Page 23 of Please, Forgive Me

“And it is.”

“Diego, I need to tell you something serious this time.”

“I’m listening.”

All at once, her eyes locked on mine, and the calm that had been hanging between us dissolved.

Maria Gabriela drew in a deep breath—a warning that whatever she was about to say wouldn’t be easy to hear.

“We… we can’t get involved anymore,” she said, her voice lower than usual but steady enough for me to know she meant it. “What happened… it was just that once. And it ends there.”

I stayed quiet for a moment, processing her words.

There was a stubborn part of me that refused to accept them. That night was supposed to be casual—at least for me—but it hadn’t been. It had become something else entirely. I knew there was more between us, something deeper than the teasing and superficial flirting we usually traded.

“Why?” I asked, my tone neutral but heavy with curiosity. I needed to understand what was behind this sudden decision.

She dropped her gaze, fiddling with her earrings again—that telltale habit she had whenever she was nervous or uncomfortable.

“It’s just that… I don’t want to mix things,” she finally said, still not looking at me. “We’re professionals. I’m your secretary, you’re my boss. And this… it shouldn’t have happened.”

But I could tell. There was something else there. Her words felt like excuses, something she was trying to convince herself to believe. She wasn’t being completely honest—at least not with her own feelings.

Still, I respected what she said. Pressuring her would only push her further away.

I gave a faint smile, trying to mask the irritation clawing at the back of my mind. I wasn’t used to rejection—especially not over something that felt inevitable.

“All right,” I agreed, leaning back in my chair, conceding—for now. “I won’t push. But I know you’re holding something back.”

Her eyes flicked up at me, wider than usual, before she quickly slipped back into that polished, professional composure she guarded so fiercely.

“I’m being honest, Diego,” she insisted, trying to sound convincing. “This is what’s best for both of us.”

The last thing I wanted was to create a hostile atmosphere, and I knew forcing the issue could only make things worse. So I let it go. For now.

“Fine, then let’s forget it,” I said, lifting my glass of wine in a symbolic toast. “Let’s just enjoy dinner, like we always do.”

She smiled—a small one, but genuine.

And just like that, we shifted back into safer territory. We talked about work, about the endless trips, about how much we both hated long meetings. And, as always, the sharp humor and occasional flirting were woven into every word.

“You know you need me in meetings, Diego. Without me, you’d lose focus in ten minutes,” she teased, that familiar sparkle in her eyes.

I laughed, shaking my head.

“I’d say that was a compliment in disguise, but knowing you, it’s just another jab.”

“Of course it is,” she said playfully. “You know I’ll never make things easy for you.”

Normalcy settled back in between us, the way it always did. For all the tension simmering just beneath the surface—for all that fragile line between professional and personal we were always skirting—we both knew how to keep up appearances.

And in a strange way, that was part of who we were.

Still, as dinner went on, I couldn’t stop watching her. The curve of her smile, the cadence of her voice, the way she kept me on the edge of control. She was a force I hadn’t known I needed until the day she walked into my company. And no matter how many times she insisted that night had been a one-off, I knew this was far from over.

When dessert arrived, I gave her the look I knew always disarmed her.

“You know,” I said, my voice calm, steady, “you can say whatever you want, but something tells me this thing between us isn’t finished.”