(Renata Pellegrini)
I watch him silently, sitting on the stool with my arms on the kitchen table, as Filippo opens the refrigerator and gets some bread rolls with cheese and ham, and a carton of orange juice. He puts the glasses on the table and fills them with juice, hands me one, then goes to the counter and puts the bread rolls in the microwave for thirty seconds.
“It is very nice to leave food ready in the fridge, just to warm it up later,” I say to myself, I always wanted to do this, but never had time, and worse, taking care of all the meals every day, left me even more out of time, so I was always in a paradox. “You who made these buns?” I ask in a louder tone, breaking the silence.
Last night I did not sleep well at all, I had a horrible nightmare about the man who was trying to kidnap me. This man had come back to life, but not as a living being. His head was blown off, it was like a buzzing sound, he was running after me fast, and managed to catch me. I was crying and struggling for help, I could only think of Filippo and when I opened my eyes, there he was, looking at me with a gentle look.
I confess that I thought I was still dreaming, was it being so good? His caresses on my face and his arms around my body were giving me a feeling of security, I closed my eyes for a few moments and imagined how it would be to wake up every day like this, receiving an attentive and affectionate look.
“No,” he answers simply.
I don’t insist on the conversation, he stares fixedly at the clock on the microwave. I now observe his kitchen, despite the huge television in the living room, and his large collection of weapons. His house in general – at least the parts that I saw, compared to the luxurious mansions that I saw on TV back in Brazil – is like a middle-class home. And despite the neutral colors, it is very cozy.
“Do you have employees?”
“Why do you want to know?” I return the question with a raised eyebrow.
“Your house,” I say, smoothing the table.
“What about it?”
” It seems to belong to someone simple, not a tycoon.”
“This house is bigger than you can see, ragazza.”
“Oh, okay, I don’t understand what he means, but I better let it go.”
My stomach rumbles and my whole face feels hot. I have forgotten that the last time I ate was yesterday morning.
“Eat,” he hands me a plate with two loaves of bread. Without ceremony, I begin to eat them, Filippo sits down in front of me, I don’t mind his gaze on me. “You look beautiful eating,” I choke on his sudden compliment, he hands me my glass of juice.
“Thank you,” I say awkwardly, feeling my cheeks heat up.
We eat in silence, but I don’t feel uncomfortable, it’s very nice to have someone else to share the meal with. I finish eating before he does, he eats elegantly.
“You did it,” he says as he finishes eating.
“I did it?” I ask, frowning, not understanding what he is talking about.
“You got the job as my personal assistant and secretary.”
I blink several times, swallowing dryly. I feel a gust of ice running through my stomach.
“Starting today, you begin in the office.”
“But today is Tuesday,” I say, still stunned by the sudden news.
“I should have told you this on Monday, I don’t know if you remember, but on Friday I told you that I would give you an answer on Monday.”
“Oh yeah…”
But so many things happened… The memories of all our kisses come to my mind and I feel my face blush violently.
“So many things happened… I even thought I would be fired… I only worked for three days, that was enough to evaluate me… or,” I look at him with narrowed eyes, even though I have a certain feeling of anger, shame won’t let me speak right. “Are you giving me a promotion because I kissed you?”
He stares at me for long, embarrassing seconds. I feel my eyes burn, announcing my desire to cry. I don’t want to believe this. My mother would be ashamed to know that I had risen in rank because I stayed with my boss. She didn’t raise me to be like this, I am not a bitch!
“I don’t want this position, I’ll understand if you fire me, after all I caused problems for the…”
“I am offering you a position at the level of your resume,” he interrupts me in a firm voice, “and another reason for offering you the position is your character.
“Character? Are you mocking me?”
He rolls his eyes, showing impatience. Fuck me if I’m being annoying to him. I don’t like being made fun of. We haven’t even talked properly; of all the times we’ve met, only once has his mouth and hands stayed away from me.
Not that I am complaining, but still. It shouldn’t have happened and right now all I can think about are the words of that unloved bitch.
“I don’t have time to waste on bad jokes,” he says coldly. “Anyway, in these three days of work you have shown yourself to be dedicated, observant, polite, and of good faith. Despite the scandal, I’m sure you didn’t mean it.”
“Yes, it was on purpose,” I answered in my thoughts.
“I am not an unfair man, you deserve the opportunity I am giving you. Your last chance, will you accept the position or not?”
“I will,” I say quickly.
I try my best not to express how happy I am. Well, working as a receptionist is not bad, that uniform is very nice and chic. But the increase in salary, the meal and transport vouchers, just the thought that being in this position, I won’t have to put myself in danger waiting for a bus anymore is comforting. I will be able to pay uber every day to get home.
“Like receptionists, do secretaries also have changing rooms and uniforms?”
I hope the answer is positive. Just thinking about my clothes makes me ashamed. My best social clothes don’t even come close to the receptionist’s uniform.
“No,” he answers, and I feel his gaze analyzing me.
“Well, yes.”
“Why?”
I look away, I shouldn’t be ashamed of not having any money.
“How do you want me to start today? I didn’t have time to buy an appropriate outfit for the job.”
I make up an excuse, I don’t like to expose myself like this.
“No problem, let’s go to the mall and buy some clothes for you.”
“Now?” I look at the clock on the wall of the sink and it says 4:30 in the morning.
“I can open any door, ragazza,” he says smugly and shakes his cell phone. For a moment I had forgotten that he was the richest and most arrogant man in the world.
“Come on,” he takes my hand, I feel an electric current where he touches me and my hair starts to shiver. Why does this always happen? But I like the warmth that emanates from his contact.
I close my eyes and feel my face warm. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop lusting after my boss. Feeling the stiffness of his fingers on my hand, I just let him drag me to his car.