The Italian Heir-CASTELLANO SERIES: MARTIN’S STORY

12

“Aren’t you going home? It’s past five now.” Erika said, leaning against the backrest of her chair, poking her head out of her makeshift cubicle. She hadn’t rolled down her useless curtains all afternoon.

“You may leave. There are still documents I intend to go over.” I said, flipping a page of the company’s financial profile I was currently assessing. I could even feel the stinging sensation in my eye with each passing minute—it was time for a break.

“You’ve not left your chair in the last three hours,” She remarked. “And you’ve walked in and out of my office at least 4 times in the last three.” I countered, flipping another page.

“I needed to pee.” She justified, clicking her tongue against her teeth in protest. “Was I supposed to get a hall pass for that?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t a trip to the pantry down the hallway or to see a certain someone?” I questioned, still not looking up from the document as I reached for my ballpoint pen. “If one of your many subordinates were to see the way you boss me around, they might mistake you as my domineering boyfriend.”

“And if indeed, you were my girlfriend, there’s no way I’d let you out of my sight. I might even consider moving Lucien down a few floors to HR just so I could have a peace of mind.”

She scoffed derisively, but then her features softened. “You know I could stay if you want.”

I finally looked up and breathed through my nose tiredly. She stared at me through hooded eyes—if glares could kill, this was it for me. I noticed her hair was pulled into a tiny cute bun after all that furious typing on her keyboard working on the report assignment I had given her.

Peeling my eyes away took some effort, “That’s alright, I’m quite sure you have a certain French boy you need to make up to after forgetting about him at lunch.”

She pressed her lips into a thin line, ignoring what I had just said, frowning as she watched me. “You need a break from all that reading, Castellano. Your eyes look like they’re begging for mercy.”

“If you’re mesmerized by them, just say so, Crawford.”

Yeah, look who’s talking.

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” She smiled, grabbing her bag as she pushed her chair back into the desk and made her way towards the door. “Have fun.” I said curtly, silently groaning at the sight of the onslaught stack of financial documents vying for my attention.

“f**k me.” I muttered once the door to my office slammed shut. I ran a hand through my hair and slammed the folder in hand shut as I reached for my flask of tea that was now empty. Funny how a little inconvenience could vex me to great lengths.

Now, I was only more annoyed at the fact that Lucien got to hang around Erika after work hours—having a fancy, nice dinner at some French restaurant that I basically gave her the blessings for while sharing a plate of…

Stop that!

There was a knock on my door—the knuckles were firm and intentional—I immediately deduced that it belonged to a male—John, to be more precise. “Yes John.” I said, rising from my chair, my ass silently thanking me for the long needed stretch. “Sir, it’s 10 past 5, you should get off work soon. Thought I’d check in on you since you’ve not come out of your office in the last three hours.”

“Did Erika tell you that?” I smoothed a finger against the lid of my flask, snorting quietly.

“Sir, I’m seated right outside your office, I would have noticed. Not to mention, Miss Crawford walked in and out at least 4 times.” John reported, his expression looked slightly humored. “She had better be heading towards the pantry and not to someone else.” I muttered, not realizing how loud I was, until John answered me.

“She headed straight for the pantry Sir.”

“Good girl.” I said under my breath, feeling slightly consoled by that piece of information. “Did you say something Sir?” John enquired, keeping his hands behind his back like he always did while waiting for instructions. “You know what? Take the rest of the day off, John. You’ve worked hard enough.”

“But Sir…” he protested, looking uneasy as if I was messing around with him. No secretary was supposed to leave before his/her boss did. It was an unspoken rule for most.

John knew of this, and it was one of the reasons why I tried my best to leave on time, else I’d take away precious time from the man who had a wife waiting for him at home (John settled down young).

“I insist. Call your wife, take her to dinner or something and have the restaurant charge it to my card.”

“Sir, you don’t have to. I mean, I can’t accept that.” He looked alarmed and blinked rapidly as he took a step backward as if to turn down my offer.

“Yes you can and you will,” I stated firmly. “Go on before I change my mind and make you work with me till the next morning. I don’t want to be there to know what the missus will have to say about that.” I said in a final tone. John knew that meant I left no room for argument.

The man thought for a bit and nodded, “Very well, thank you Sir. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.” He nodded politely.

The office floor was quiet once more; when I walked out of my office with the intention of grabbing a new tea bag for my flask, the early evening sunlight poured through the large windows of the office building, casting a luminous glow on the already empty tables with miniscule flecks of dust floating.

I insisted everyone had a work life balance, but it seemed like I was the only one who did not adhere to my own rules; one would even say I was contradicting myself. I may have once said there was a fine line between working efficiently and being a workaholic, but the way I see it? I was falling back into my old ways slowly but surely.

Being efficient was one thing, but there were more pressing, demanding matters at hand I needed to get under control, people I needed to meet, deals I needed to close, topics I needed to discuss in meetings…the list never really had a full stop.

Satisfied with the tea’s consistency, I took my time—small strides back to my office, I fished out my phone with one hand, eyes glancing at the screen that was bombarded with texts from Rhea about Zoe showing up at lunch— another from Steve asking how my date went and the one at the very bottom belonged to Zara that was sent at lunch.

I still have not replied to her.

“Just so you know, I came back in here all prepared to haul your workaholic ass off your chair. Where have you been?” The familiar voice that made me look up from the text chain of a pointless conversation I was about to respond to.

“To get myself a refill of tea, Officer.” I said sarcastically as I raised my flask for emphasis, not sure where this sudden interrogation came from. “Crawford, what are you still doing here?” I asked, rubbing the sides of my temples tiredly. I would never admit it out loud but my stomach did a little summersault at the mere sight of her.

“No reason.” She said, making a little pointe with her toes on the ground. I took slow, calculated strides towards her and stopped where she stood. With one hand on my flask and the other tilting her chin so that now we were looking eye to eye. I spoke.

“’No reason’ wouldn’t make you skip your little dinner date with a man who’s still working alone in his office,” I said in a low voice. The skin of her throat constricted, showing off the delicate lining of her bone structure—she was holding her breath.

Her eyes widened once she realized what I had meant. “Oh no I’m certainly not here for that, mister.” She poked a finger against my chest, creating some distance between our almost-touching bodies—her feeble attempt and the slight quake in her voice gave her away. I’m not sure which one of us was more disappointed.

“Then what is it?” I asked lazily.

“We are going out.” She announced, slipping out of the space I had her cornered in.

I straightened my back and went around the table to take my seat behind the desk. “We?” I repeated, sitting my flask on the desk next to my Mac that had its screensaver up and running.

“Yes we. I presume that you understand simple English. You and I are taking an evening trip into the city.”

I pursed my lips momentarily and leaned back into my seat. “Erika, as much as the idea of roaming a congested city at this ungodly hour may seem to be an adventure to you, but do be reasonable here. I have a truckload of work to complete and I intend to finish it without any distractions on the side.” I breathed out quietly as I flipped open the document folder I left earlier, but neither of my working brain cells could seem to process the line I was focused on.

I looked up towards her; her eyes wore the look of defiance. I knew she was not going to give up until she got us out of the office building.

“But I must admit, you undeniably had been my greatest distraction earlier this morning.”

“If you think it’s something that I’d take pride in, well, think again.” She remarked silkily, though her words held absolute pride and contentment in them. Erika leaned her torso across my desk, sifted a hand beneath the file and slammed it shut.

I looked up. I’ve lost the amount of times this woman has stolen my attention all in one day.

“Trust me, the average concentration span of a human being is only 20 minutes—“

“Well, if you didn’t already know, mine’s definitely above average,” I interjected, casting her a sordid grin.

“Do not interrupt a woman when she’s speaking.” She chided, giving me the stink eye. “You have my apologies, tesoro.” I grinned to which she cleared her throat, moving away from the table as she rose to her full height.

“As I was saying, I believe some healthy distractions would do you some good if productivity and fresh new ideas are what you’re looking for.”

“Like you said, distractions—they take my mind off my actual task, causing me to lose my focus. I don’t like to be carried away unless there’s something in it for me.”

“Martin Joseph Castellano, get your workaholic ass up. We are going out and that’s final,” She said robustly. I stood up and pressed my palms against the edge of my desk and looked right at her. “I like it when you take charge.”

“You seem to have a thing for dominant women then.” She turned around and grabbed my coat from the coat hook, tossing it to me.

“Not just any woman, sweetheart, since I figured I consider you my equal,” I concluded. She gave me a smile, “Never thought I’d hear that from you ever.”

**

“Please, do explain as to why can’t we take my car again?”

“You’ve always complained that traffic was bad in New York. Besides, what proper way is there to explore the city than to ride public transport like the typical New Yorker you are?” Erika hooked her arm in mine and together we made our way to the Subway station. “That makes two of us. Now, hold my hand, woman.”

I remember navigating through the throng of city people, every moment was an eye opener for me. I watched how fast the pedestrians crossed the zebra crossing. The second the lights turned green, yellow cabs zoomed past the other intersection with whistles and shouts coming from elsewhere. Apparently, New Yorkers had eyes on their foreheads because they could walk just about anywhere with their eyes planted on their phone screens.

“Alright, the nearest train station to us would be at Lincoln Center. We gotta get through a few stops before we get off the terminal and switch trains, but not before a quick visit to Times Square of course, one of the city's staples.” Erika explained after we moved out of line from the booth that sold the cheap plastic cards. This woman was dragging me along everywhere.

“Crawford, slow down, what are these for again?” I asked, sifting the card from my coat pocket. As of today, I was a public transport illiterate. “A Metrocard, it’s like a golden ticket that gets you places around New York by public transport.” She chuckled, while tapping her card on the reader, and I did with

mine.

“It’s like I’m bringing a 2-year-old to tour the city with me.”

“Well, can a 2-year-old do this to you?” I kissed her temple and her eyes grew wide. “Martin, behave yourself! We’re in public. And yes, unbeknownst to you, 2-year-olds are able to do that.”

“Yeah, but it’ll take a miracle for those little cabbages to reach you at this height.” I smirked, taking her hand in mine and waited on the platform along with the rest of the New Yorkers. A man stood on the sidewalk with a makeshift microphone and guitar plugged into a speaker, belting the lyrics to ‘This Love’ by Maroon 5.

Not many people paid him any attention as they walked past him, some tossed coins, but I could tell from the look on their faces, they were secretly enjoying the background music. I watched Erika fish out a 10 dollar bill and drop it in his guitar case, to which the musician replied with a grateful smile.

I made a mental note to carry cash with me the next time.

It was almost 6 at where we were in Brooklyn and that meant the after-work rush-hour for most of the crowd.

We were standing shoulder to shoulder with the other passengers and I kept my eye on Erika who was now staring at the oncoming train at high speed. “Here we go.” She informed excitedly, earning a few placid stares from the strangers huddled close by.

The train ride wasn’t so bad although there was really nowhere to sit and the distinct smell of cigarettes and stale piss with mixtures of EDP. There wasn’t much to describe about the dingy interior—we were in a metal box with windows that moved at a decent speed that brought us from one destination to the other. But the people, however, were a sight to see.

My eyes scanned the passengers that boarded the train.

A man with his dark blue suit unbuttoned had his head leaned against the other person who I assumed to be his wife—they had matching silver wedding rings followed by the commitment of finances. There were two other teenagers who were messing with their hair making sure that s**t stood upright—I bet 10 Metrocards with the amount of hair wax, it’ll last them till college graduation; a child no bigger than 2 was crying in her mother’s arm refusing to be coddled; another man who had his eyes planted on a book that titled ‘Accounting for Dummies’ and another elderly man solving the newspaper’s crossword puzzle of the day.

“This train ride is rather…interesting.” I leaned in and whispered in her ear. The train jerked, coming to a slow, steady halt. The passengers who were standing lurched forward and sideways while I held Erika tightly with one arm around her waist, the other grabbing tightly onto the suspended hand holder straps. “This is only a small part of it.” She said.

Being on public transport for the first time in my life made me feel…almost normal. Believe it or not, I felt as if time had gradually slowed down that I was able to notice everything else around me so much, so the silence in my head was deafening.

Every flick of a page from a book, every snore from a tired passenger, the clothes that these people wore—some vibrant, some neutral, some dark; the quiet conversation that people were having around us, the concrete buildings from outside these of the train windows that stood stagnant under the orange sun while we went 55 miles per hour.

“Come on, this is our stop—Times Square forty-second street.” Erika announced, tugging at the sleeve of my coat. “Slow down sweetheart, I’m already giving you my whole evening.” I reassured her as we got off the train with the throng of people that were either entering or leaving the transport.

We climbed the cemented steps and ascended towards Times Square. Long-time New Yorkers would still think this view that stretched on both sides was magnificent. Here every day, something new attracts the eye of the beholder—Times Square was a staple location of the city. It was like a full loud circus right in front of you.

“Here we are, the city that never sleeps.” Erika announced, looking around her surroundings like she was seeing it for the first time. In fact, I can’t deny I may have the same expression as she did right at this moment. “Most people don’t really get to stop and smell the roses when our lives are moving at a fast pace.” She said loudly over the deafening honks of cars as we continued taking the next few steps deeper into the crowds.

“That’s because everyone has a lot going day after day, the idea of just sitting back for a day doesn’t seem too wise, being idle for too long just sucks up your motivation and kills your performance to even do anything.”

“Well, my argument is that no one really ever stops working in this society that we’re living in—we’re constantly competing with others in one way or another, racing against time. However, not many realize that idleness could actually be their breakthrough in the different situations they’re tackling and, contrary to popular belief, sometimes the best ideas come to you when you’re completely idle.”

“You mean by doing nothing at all? How does that work?” my brows knitted together in confusion as I listened.

“Well, I read in a book when your brain is at complete, unperturbed rest—your mind tends to wander off a lot on its own. One of the many things an idle mind does is that it generates ideas for a problem or situation that you weren’t able to solve a long time ago—sort of like retrieving your draft files; or say when you’re writing a novel and you get stuck, your idea tank dries and you stop writing. What you could do is get out there and explore, aka be idle but at the same time have fun.”

I very well knew what Erika was referring to. In the last few days, I haven’t exactly had a proper rest, even a blind person could sense that I was constantly on the move. Even in my sleep, the cogwheels in my mind were still working, thinking and calculating my next step for 3 different tasks all at once.

If I were to be brain dead by 40, this could be the reason why.

I remained silent so Erika took that as her cue to continue.

We walked down the sidewalk side by side, past the food carts and trucks, past people holding multiple shopping bags, past those large windows of restaurants where people were having their meals—talking and laughing; and somewhere beyond the crowds, a saxophone played on a speaker that sounded vaguely from a tune of Kenny G’s.

“Call it a pregnant pause or a stagnant state of rest, your attention wanders off and creativity comes in. You tend to realize things you’ve not realized, you see the more positive, light-hearted side of things. Give it a try and, eventually, what you want might come to you.”

“And what makes you think you know what I want?” I asked.

“Castellano, despite the unbreakable, stoic exterior you put on daily, you’re quite a simple-minded, transparent person. You say what you want, you do what you want without letting others control you. You let others know your motive in a clear and concise manner.

Right now, I know there’s nothing more you want than to get all your s**t done so you can start something else. I’m no expert in reading people’s emotions, but you’ve made it pretty easy for me in the last few years.” She smiled comfortingly. I could feel myself starting to smile as well; it was at that moment a huge weight had been lifted off my chest.

“Even if I were to argue with you that things aren’t as simple as they seem, I have that feeling you’d find a way to prove all my theories are incorrect.” I said, stopping by a cotton candy truck parked by the side, watching a little girl pointing excitedly to her father at the cotton sweetness that was forming on the stick.

“It’s not so much as to try to prove you wrong per se, but I think it’s more of me helping you to see a different side of things. That way, there’s always check and balance, an order of things.” She said as she looked over to the truck with an expression of polite interest, pulling out a few loose changes.

I eyed her quietly while she pointed at the blue dye bottle. Why haven’t I seen this side of her? Was it hidden somewhere all throughout our friendship? Not quite, I told myself. It was always there, she always had it in her.

Erika was always the mediator, the protector though not the wisest, but I’d say the smarter one, between both of us. Erika knew what she wanted and she always went for it without considering much—it was both her greatest strength and weakest point. She was her own person and she knew that very well.

And say, if she was right about me being simple-minded and transparent, then it was only a matter of time that she would be able to tell that I never wanted anyone as much as I wanted her right now.