4 - ADAM
I swallow an aspirin. The third one today. They’re the only thing that numbs my mind against the memories. I’m not proud to admit I self-medicate to sleep, either. The nights always bring her back to me—Candy.
The meeting ends and I return to my office.
I stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, looking at the city below, everything so tiny.
I smile. Another contract signed. My phone vibrates in my pocket.
My father wants to know how it went. The old man may have “retired,” but he still can’t let go of the reins. He’s pleased with the news.
Olavo walks in unannounced, interrupting thoughts that were already betraying me, leading me back to her.
He doesn’t need to be announced. Before his current role as CEO of Amazing View Construtora, Olavo was—and still is—my childhood friend.
The Trajano family lives in the same upscale gated community as my parents.
Olivia and Omar, like my own parents, don’t mind their son’s wild lifestyle as long as he keeps things professional.
Olavo’s more reckless than me, I’ll say that much.
He hands me more paperwork. Says everything’s been reviewed, another transaction complete. Perfect.
David knocks twice, then three times—I know what you’re thinking—on the door and enters.
The jerk came up with this routine after he caught me eating—and yes, I know, your mind went there again—an Insano from McDonald’s.
Hey, I was craving it! Anyway, according to him, I should hide these things before he sees them.
I get it—I’ve had my share of bullying in life.
He brings more folders. He stood out at Oxford, and we brought him into the company—one of the factors that reinforced our parents’ plan.
David suffered the most from Olavo’s antics.
As for me, well, I had to uphold the Devereaux name. More or less...
As we wrap up business matters—before David can say he’s going to meet his wife, which is his usual excuse to leave—Olavo asks if either of us has been in touch with the hookers from Cecil’s in S?o Paulo.
David tells him to shut up, insisting there were no hookers anywhere, glancing around as if Paula or someone else might hear us.
In my closed office. He’s incredibly neurotic and uptight, a million times more than me.
So yeah, imagine how much he suffered—still suffers—from Olavo’s schemes. That guy always gets what he wants.
The situation reminds me of the day when both of them, in practically the same spots, looked at me and Olavo—of course—asked how we’d handle my bachelor party.
I shut him down. And, incredibly, David got excited.
I found that strange. Then I understood.
Fucking assholes. They’d clearly already set everything up.
Sure enough. I listened while they schemed, as if planning it all for the first time.
It wouldn’t have been hard for me to agree anyway.
I love a well-planned party. But... it was almost funny watching them put on a show for me.
I loosened my tie, crossing my arms at the scene.
No one knew about our little adventure. For all intents and purposes, we traveled on business.
During the day, that’s exactly what it was.
We attended meetings, visited project sites in S?o Paulo, and signed contracts that could easily have been handled digitally.
So why bother? The plan was something else entirely.
I didn’t intend to sleep with anyone. I just wanted one last blowout with my best friends.
Then that blonde bewitched me with her hips swaying back and forth. With her smile, shy and hungry all at once. With her body coiling around mine in the middle of the dance floor.
I don’t know if it was the alcohol rushing through my veins, buzzing in my brain, but I wanted to give the world to that sorceress.
Candy, so beautiful beneath me, on top of me. Me inside her.
A smile tugs at my lips as I remember running to find an ATM to withdraw more cash. I don’t know how much my friends paid the group of prostitutes for the party, but as I said, Candy deserved the world—no, the universe. Pleasure had never been so intense. In every sense.
My trip down memory lane made me miss part of their discussion. When I snap back, David is leaving the office, slamming the door—figure of speech, since it has a damper. His gesture makes the intention clear, along with some kind of shout I don’t quite register, just an echo in my recent memory.
“He agreed back at the airport too, and now he pulls this.” Olavo stands with his arms spread, looking at me. “Come on, Adam, that idiot’s overreacting. You agree there’s nothing wrong with it, right?”
“I...”
“You’re hard? Seriously? Just from talking about the hookers, you get hard? Damn, man!”
“Olavo, do whatever you think is best for your life, man.” I don’t bother hiding my erection. We’ve seen plenty of each other’s over the years. Nothing embarrasses us at this point. The question is, what does he mean by “talking about the hookers”?
“Exactly. My wedding’s not until the end of the year, and I don’t even have a fiancée yet. I can have fun until then, and I really want to bury myself in Tatá a few more times.”
I’m still in a foggy daze when Olavo leaves my office, phone in hand. I’m not even sure I understood what just happened. All I know is that I grab my own phone and book a flight to S?o Paulo—the next one available.
I spend my days at the hotel, working remotely, making up one excuse after another without saying exactly where I am. As the days pass, I ask Olavo to cover for me. He does it without question, and I don’t worry about it either. I can tell he’s up to something too, but I don’t want to know.
I’ve been spending my nights at Cecil’s, looking for her.
Yes, it would be much easier to ask for Tatá’s contact—or whoever they hired for the bachelor party—to get in touch with Candy.
But my mind doesn’t work that way. Somehow it’s wired to keep everything in absolute secrecy, no traces, no evidence.
I can’t risk losing the merger with the Germans.
I can’t keep thinking about her like this.
I convince myself it’s just to get her out of my head. Out of me.
Nothing.
She doesn’t show up a single night. Neither do Titi or Tatá.
After almost a week of searching, I’m about to give up when I spot her at a table outside a little bar.
I tell the driver to park. Yes, it’s her.
And Tatá, I think. I snap a photo, almost send it to Olavo.
How stupid! I delete it. But not before zooming in to admire her.
I feel a tingle crawling up my legs, heat rushing to my cock.
I swallow hard. What has this woman done to me?
My fiancée’s photo appears on the screen.
“Hi, beautiful,” I answer without enthusiasm.
She calls me love—I don’t know if it’s to convince me or herself.
We know we don’t love each other. Not the way we should.
I know we’re infatuated. That much is true.
We believe love will grow in marriage. To be honest, I don’t know anything anymore, because if I’m infatuated with her, how does this blonde affect me so much?
She wants to confirm we won’t see each other these next few days.
Her family has this custom, tradition, something like that.
The bride and groom can’t see each other for days before the wedding, so the passion will be even more overwhelming when they seal their union before God.
Personally, I found the choice of words quite strange.
My parents, on the other hand, loved it when her mother brought this up at one of the dinners.
They spent hours talking about religion.
They leave the bar.
I get out of the car.
I look like a damn stalker. The thought makes me want to give up. I don’t. I keep going. I’m on some kind of autopilot. They enter a building. I run. I manage to catch the door before it locks. I slip inside. I watch what floor they stop on. I shake myself off. I must be crazy!
I go back to my hotel.
The next day. Seriously, I don’t know how. I’m standing there, pretending to close one of the mailboxes in the lobby, when she walks in and sees me. I fake surprise. My heart’s in my throat. All my blood rushing south.
“Hi…” Candy smiles slowly, her cheeks flushing.
I need to control my breathing so my voice doesn’t betray how anxious I am.
“Do you live here, or did you come to visit someone?” The words come out weak.
“I’ve lived here for a few years. What about you? I’ve never seen you around.”
“I live far away, like I said that night, but I’m in the city again and came to help a friend—water his plants while he’s traveling, check the mail, that kind of thing.” Where does all this lying come from?
“I only know a few people in the building. I spend a lot of time away, working.”
I’m really trying not to think about her work, about how many people a day she… ah, shit!
“It’s hard to connect with people, with the virtual world and all, especially in a big city—even in small towns it’s…” It’s what, you idiot? I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. I’m clearly showing how nervous I am. What lovesick teenager has possessed me?
“Do you… want to come up?” Oh, my cock is already at attention. “Have some coffee?”
“Yes, I’d love to.”
In the elevator, we barely look at each other. I can feel the heat radiating off her.
The apartment is small, cozy. I don’t know what I expected a prostitute’s place to look like, but it wasn’t this. I sit on the couch. She calls from the kitchen, asking if I want sugar. Yes, I really do. I tell her no.
We sip our coffee, making small talk, until she asks my name. I almost tell the truth. Instead, I make one up.
“You can call me SB.”
She smiles, understanding.