My Father's Protégée

Off balance

Theo

Coming back to Ferranópolis felt like putting on a shirt that was too tight. Every corner of this city screams that I’m Roberto Ferraz’s son, the heir everyone expects to take the throne wearing a tie, perfect posture, and a damn leather briefcase. But all I see when I cross the gates of the mansion is the gilded cage I grew up in.

I’d rather be anywhere else, even listening to my Swiss economics professor ramble on about emerging markets, than surrounded by people who pretend to love me just because I have the right last name.

But then she appeared. Clara Teixeira.

Out on the terrace, her wavy hair dancing in the breeze, eyes distant like she wanted to disappear from that world. She looked out of place. Naïve, even. But there was something about her that made me stay. Maybe it was her olive-green eyes, wide and expressive, with those arched brows that gave her a serious air. Or the way she held her glass with both hands, or how awkwardly she tried to stay composed, even while drunk. She seemed... real. A sharp contrast to everything dripping out of that party.

Of course, I teased her. I pushed buttons. I always do. But she pushed back. She didn’t fold. And for some reason, that irritated me more than it should have.

“The old man’s next victim.” It was cruel, I know. But the words came out before I thought. Typical.

She wasn’t the kind of girl I usually met at these parties. She wasn’t trying to impress me, or she faked it well. Either way, the hurt look in her eyes haunted me the rest of the night, even after I walked away from the terrace with that idiotic line still on my lips.

When I got back to the ballroom, my mother cornered me in seconds. She has that natural talent for showing up right when I’m about to disappear.

“Theo, darling, the mayor wants to speak with you,” she said, flashing every one of her perfect teeth. “And afterward, your father expects you to give a little speech. Nothing too political, just a few charming words about legacy and all that nonsense.”

“I didn’t prepare anything, Mom,” I muttered, grabbing another whiskey from a passing tray. Fourth glass. Maybe fifth.

“Improvise,” she whispered, her eyes narrowing in that way that made it clear this wasn’t a request. “Be charming. You know how.”

The truth? I didn’t want to give a speech. I didn’t even want to be there. And I made that very clear to a few of my party-friends, sons of the city’s elite.

But then I saw my father across the room.

Roberto Ferraz, imposing, with that look that makes anyone stand up straighter. When our eyes met, he gave a nearly imperceptible nod. As if to say: Be a man.

So I walked up to the microphone.

I don’t remember exactly what I said. Something about honor, tradition, and the future of the company. A bunch of crap that would make any investor applaud. And of course, I was applauded. No one in that room would dare not clap for a Ferraz.

But what annoyed me most that night was catching a glimpse of Clara in the back of the ballroom. She stood still, watching with an expression I couldn’t decipher. There was no admiration. No contempt. Just... silence. Like she was seeing past the performance.

That’s when I knew: That girl was a problem. And problems always attract me.

*****

I could easily keep pretending that I came back to Ferranópolis just for the company. I could claim I’m here to help my father with the presidential transition, learn the ropes, get to know the names of the suits constantly sucking up to him.

But the truth, the one I have no intention of saying out loud, is that ever since that party, I haven’t been able to get one image out of my head:

Clara.

The newcomer. The protégée. The damn girl who didn’t look at me like everyone else did. Not with admiration, fear, or interest. She looked at me like she saw me. And that gets under my skin in a way I can’t explain.

I walk into Ferraz Holdings earlier than usual. Shirt sleeves rolled up, no tie, just the right amount of casual to annoy my father. The receptionist’s eyes widen like she’s seen a ghost.

“Good morning, Mr. Theo!” she chirps, all rehearsed smiles. Makes me sick.

“Relax, Marina. I’m not here to inspect anything... yet,” I say with a half-smile, just enough to rattle her. It works.

I head straight to the 11th floor. My father’s office is at the end of the hall, but that’s not where my eyes go. They go to the anteroom. Where she is.

The office door is slightly ajar. And there she is.

Clara. Sitting, focused, typing something on the computer. Her hair is tied up in a messy bun with strands falling loose. She’s wearing a soft, modest blouse. Nothing flashy. But enough to make my eyes stop.

She doesn’t see me coming.

I move closer silently, like a predator in his domain. I lightly knock on the doorframe.

“Waiting for someone?” I ask with a crooked smile.

She startles slightly, but hides it well. When she looks at me, her olive-green eyes seem even more vivid in the morning light.

“Just working, Mr. Theo,” she answers firmly. A little too firmly. Like she rehearsed it.

“Too formal. Makes me feel old. Just call me Theo.”

“I prefer to keep things professional in the workplace,” she counters, turning her eyes back to the screen.

I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. She’s stubborn.

“Workplace... interesting. Because the last time I saw you, you had a glass of champagne in your hand, saying you hated this place.”

She flushes instantly. Bingo. She didn’t say it outright, but I enjoy provoking strong reactions.

“I was out of my mind that night,” she says, voice faltering just slightly. “I don’t usually drink.”

“What a shame,” I say, leaning against the doorframe. “You were... adorable out of your mind.”

She looks at me like she’s two seconds from throwing the mouse at my head. And for a moment, I kind of wish she would.

“Can I help you with something?” she asks, trying to compose herself.

“You can. You can tell me why you can’t look me in the eye for more than five seconds.”

Her eyes widen. She counts in her head, furious. One... two... three... four… On the fifth, she looks away. Satisfied, I step back with a discreet smile. Dangerous little game. And I love it.

But before she can come up with a comeback, my father’s office door swings open hard.

“Theo. With me. Now.” Roberto’s voice is sharp. “And Clara, I need you to send the Sales meeting files as soon as you can. Thank you.”

Clara nods, relieved, but when she gets up in a rush, she trips over her charger cord and stumbles straight into me. My hands instinctively go to her waist, steadying her firmly. Her eyes go wide. I don’t move.

“Are you going to fall into me every time you want attention?” I murmur, my voice low and rough, eyes locked on hers.

She swallows hard, tries to pull away, but my hands stay on her a second longer than necessary.

One second. That says everything. And it won’t be the last.