Chapter 13
Alice Mendes
The memories from Friday are still stuck in my head.
I take a deep breath, recalling my boss's lips claiming mine in a frantic, forbidden dance.
The way he held me in his lap, like he wanted to crush me against him, left its mark.
I could feel him hard beneath me, and the memory makes me blush.
An unexpected heat rushes through my body, and I try to snap back to the present—I need to be fully composed when he arrives.
I don't want him to notice how much that moment still rattles me.
I shift in my chair, forcing myself to focus on the computer screen. I'm responding to an email confirming a lunch with Mr. Gabriel to discuss contract details. I try to keep my mind on work, but every word I type feels overshadowed by the memory of the weekend.
Then the elevator door opens. Oliver steps out. The firm click of his shoes against the floor echoes all the way to my desk. His eyes land on me, and for an instant, I get the feeling he can read my thoughts. I swallow hard, shake my head, and pretend everything's normal.
“Good morning, Mr. Oliver. How was your weekend?”
He stares at me, his expression serious and distant.
“Good morning, miss. It was fine. Come to my office. Bring coffee and the tablet so we can go over this week's schedule.”
His voice is firm, impersonal. But his gaze lingers a second too long on my flushed face. Does he remember too? Of course he does. Hell, this isn't going to work.
I stand up and prepare the coffee the way he likes it—strong, no sugar. While the machine runs, I catch my reflection in the metal of the coffee maker. My cheeks are still red. I take a deep breath, grab the tray and the tablet, and head to his office.
The entire morning slips away in a blur of messages and rescheduled meetings.
Oliver talks about contracts, figures, and commitments, and I try to write everything down without getting lost. But every now and then, our eyes meet briefly.
The air in the room feels heavier. I grip the pen tightly, as if it's the only thing keeping me grounded.
Before I know it, it's almost lunchtime. I stand up from my desk with relief, eager to get out of there.
“Alice, want to grab lunch?” Catarina appears beside my desk, smiling.
“Sure, just let me shut everything down and we can go.”
“I'll wait.” She leans against the desk, curious, watching me rush.
I let Mr. Oliver know I'm leaving. He just nods with a curt “hmm,” without looking up. I press the elevator button and sigh. My heart is still racing.
We head down together and decide to have lunch at a restaurant we love, a bit far from the hotel. Once we're in the car, Catarina looks at me with that expression of someone who smells a secret.
“You're acting weird today. Are you going to tell me what's going on?”
I take a deep breath. I can't hide it.
“Oliver kissed me.”
She chokes.
“What?!”
“It happened Friday. He drove me home.”
“You naughty girl!” She nearly shouts. I signal for her to keep it down.
“Shut up, Cata.” I point at the driver.
“So tell me! How was your first kiss?”
I gaze out the window, but I can't hold back a shy smile.
“It was wonderful… I didn't know kissing could feel like that.”
“I knew you'd like it.” She laughs. “But what happened after?”
“Nothing. He stopped suddenly and left. Today he acted like nothing happened.” I huff in frustration. “Why are men so confusing?”
“Calm down. If he liked it, he'll come looking for you again. But is that what you want?”
The question catches me off guard. Honestly, I didn't expect to have to answer, and I'm not sure what to say.
“I don't know… Part of me wants to, but another part thinks it's better to keep my distance. He's my boss. I can't get involved.”
Catarina crosses her arms.
“You're right. So forget about it.”
The car pulls up in front of our favorite restaurant.
The atmosphere is cozy, filled with the aroma of herbs and freshly baked bread.
We sit at our usual table near the window.
The conversations around us blend into a pleasant murmur, but I can barely pay attention.
The memory of the kiss keeps coming back.
After lunch, we head back to work. The day passes normally, but the tension lingers. Oliver stays in his office with the door closed and doesn't call me once. I try to focus on reports and emails, but my hands tremble slightly as I type. I knock on his door twice, offering help. He always responds:
“I don't need anything, miss. Thank you!”
His curt words feel like an invisible barrier.
At the end of the workday, I work up the courage to knock again.
“What do you want now?” His voice cuts through the door, cold and louder than usual.
“Just letting you know the workday is over, and if you don't need anything else, I'm heading out.”
A few seconds pass before the response comes:
“You can go. Have a good evening.”
I swallow hard and respond.
“Good night, sir.”
I close the door slowly, as if afraid of breaking the silence that's settled over the room. I walk to my desk and gather my things. My heart still pounds in my chest, and I'm confused. Is he really going to pretend nothing happened? Maybe it's better this way.
I take a deep breath, promising myself that tomorrow will be a new day. But deep down, I can't stop wishing things would be different.