Mr. De La Cruz pins me with a glare, chest heaving. “Did you finish reviewing the Thompson briefs?”
I swallow hard, scrambling to compose myself. “Y-yes, sir. I left them on your desk with my notes and recommendations.”
For a moment he just stares at me, dark eyes inscrutable. Then he sighs and the fight seems to drain from his body. He slumps into his chair, all the bluster and bravado fading away to reveal a glimpse of the man beneath.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, Ms. Stevens,” he says.
My lips curve into a wry smile. “No need to apologize, sir. I’m familiar with difficult clients.” After all, I had plenty of experience dealing with the most difficult client of all.
“Even so.” A ghost of a smile flickers across his face and my traitorous heart skips a beat. “It’s unprofessional.”
“With all due respect, you’re only human.” I shrug, aiming for nonchalance. “We all have our moments.”
For a long moment, he gazes at me with an unreadable expression. I fidget under the weight of his stare, wondering if I overstepped. Then he huffs out a soft laugh and shakes his head.
“How on earth did I get so lucky as to get you, Ms. Stevens?”
My cheeks flush with pleasure at the compliment. Maybe I am getting closer to cracking that tough exterior after all.
I clear my throat, willing my blush to fade. “Shall we order in some dinner? I’m afraid it’s rather late and we still have more work left to do.”
“An excellent suggestion. Chinese?”
“Perfect.” My stomach rumbles. In the day's rush, I forgot to eat lunch.
It takes twenty minutes before the savory aroma of garlic, ginger and chili envelopes the office. We order several dishes to share, and when we eat an awkward silence falls between us.
“So, how did you first become interested in law?”
He pauses, as if deciding how much to reveal. “My father was a lawyer. He always hoped I would follow in his footsteps, so I felt obligated to pursue a law degree to please him. But I never enjoyed it.”
“Then why did you stick with it?” I ask, tilting my head. This is the most he’s ever opened up about his personal life. I hang on his every word, eager to learn more about the man behind the intimidating facade.
“Family obligations. Duty. Pressure to meet expectations.” He shrugs, a wry twist to his lips. “The usual reasons people end up in careers they don’t find fulfilling, I suppose.”
His words strike a chord in me.
I bite my lip, hesitating, then say softly, “I can understand that. My parents always wanted me to become a teacher, like my mother. But I never really felt passionate about it. I just went along with their plans because I wanted to please them.”
Mr. De La Cruz’s gaze sharpens, and for a moment we simply look at each other with a kind of quiet understanding.
“So why did you become a legal assistant instead?” he asks.
I smile. “To rebel, I suppose. After graduating, I realized I couldn’t face a lifetime in a classroom. I wanted to break free, find my own path. Even if it meant disappointing my parents.”
“And do you regret your choice?” His tone is neutral, but his eyes are intensely focused on me, as if my answer matters a great deal.
“Not anymore,” I say. “Working at this firm has been challenging, but it’s helped me discover what I’m passionate about. What I’m good at.” I duck my head, feeling shy. “It’s made me realize I don’t need my parents’ approval to find fulfillment and purpose in my life.”
When I glance up again, Mr. De La Cruz is looking at me with an expression I can’t quite read. But for the first time since I met him, I sense the hardness around him softening, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability beneath. My cheeks warm, but I can’t tear my gaze away from his.
At that moment, something shifts between us. An understanding passed, fragile yet profound, and the distance I always sensed narrowed into something that feels almost like intimacy.
I clear my throat and look away, breaking the spell. But the feeling lingers, and when I risk another glance at Mr. De La Cruz, I find him watching me with a curious half-smile.
“What is it?” I ask, self-conscious.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “I was just thinking...”
“Thinking what?” I prompt when he doesn’t continue.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “That maybe I misjudged you. I expected an eager young woman desperate to please. But you’re not that at all, are you?”
My heart swells at the compliment, spoken so grudgingly yet with such conviction. “I just want to do good work,” I say. “To contribute something meaningful. I think we both want the same things, in the end.”
“Do we?” He arches an eyebrow, but his tone is light, teasing. “Well, I suppose there are worse faults to share with one’s assistant.”
I laugh, the sound bright and airy in the cozy confines of the office. When is the last time I laughed like that with Mr. De La Cruz? If ever?
The thought sobers me, and I glance at the clock on the wall with a start. It is midnight, and we still have a full day ahead. Yet despite the late hour, I am less tired than I have been in weeks.
As I gather the empty takeout containers, I catch Mr. De La Cruz’s eye again and we share a private smile, full of promise and understanding.
Yes, something has shifted between us tonight.
And as I make my way home through the empty streets, I hope, perhaps for the first time, that it is only the beginning.
The next morning, I arrive at the office with a spring in my step and a latte in each hand. When I enter the lobby, Mr. De La Cruz is already there, poring over a stack of case files.
He looks up at the sound of my footsteps, and for a moment we just gaze at each other, a wealth of unspoken thoughts passing between us. Then he clears his throat and looks away, a hint of color touching his cheeks.
“You’re late,” he grumbles, but there is no real irritation in his tone. I hide a smile and hold out one latte in offering.
After a brief pause, he takes it with a muttered “Thank you.” Our fingers brush in the exchange, and a spark of electricity shoots up my arm at the contact.
Mr. De La Cruz’s eyes flick to mine, dark and fathomless, and I wonder if he feels it too, the subtle charge in the air between us. But he only takes a sip of his latte and says, “We have a meeting with the partners at nine. Be ready.”
I nod, suddenly flustered. What am I thinking, bringing him coffee like we are friends? Like anything has really changed? Mr. De La Cruz will always be my demanding, abrasive boss, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.
With a frown, I retreat to my desk and immerse myself in work, trying to ignore the confused tangle of emotions inside. But every so often I glance up and find Mr. De La Cruz watching me, a pensive look on his face, and a traitorous warmth blossoming in my chest.
Whatever this is between us, it is far from over. The bonds we forged last night, over cold sesame chicken and confessions whispered in the dark, have woven us. And try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change.