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“Right. That’s right, Mrs. Evans.” I press my fingers against my temples, my calm facade slipping. “I trust you’ve made all the arrangements for their arrival?”
She doesn’t reply—just lifts an eyebrow.
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Of course you did.”
“I also hired my replacement,” she informs me. “She has all the credentials required to be a competitive executive assistant but has been out of the workforce for a couple of years.”
I sigh. “Mrs. Evans, I truly appreciate you staying on top of things, but you know how stressful this job is. Credentials aren’t enough—I need someone who’s ready to hit the ground running.” I straighten, my voice firm, leaving no room for argument.
“With all due respect, Mr. Godoy, I wouldn’t hire someone who’s not able to keep up with the workload” She meets my gaze without hesitation. “She’s a single mom, has impeccable credentials, and I’m sure she can handle you.”
I raise an eyebrow, but before I can get a word out, she presses on.
“And before you object, I would like you to give herat leastsix months before you even think about looking for a different assistant.”
Damn, she’s good.
“Let’s say I agree to a six-month trial. I‘d like to speak with her before Monday. Would you give me her phone number?”
She smiles, pulling out her phone. A moment later, I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. When I check, there’s a message with a phone number and a name: Camila Flores.
Interesting name. I wonder where she’s from.
“How can I ever replace you, Mrs. Evans?” I ask sincerely. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone more efficient or professional than you.”
We share a smile. She has been my trusted right hand for so long—it’s definitely going to be an adjustment, but Mrs. Evans deserves her retirement.
“Very well. What do you say, Mrs. Evans? Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?” I grab my coat from the perch by my desk.
“I would love to, young man. But don’t get any ideas—you’re not my type.”
A bark of laughter escapes me as Mrs. Evans wraps her hand around my arm.
I wake up to the merciless beep of my alarm. Even on the weekends, I’m up at five in the morning. I like to start my day working out—punching a bag or running are my preferred exercises. But when it’s zero degrees outside, I enjoy the comfort of my private gym.
Connecting my phone to the house sound system, I go through my playlists and decide onRammstein's Greatest Hits—a compilation from one of my favorite bands of all time.
After taping my hands, I throw shadow punches as I move my head side to side and relax my shoulders.
I’m in the zone, completely focused on the one-two punches and kick combos—until a booming voice makes me jump.
“Vicente,hijo,” my father greets me, his voice far too cheerful for someone suffering from massive jetlag.
I frown.I thought they were staying at a hotel. Why would Mrs. Evans send them to my house? And how on Earth I didn’t hear them arrive in the middle of the night?
“Jesus. I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” I say, finally snapping out of my shock as he pulls me into a firm embrace.
“Oh, well, the driver Mrs. Evans sent to pick us up tried to drop us off at the hotel, but your mother decided it’d be best if we spent more time with you. After all, you know what this visit is about.”
And there it is—Gonzalo Godoy and his one-track mind. The man is all business.
“Of course. How could I forget? It’s the only thing we’ve been talking about for the last year.”
“That’s enough, you two,” Mother interjects, her no-nonsense tone cutting through the conversation as she walks into the gym.
When she’s inmom mode, even my father gets scolded.
My mood immediately changes. There’s nothing Carla Godoy can’t fix.