Chapter 2: Power plays
630 Words
She smiled back sympathetically. She knows, he thought. Everyone did. Everyone knew Señor Herrera was different with him. No one dared say it aloud.
He dropped his bag, booted up his computer, and barely settled in when.
“Rivera. Office. Now.”
The voice came like thunder over the intercom. Emiliano flinched.
When he stepped into the glass-walled office, Alejandro was leaning back in his chair, legs casually spread, the sharp black suit hugging his tall frame like sin itself. His jacket was open, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. One hand rested lazily on the desk. The other swirled a black Montblanc pen between thick fingers.
“You took your time,” Alejandro said without looking up.
“I came as soon as I heard you,” Emiliano said quickly, trying not to stare at the way the man's shirt stretched across his broad chest.
“Did you?” Alejandro finally looked up. His eyes raked over Emiliano’s form slowly, shamelessly. “Mm. This shirt fits better than yesterday’s.”
“It’s the same shirt, just ironed.”
“Ah.” Alejandro leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Well. Iron it more often.”
Emiliano blinked. “You called me for something, sir?”
Alejandro handed him a thick folder. “File these reports with accounting. And don’t mess them up. I’ve seen children with better organizational skills than your attempt at the Q3 summary.”
“I… I’m still learning your system,” Emiliano mumbled.
“You’ll learn faster if you stop biting your lip every time I speak to you. It’s distracting.”
Emiliano’s hand flew to his mouth, which, embarrassingly, had been slightly parted.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Alejandro smirked.
Later that day, during the brief lunch break, Emiliano vented over the phone with his best friend.
“You’re telling me he called you ‘distracting’ again?” Valeria asked, laughing through a mouthful of something crunchy.
“Yes!” Emiliano whisper-yelled, ducking into the supply closet with his phone. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Sometimes he stares at me like I’m annoying. Other times, like he wants to”
“Eat you?” Valeria offered.
Emiliano turned crimson. “Stop!”
“Sweetie,” she purred, “your boss is clearly into you. The man’s divorced, lonely, rich, and staring at you like you're dessert.”
Emiliano frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. He’s thirty-something. I’m just me.”
“Exactly. You’re soft, sweet, pretty, and way too innocent for your own good. The real question is, do you want him to want you?”
He paused. Thought of Alejandro’s hands. His voice. The way he said Rivera like it tasted good.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly.
By 4:00 p.m., Alejandro had called Emiliano into his office two more times once to review a document he clearly could’ve emailed, and once to “adjust” a presentation layout that Alejandro barely glanced at before saying, “Come closer. I can’t see from here.”
Emiliano had stood over his shoulder, heart racing. He could smell Alejandro’s cologne clean, woodsy, expensive.
Alejandro had tilted his head just slightly, eyes flicking to Emiliano’s belt line. “You're trembling.”
“I’m not.”
“You are. It’s adorable.”
Emiliano had practically bolted.
That evening, Emiliano walked past Alejandro’s office on his way out. He hesitated when he saw the CEO still at his desk, sleeves now fully unbuttoned, tie discarded, reading something with his jaw clenched.
He didn’t notice Emiliano. Or maybe he did
and pretended not to.
Emiliano turned quickly and made for the elevator.
Behind him, Alejandro looked up.
Watched the sway of Emiliano’s hips with quiet hunger.
Then shut his laptop a little too forcefully.
- Writer
