First day at Vanta.
1471 Words
8:40 AM.
Irene stood across from Vanta Arts and let the sun hit the glass.
32 floors. Owned by one man.
And today, that man was going to be her boss.
Navy blouse, her flat shoes, those were the only one she owned at the moment, she was broke.
Folder in her hands, inside; her CV, three photos of exhibits, and one small canvas, it was hers.
The motivation to paint was gone, owing to her mother's passing, the last time she drew was few days ago when she was called for the job, the supposed Vanta Arts she had applied to for months without being contacted, not until recently, it was as if the heavens finally decided to look upon her with pity and alleviate her joblessness.
The desire and love of art wasn't entirely gone, it was resting somewhere beneath her soul.
_"Don’t be late. Do the right thing. Don’t fall apart." _ Irene murmured to herself repeatedly.
She drew in a deep breath, then walked into Spain's largest art company, it looked immensely intimidating, like it could engulf her in it, it screamed of power and affluence.
The lobby smelled like marble, lavender, and money.
“Ms. Morales?”
Daniel Calderon. “You’re early.”
She smiled softly and answered,
"I learned."
Elevator. 32.
“Small team,” Daniel said quietly. “Just you, me, and Xavier. He’s the big boss. He’s particular. But fair.
Oh — and he specifically asked for you. Said he wanted someone from Sevilla for the Sevilla Collection.”
Irene’s hands tightened on the folder.
Of course it was Sevilla.
Her hometown, the city that raised her. The city that buried her mother.
The city she swore she’d never paint again, the thought of it alone made her eyes glassy, she took a breath to calm her nerves.
The doors opened.
Light. White floors. Silence.
And at the window, Xavier Vega.
Owner of Vanta.
He turned slowly, his presence as commanding as that of a king, black sharp eyes, the one that could bore deep into a soul, his gaze was powerful because it carried eyes that has seen nothing but raw pain for decades.
Black suit, his signature wear, no tie.
“Ms. Morales. Good morning.” he said like a man who was restraining himself from falling apart, cause having her there without being able to touch her, hold her in his arms till the world came to an end, was torture itself. She forgot, but he never did, and that was another kind of pain he was new to.
“Mr. Vega.” she greeted politely.
His eyes scanned her. Shoes. Folder. Face.
They paused on the folder. On her hands. Paint stains under her nails she thought she’d scrubbed off.
Something flickered. Then gone. Subtly he memorized every inch of her.
“Come. I want to show you the gallery.” he said, running his hand through his jet black hair, she followed closely behind him, her heart thudding for no apparent reason.
----
By 10:05 she had a desk assigned to her outside his office.
By 10:06 she had an enemy.
“New girl.”
Red heels. Red lips. Nameplate: Elisa Ruiz. Senior Acquisitions.
6 years at Vanta.
She picked up Irene’s CV from the desk. Read it out loud.
“‘Graduated top of class, Bellas Artes de Sevilla. Painter.’”
Elisa laughed, sharp. “Must be nice. Some of us worked 6 years for a promotion and you walk in with a paintbrush and a traffic story.” She said with a scowl, obviously envious of Irene.
Aside Irene's top qualifications, she was envious of Irene's delicate beauty.
She dropped a stack of files. Hard.
“Boss wants the Sevilla proposal by EOD. I put the _old_ template in there. Good luck. Try not to paint all over it.” She said smirking.
Irene didn’t answer. She just opened the first file. Wrong format. Last year’s dates.
Her chest hurt.
-----
At 11:30 Daniel came with two coffees.
“Don’t mind Elisa,” he said, sliding one to her. “She wanted the Sevilla Collection.”
“It’s okay,” Irene lied.
“No it’s not.” He smiled. “But you didn’t flinch. Most people cry.”
He glanced at her folder. “Is that... yours?”
She hesitated, then opened it. A small painting. Dark blues. A street in Sevilla at dusk, artistically done.
Daniel went quiet. “Your red series. I saw photos online. You made people cry in a gallery, Irene. That’s rare.”
“I stopped painting,” she whispered. “After my mom.”
“I know,” he said softly. “But it’s still in you.”
Sometimes we bleed too much, and in the end, even healing begins to feel too small, Irene added. Daniel looked at her with vivid admiration and wonder in his eyes.
From behind the glass, Xavier watched intently, every move she made, every time her lips moved, the way her eyes plainly expressed what she felt. Seeing her talk so causally with one of his employees made him uncomfortable, he didn't like the way he talked with her, if it wasn't for restraint, he'd be there that instant telling Daniel off, or worse giving him a termination letter, however he knew how unreasonable that was. So stood there like a log of wood and watched her.
He’d bought two pieces from her red series, anonymously, five years ago.
They were in storage, unframed.
His jaw tightened.
He felt the painter of the red series reminded him a lot of Irene, with her artistic work and nature, that was the actual reason he went anonymous five years ago to purchase them.
---
At 3 PM he called her in.
“Wrong template,” he said, sliding it back.
“I know. Elisa gave me—”
“I know,” he cut in. Sharper.
He stood, came around the desk, and pulled up the correct file on her laptop.
His arm brushed hers. Smelled like rain.
His cologne lingered....
He saw the small canvas in her folder.
His hand paused over the mouse.
“You still paint,” he said. Not a question.
“I... I try not to.”
He didn’t look at her. “Use this template. And Irene.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let them make you smaller than you are.”
She nodded and left, heart pounding.
----
Elisa saw her walk out with the new file.
Saw Xavier’s door close behind her.
Her mouth thinned, eyes full of spite.
----
It was 6:15. The floor was already empty.
Irene was packing when Elisa passed.
“Leaving? boss’s favorite gets to go home early.” she said with a smirk.
Irene just smiled, tired. She knew Elisa wanted a reaction from her, but that was the last thing she was going to do tonight, she ignored Elisa completely like a ghost being walked past.
Elisa gritted her teeth in annoyance and uttered, "don't act all high and mighty yet, just because the boss is impressed by you, owing to your qualifications. He's barely interested in anything if not art, very soon, he wouldn't even look at you, let alone spare you a glance." she said and walked away proudly, heels clicking.
I was supposed to feel unbothered by what she said, but why did her words sting so much? it felt like a needle pricking her skin. She flinched instinctively.
I brushed off the hurt like it didn't exist in the first place and walked towards the elevator.
----
At the elevator, Xavier was waiting. She got in and the door shut, thick silence enveloped them both. No one spoke until the door opened again and they exited.
“See you tomorrow,” he said in the lobby.
“See you tomorrow.”
----
Upstairs, Xavier stood at the window.
Watched her cross the street. His eyes followed her until she was completely out of sight.
He opened the drawer.
The locket. "Para siempre." was boldly written on it, meaning forever.
Next to it, a photo of her red series. Torn from a magazine 5 years ago.
His vast office had a study, no one was ever allowed in there, not even his assistant, Mara. It was secret to him.
Every inch and corner of his study revealed his deep devotion and obsession for her. She was everywhere, in pictures, portraits, photographs, his journal carried her in it too. This was nothing compared to show how deep his love ran.
----
Elisa wanted his approval.
Daniel wanted her friendship.
And him?
He wanted ten years back.
And the painter who’d left Sevilla.
“She came back,” he whispered.
“And this time, I’m not letting her disappear."
-----
- Writer
