Chapter Twenty-Eight
I find myself in Santi’s manager’s office on Saturday afternoon.
It’s stunning: a sleek, modern space perched high above the city. The expansive windows offer a jaw-dropping view of the city, but I barely notice the scenery as Javier rises from his desk.
He’s the picture of sophistication; the kind of man who immediately commands attention without trying. He looks to be in his mid-to-late forties, but his sharp features and the confident, almost predatory gleam in his light eyes suggest someone who’s never let time slow him down. His salt-and-pepper hair is styled with careful precision, every strand in place as if he’s spent hours perfecting it, and his navy suit fits him like it was tailored specifically for him, sharp lines running from the shoulders down to the hem.
Everything about him radiates authority - his posture, his movements and the way he holds himself - and it’s clear that he is in control of this space, exuding the kind of quiet power that’s both intimidating and magnetic.
“Olivia,” he says warmly, his hand extended toward me. His voice is deep and smooth. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“Thank you,” I reply, shaking his hand, my nerves fluttering impossibly more under his sharp, assessing gaze. “Lovely to meet you, too.”
“And Santi,” Javier adds, turning to clap Santi on the shoulder with an easy familiarity. “Always good to see you. Now please, both of you - have a seat,” Javier says, gesturing toward the plush chairs in front of his desk.
We settle in, and I feel Santi’s knee brush lightly against my own - a small but steadying gesture. I offer him a quick, closed-lip smile before I turn back to his manager.
Javier folds his hands on the desk, his gaze shifting between the two of us.
“I’ve been following the media coverage recently,” he begins, his tone measured and professional. “And I think we have an opportunity here, Olivia. You’re clearly someone with substance, someone who has a story worth telling. I think it’s time the world saw that.”
I blink at him, startled.
“A story worth telling?” I repeat.
“Right now, the media has reduced you to a soundbite. A supporting character in our dear Santiago’s life. But we know that’s not who you are,” he says. “Santi tells me that you’re launching a programme that will have a real impact on the local community, meaning you’re making an actual difference in these kids’ lives. That’s what we need to highlight. That’s the narrative we need to put out there.”
I hesitate, glancing down at my hands.
“You make it sound much more interesting than it actually is. I’m just… not sure people actually care about any of that.”
“They will,” Javier says confidently. “We will give them no choice but to care. Plus, it’s authentic - and that’s what people respond to. ”
“And how would you... highlight this, exactly?” I ask, still cautious.
“Feature stories,” Javier explains smoothly. “Local papers. Perhaps a couple of key interviews. Nothing too invasive, I promise. The goal is simple: to showcase the real you. Have you appreciated for who you are outside of being the girlfriend of Spain’s beloved Santiago Ortiz.”
“I don’t know,” I say, shifting uncomfortably. “It feels a little risky. I don’t want to bring any weird attention to the school, or the kids. They don’t deserve to be scrutinised.”
Javier’s expression softens slightly, and he nods in understanding.
“That’s a valid concern, and one we’ll address. We can keep details about the school vague. No names, no specifics. The focus will be on the programme itself and the broader impact, not on individual students or the school’s identity. Your privacy and theirs will be protected.”
“Are you sure you can do that?” I ask, glancing at Santi for reassurance.
“Yes,” Javier says firmly. “We’ll work with trusted outlets, ones I’ve dealt with for years. This won’t be about sensationalism. It’s about showcasing something meaningful.”
“And if anyone crosses that line?” I press. “If someone digs too deep or tries to twist the narrative?”
“Then we shut it down,” Javier says simply, his tone steady. “You have my word, Olivia. Your boundaries will be respected.”
Santi leans closer, his voice gentle.
“You’re in control, Olivia. This is your story, and you get to decide how much, or how little, you want to share.”
“Okay,” I say finally, my voice steady but cautious. “I’m willing to try, but I want everything about the school and the kids to stay anonymous. I won’t risk their privacy for this.”
“Understood,” Javier says, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “And I think you’ll find that this will be something you’re proud of. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
Santi reaches over and places a hand on mine, his thumb brushing gently against my knuckles.
“You’re going to be amazing,” he says softly.
The warmth in his voice and the steadiness of his gaze make it hard to doubt him.
After a few more clarifications and assurances, the meeting begins to wind down. As we stand to leave, Javier extends his hand towards me.
“I’m glad we had this conversation,” he says sincerely. “You’re everything Santiago said you were, and more.”
“Thank you,” I reply, shaking his hand, my nerves tempered by a small flicker of hope.
As we step out of Javier’s office and head over towards the elevator, I glance at Santi, my thoughts still racing.
“You okay?” he asks.
“I think so,” I say. “It’s just... a lot to process. Although you’d almost think I’d be used to that by now.”
“You’re stronger than you think, you know. And I promise you, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
I nod, leaning into his side as the elevator doors slide open. It hums softly as we begin our descent, and I can feel the weight of the meeting still hanging in the air.
“You’re quiet,” Santi remarks, his voice low but teasing. “Are you sure you’re okay? ”
I smile at him, though it feels a little forced.
“I’m fine, honestly.”
Santi raises an eyebrow, his gaze never leaving me. “If there’s anything you need to know more about - any questions that you have - you know you can talk to me about them, right? Or even Javier. You can go to him at any time.”
“I guess,” I murmur, though my mind is still processing everything.
I try to remind myself that this could be a good opportunity, a chance to reclaim control of my story.
But something about the entire concept feels unsettling.
The elevator doors open, and we step out into the bright lobby. The rush of air conditioning is a relief after the warmth of the meeting room, and I can hear Santi’s footsteps falling perfectly in line with mine as we walk toward the exit.
His strong hand reaches out to me, and I smile as our fingers intertwine.
“Have you thought about what you want to focus on first?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Honestly, I haven’t thought that much on the actual story side of things. It seems so weird.”
Santi gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Well, this isn’t all on you. We can figure it out together. So long as you want my help, I’ll be right there with you.”
His words are calming, but the unease still lingers.
We step outside, and the city streets are buzzing with their usual energy, packed-out on account of the weekend. People bustle past us, hurrying to their destinations as a street band performs music somewhere in the distance .
It’s all a bit much for me to process right now, and I’m more than a little overstimulated.
“I think we should go home,” I say, glancing up at him. “I could really do with a quiet night.”
Santi smiles at me, his green eyes softening. “Of course,” he says, the warmth in his voice making my chest flutter. “My place?”
I nod, and as we make our way back to his penthouse, I can’t help but wonder if this really will be a turning point for me. Both Santi and Javier seem confident that it will all work out fine, but I’m worried things won’t be quite that simple and straightforward.