MY SECRET BOSS

Prologue

SEVEN YEARS AGO

Exhausted and totally tired, I leave my office at the company at almost eight in the evening. My feet are ruined in my Prada 15 heels. Closing day is a torment, and I've only been here for six months. I open my bag, take out a mirror and look at my face. At the elevator door, it's just me.

- See you tomorrow, Angelina. - I hear and turn around just in time to see an employee walk past with a pile of sketchbooks in her arms.

- See you tomorrow! - I reply and look in the mirror again.

I just need to touch up my makeup in time for the meeting with the girls. I can do that in the car. I throw the mirror in my bag as the elevator opens. I step onto the first floor and look at the wall of mirrors in front of me. I put on my overcoat over my unique dress, designed by me. I fix my black hair and smack my lips.

My life has been a rush lately, I don't have time for anything else. I've just taken over as assistant to the director here at my father's company. He wanted me to wait longer, he tried to negotiate to wait until I was at least twenty before sinking my teeth into work, as he puts it. But I couldn't wait to come to Madde and make it my life. I love this place so much that I feel my chest swell every time I set foot through the front door. Being here, in one of the biggest women's fashion brands today, isn't just for family reasons, it's for me, for my dream, my life is Madde.

I get off at the first floor, shake hands with the doorman behind the counter as I pass my badge through the turnstile and it opens. In the street, on the sidewalk, I take my cell phone out of my bag and send a message:

"Don't run! I'm coming."

I send it and don't wait to hear back from Beth, my cousin. A car pulls up in front of me, a company employee gets out, hands me the key and I get in. I throw my bag on the seat next to me, ignore the constant beeping of my cell phone and type the address into the car's GPS. It's not too far away.

I mean, it's in an area well outside my social center, in the suburbs I'd say. The girls must be trying to kill me, but I won our bet, I chose the place for us to go. I saw this place on the internet by chance, in a f*******: event invitation. That's where I'm going.

**

The street is a bit narrow and poorly lit; I managed to find a parking space out front. Trying to run in my heels, I walk the meters until I reach the place. I frown at the worn-out sign: THE BUG.

I stop at the door full of ordinary-looking men, some fat with sleeveless shirts and glasses of beer in their hands. Others very strong with dubious tattoos and goatees. Some women in questionable clothes that made me want to take them to Madde and give them a ticket. I hate tank tops with short shorts. I look down the street, which isn't very busy. A police car passes by and gives a siren alert, but it doesn't stop, it drives off; I want to take off my shoes and run. I look at a sign on the wall saying:

“Today! The most eagerly awaited clash:

The Caballero Vs Uncle Macho.”

I grip the handle of my bag tightly and think about the girls who are already inside. I have to go in. The men stop talking and start looking at me like I'm from Mars.

- Does the girl need help? - One of them asks.

- Yes, she does. - I show them the ticket I bought. - I've come to see the fight.

- Did you come to the Buffalo to see the bloodbath?

I give a modest smile and raise my shoulders, trying to look normal in the face of the incredulous stares. Fear is eating away at me. I need to make sure nothing happens to me.

- Yeah... I know the... - I look around and my heart feels like it's going to burst out of my mouth. Then I see the sign and say: - Caballero. - I turn up my nose.

- Do you know Caballero? - Two people ask in unison. He runs his eyes over my body and that look makes me pull at the flaps of my overcoat.

- Yes. He invited me. - And to give it full emphasis: - Personally.

- So welcome. - A man holds out an arm to show me the door and everyone gets out, making way. - Caballero's friend, she's almost the owner of the house.

- Thank you. - I walk past them, completely relieved. The lie saved me. I could have chosen to say that I'm a friend of Tio Macho, but I know that Caballero is a gentleman in Spanish, so I went with that. I enter through a corridor, shouting and dancing music coming from the background. My hands tremble, I grip my bag tighter and arrive at a small bar, with tables scattered around, a worn wooden floor, pictures of men with belts all over the wall and chandeliers made of something that looks like moose antlers. I look around, I don't see the girls; I run up to the counter and a man raises his chin, quietly asking what I want.

- The fight. - I say.

He just points to an entrance. I thank him and walk to the entrance, my heart freezing as I see a ramp that disappears down into the basement. But since the girls are there, I have to go down there. I gather my courage and go down. Downstairs, I come to a door and find a turnstile. Without ceremony, I hand over my ticket and the bearded man lets me through.

And then I find myself in a huge hall. It's packed, with all kinds of people. The noise is unbearable with shouting. The audience is in a circle and in the middle is a ring. I really am a madwoman. I could have chosen to go to the male stripper bar or try to get into the secret Lady of Hearts club that the girls talked about. But no, I preferred The Buffalo. I stop, pick up my cell phone and, with my hand dripping with sweat, send a message to Beth. And the reply almost kills me. They've gone. They left, they didn't wait for me. Despair hits me hard when I find myself alone in this decrepit place, with these kinds of people. I turn to run, but a barrier of people closes me in.

- Excuse me, I need to get through. - I ask, apprehensively, but no one listens. People start coming from outside, everyone raising their arms and shouting. They push me away and I'm forced to go back. I end up standing very close to the ring. I almost fainted on the floor. Then the announcer speaks:

- The most anticipated fight of the night. It's exactly nine o'clock! It's time for war! The time for blood. I want you to welcome our first gladiator with a shout: Uncleeeeee Maaaacho! - I put a hand to my chest and one to my mouth as I saw the bearded, medium-bodied man enter.

I stare in amazement at all this around me. I don't know if I'm angry with the girls or scared of the place. I wish I could get out of here alive to tell my grandchildren about this day. The air starts to run out, the screams leave me dazed. The fighter jumps euphorically into the ring, asking for more cheers from the crowd.

- Now he, who holds the Buffalo belt. Receive the wildest Spaniard, the gladiator of the house: Cabaaaaaallerooo!

I take my eyes off cell phone screen and I see a man enter the ring who makes my eyes pop. Unlike anything I've ever seen. He's tall, with a perfectly sculpted, fit, athletic body and a huge tattoo on his arm. He has the face of an angel, the face of an innocent. His hair is short, but there are strands on his forehead. I'm struck by his appearance, rustic but handsome. He doesn't make such a fuss when he comes in. He just walks around raising his arms while the people shout: "Caballero! Caballero!" I shiver. I'm cowering, standing between several men who are jumping and vibrating, but I don't care. I'm glued to the beautiful Spanish.

And when the fighting starts, I can hardly see anything, I cover my eyes most of the time. The fight never seems to end, but the longer it takes, the more people shout. A round ends. Each of the fighters sits on one side of the ring. And I try my best to send a message, but I'm out of range. Not to mention the people pushing me. A blonde with a huge ass and bouncing breasts in a kind of bikini, walks around the rink displaying a Round 2 sign. She drives the men crazy. It's starting again. I cringe, the fight starts again and with it, the screams and the pushing and shoving. I look away again, scream with fright, involuntarily at each blow and cover my face. But I see when Caballero jumps up and hits Uncle Macho with a kick. He's won by knockout. At that moment, I feel a thud on my head and fall unconscious.

Hello, there. - I hear and open my eyes, my head hurts, but it doesn't bother me when I see, hovering above me, a face. Serious, handsome, with masculine lips. It's Caballero. I jump up desperately and find myself on an old black sofa, full of holes and stains; I'm in a small room with several men around me, three in fact.

- Ah!" I shout. Looking around. - Don't come any closer! - I shout, exposing my open hands in front of me. - Oh, sir! You can take my bag, but please don't kill me.

- I don't know if you've noticed, but nobody here wears a bag. - I close my face when the fighter speaks and the others laugh.

- So what do you want with me?

- You fainted, or rather, someone threw you to the ground. - Avoiding looking at him, I run my hand over my head, it's sore. I look around my body and I seem to be in one piece, my clothes are in place.

I take a deep breath and then look up. He's still here, in front of me, just wearing shorts, his hands on his waist. I run my eyes up his body, lingering for a moment on his powerful six-pack, light brown, the color of Latinos. Yes! I remember he's Spanish.

He's got a nice chest, the fighting Spaniard. Up close, he looks really young, I don't think he's more than twenty-three or twenty-four. I get to his face and he pretends to smile.

- I don't know you. - He looks at me carefully.

- I... I just want to leave. - I say and realize I'm barefoot. Stunned, I look around and a thug holds out my pair of shoes.

- It broke a bit when you fell. - He shakes it and I see the broken heel. I nearly have a heart attack. I loved this Prada. I'm almost in tears looking at the shoe in the man's hands.

- I really don't know you. - The Spaniard is still looking at me. I rest my eyes on his square jaw and beautiful lips, and stare for longer than necessary. I'm very embarrassed, very uncomfortable.

- I'm sorry. I just... I mean - I smooth my bangs - it was a mistake for me to come. - I get up and stand. I grab my bag, doing everything I can to avoid looking at this project of sin in front of me. I'm an upper-class girl, I can't be intimate with people like that. I like refined, elegant men, not guys like that.

- Why did you come?

- My friends... they actually dumped me and...

- Do rich girls go on dates in a place like this? - Another guy asks.

- Girl stuff. - I wave my hand. - Whoever won a dispute would choose a more terrible place for the losers to visit. And I chose here, okay? - I speak up. - I saw an ad for this den on f*******:.

Is that a cockroach? I cringe in terror. I jump onto the sofa, standing up when the man knocks my poor shoe against the cockroach and it falls to the floor.

- Get me out of here! - I scream in despair.

- Come on. - Caballero gives the first smile, or the shadow of one, and holds out his hand to me. - Come on, I'll take you. I look at the dirt floor and his hand, and bite my lip. And then, without my expecting it, strong arms reach around my legs and back and I'm lifted up.

- What are you doing? - I scream as the Spaniard picks me up and starts walking. I don't want to touch him because he's not wearing any clothes, but I do want to touch him because he's strong and has great muscles.

- Bring her bag. - He asks one of the men and leaves with me, crossing one corridor, passing another and coming out at a small iron door and we're already on the street. It's emptier, the sky is a bit cloudy, making the night very cold.

- Can you put me down please? - I ask, mortified. And he answers me. He puts me down. I pull the bag out of the other guy's hand and look with disgust at my shoe, which he holds out to me. I take the tip.

- What did it come from?

- My car... - I look around. - Right there in front.

- I'll be right back. - Caballero says to one of the men.

- Okay." The man nods and the Spanish fighter starts walking. I stand in the street, barefoot, watching. He stops and looks at me.

- Aren't you coming?

- Damn. - I grumble and run up to him and we start walking side by side.

We're silent. Just walking. I take a chance and look beside me and see, in the light of the streetlamp, a bruise under his eye.

- Aren't you going to the emergency room?

- Hello? - He turns his face towards me.

- It's bruised. - I point to his face.

I get a dismissive reply with a brief grimace that makes him look so handsome. I decide to look straight ahead again.

- You fight well. - Without knowing a damn thing about any kind of fighting, I compliment him, after a few seconds in silence, because I can't keep my mouth shut.

- Why did you say you knew me?

We looked at each other at the same time. He frowned.

- I don't know. I don't know you. I just got scared and wanted to make sure that no one would do anything to me if I was known to someone there.

- No one does anything to anyone here. - he defends.

- What are you? The boss? The boss?

- What the f**k's a balio? - He gives a mini smile. He looks at me, our gazes meet and I freeze, more than the night. He stops smiling. I reach around my neck and grab my pendant. I look down at the asphalt.

- I'm not the owner of a balaio or the boss of anything. I've just been frequenting this den, as you put it, for as long as I can remember. Fourteen years, I think.

- Fourteen? - What's a fourteen-year-old doing here? here?

- I guess the same as a rich girl.

- I'm not a spoiled rich girl, if that's what you're thinking.

- I'm not thinking that. - He brushes the hair off his forehead. I smile at him and look at his tattooed arm.

- Do you fight for money?

- No. No?

- No?

- No.

I squint at him.

- Why would anyone climb into a ring if it wasn't for...

- Is that your car? - He cuts me off by pointing to a white car.

- Yes, it is. - We pull up next to the car.

I open my bag, it takes me a moment, but I find the key and shake it at him. - Thank you for accompanying me and for... I don't know, taking me to that filthy sofa. - With a closed fist I hit him in the arm, like a punch - You really are a Caballero. - I manage to get another slight smile out of him. It's disconcerting how the guy looks at me, as if I'm from another planet.

- Not at all.

- Are you really Spanish?

- Yes, I am.

- Where are you from?

- Barcelona.

- Ah! I love Barcelona. You don't have an accent. - I notice.

- I came to United States early.

- Alone? - I have to keep looking up, without heels I'm relatively short compared to him.

- No. Two brothers, father and mother. Are you going home alone?

- Yes.

He looks at my feet curled up on top of each other and laughs.

- You make me laugh, city girl.

- People often say that. - I shake my body ungracefully.

- Lorenzo. - He holds out his hand to me.

- Ah! You have a suburban boy name. - I smile and take his hand.

- Angelina. - He squeezes my hand tightly and smiles wider.

- Angelina. - Pronounce my name. - If nothing ever makes sense to you, go back to the Buffalo. Trouble doesn't come there.

- I'll remember that. - I get into the car, close the door and he lowers it a little to look out of the window.

- Are we going to bump into each other Angelina?

- We'll bump into each other Lorenzo.