Page 13 of Please, Forgive Me

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed as always.

“I’m always ready, sir.” Her half-smile was the kind that irritated me and intrigued me at the same time. “You’re the one who should be worried. I’m keeping an eye on your mistakes.”

I couldn’t help the corner of my mouth lifting. She never backed down from a challenge, not even knowing who I was—what I represented.

“Mistakes?” I feigned surprise, picking up one of the papers she’d brought. “I don’t make mistakes, Gabriela. You should know that by now.”

She huffed, crossing her arms.

“Of course not. You just ask me the same thing twenty times before making a decision. But never mistakes.” Her tone dripped with irony.

“I just like to be sure the people around me are prepared to keep up with my pace,” I said with an arrogant smile, watching her carefully.

There was a spark between us. One that had intensified since last weekend, when we crossed the line we never should have crossed. And ever since, that spark had been growing, no matter how hard we tried to keep things professional.

She handed me another document, like she was dropping a live grenade onto my desk.

“Here are the reports you asked for. All revised, just the way you like them.” Her voice was firm, but I couldn’t miss the glint in her eyes—that confidence she carried into every task, every word.

I took the report, but my gaze lingered on her longer than it should have. She noticed, of course. Maria Gabriela always noticed. And instead of looking away, she held my stare with an ease that disarmed me.

“Something wrong, Mr. Bittencourt?” she asked, that provocative smile tugging at her lips.

“No problem,” I said, finally shifting my eyes to the papers. “Just admiring your efficiency. You know it’s hard to find someone who can keep up with me.”

She laughed, and the sound hit me like an electric current under my skin.

“If I’d known it was that easy to impress you, I would’ve made less of an effort,” she teased, sorting through the rest of the documents.

I shook my head, smiling. She had this ability to provoke me and keep me in check at the same time.

A rare skill.

And of course, I couldn’t ignore the pull—the attraction that only seemed to tighten with every exchange between us.

“Well, if you need anything else, I’ll be in my office,” she said, taking a step back, ready to leave. But before she crossed the door, she turned slightly, as if remembering something. “Oh, and Mr. Bittencourt…” Her voice softened, laced with sarcasm. “Try not to make mistakes this time.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied, keeping my gaze locked on her.

She laughed again, making me want to stretch the moment out, but before I could say anything else, she was gone—leaving behind that restless feeling that every day my admiration for Maria Gabriela was morphing into something far more dangerous.

Something I wasn’t sure I wanted to control.

I turned back to the reports in my hands, but my thoughts kept drifting to her, as they always did. The line between professional and personal was blurring more each day.

And I knew it was a problem.

One I couldn’t—and didn’t want to—fix.

CHAPTER 6

“True wealth lies in the connections we build with others…”

DIEGO BITTENCOURT

The weekend came faster than I expected, and what was supposed to be a small get-together had grown a little bigger. Not that I could complain. It was always complicated to gather my whole family.

Or even part of it.