Page 48

Camila’s sleepy voice drifts from her bedroom, and the moment she sees me on her sofa, her eyes go wide.
She’s wide awake now.
“Mr. Godoy, what are you doing here?”
Andfuckif my eyes don’t drop immediately to her chest—her tank top doing nothing to hide the way her perky nipples press against the fabric.
Damn. A perfect handful.
I clear my throat and avert my gaze before responding. “Ms. Flores. Good morning. Given that you didn’t answer my text and didn’t show up to work, I came to see if you were okay,” I say as I stand up, and her eyes follow me the entire time.
“Then, Ava here, filled me in on everything that happened yesterday.”
Camila shuts her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose.
“Ava, how many times have I told you it’s not safe to open the door to strangers?” Her tone is firm.
I don’t want Ava to get scolded because of me, but before I can open my mouth, she starts speaking.
“But Mummy, he’s not a stranger. He’s your boss man.” Ava raises her eyebrows for emphasis.
Then, covering her mouth with both hands, she whispers, “You know,the dicktator.”
My laugh is unabashedly loud, and even Camila joins me—though not before swiftly covering her chest with her arm, like it finally registered that she was giving me a show.
She’s gorgeous, and the blush that creeps up her face makes her even more beautiful.
God, this past twenty-four hours have been the strangest of my life.
“I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Godoy. I’ll be ready in no time,” she says, quickly regaining her composure.
“Nonsense. You and Ava need some rest. I was just about to start making breakfast,” I say.
The confusion on Camila’s face is almost comical. I’d be confused too. I’ve been nothing but an arsehole to her, but thesepast few days—and meeting Ava—have me all soft and in my feelings.
There will be time later to explain, for now I need them both to rest.
“It’s fine. Trust me, my finances won’t crash if we take one day off,” I say , guiding her to the sofa.
Her hand feels so small in mine, but her grip is strong. That would be a perfect description of Camila—soft exterior but with a steel core.
As I help her sit beside a very smiley Ava—who pats her arm in a calming way—I catch a whiff of vanilla and oranges in her hair.
Bright and fruity.
I like it. I like it a lot.
I remove my jacket and hang it by the front door, then proceed to remove my cufflinks and roll up my sleeves.
Here I am about to prepare breakfast for one of my employees and her daughter when I haven’t cooked for myself in years. If I ever told Gabo or even Gio, I would never hear the end of it.
“Is this really happening?” Camila asks.
When I glance at her, she’s under a blanket with Ava, who’s in command of the TV remote.
I smile instead of replying, mostly because I don’t even know what to say.
She looks so happy and at ease with her daughter.