When I woke up, something was wrong. The sunrays weren't hitting my bed with the same angle as usual, my apartment was much brighter than it should be at this time, and I was not in the grumpy mood that my morning alarm never failed to put me in. I grabbed my phone and checked the time. Seven thirty. I stared at the screen blankly for a solid minute before the realization hit me.

Shit!

I became very alert, very fast, and rushed out of my bed. There was no being not late at this point, but I could do some damage control if I were fast enough. I skipped breakfast altogether and jumped in the shower with my toothbrush in my mouth, hoping to multitask. It sort of worked, the whole thing took me merely five minutes. I put some moisturizer directly on my freshly washed face, having no time to do my full skincare routine. I didn't bother with makeup and tied my hair in what was supposed to be a tight and polished bun but ended up closer to a messy bun. My outfit from the day before was still on a chair so I decided to wear it again. I wore trainers instead of heels; this was about to be a running day.

It was five to eight when I sprinted down the stairs of my building, and I managed to catch the eight o' clock metro to downtown LA, where VDO's headquarters were.

Fifty minutes later, I was gasping for air as the elevator doors opened on my floor. I rushed to my office and took a few seconds to gather some courage before entering, bracing myself for the shitstorm that was about to fall on me, courtesy of Mr. Dullac Senior.

I opened the door slowly and sighed in relief when I noticed that the office was empty. Maybe the CEO was so absorbed in his work that he hadn't realized I had been missing yet?

I hung my jacket on the coat hanger, turned on the computer screen, and took a seat in the leather chair, both feet tucked under my butt, waiting for the heavy file I had selected to open.

I jumped when the phone rang.

"Arth—Victor Dullac's office, Abril speaking. What can I do for you?"

"My office. Now," said a voice I didn't necessarily recognize but I was positive belonged to the big boss. He hung up before I could ask for confirmation. So much for hoping he would not notice my absence.

I inhaled deeply a couple of times and went to the door on my left, which led to Dullac Senior's office. I didn't knock and came in, barely making a few steps into the room; it felt safer to be standing close to the only exit of this place.

"Sit," the gorgeous middle-aged man ordered, pointing at the chair opposite him, on the other side of his colossal desk.

I sat on the chair and crossed my legs at the ankles, like a proper lady would. Not that I care about being a lady, but I didn't need to give this man more reasons to unleash his anger on me.

"I need to see all those people by tomorrow evening," he said as he pushed a stupidly long list of names with their contact details in front of me. "If you have to, arrange the meetings during my lunch break or in the evening. I'll make do. Only do so if there's no way around it, though, understood?"

I nodded mindlessly, too preoccupied by the large list in front of my eyes.

"You realize there's more than ten people on this list, right? Some of them work on the other side of the city."

"I guess that'll be your first real challenge in this company, Miss Lagostera. Try to have the meetings happen here, it'll save some travel time."

"It's Shagostera," I replied automatically.

"Sure. You should get to it right now, time is ticking."

I picked up the piece of paper and stood up. As I reached for the door to my office, Dullac's voice called out after me.

"By the way, Lagostera. If you're going to be late anyway, at least take the time to wear clean clothes and sort out your hair. You look like a trainwreck."

I ignored the insult and exited the room.

Feeling self-conscious, I made a quick trip to the bathroom to fix my hair. I examined myself in the mirror and found that I was honestly looking okay, now that my hair was not all over the place. Dullac just once again wanted to be a dick.

Petty and revengeful as I was, I was tempted to arrange Dullac's meetings so they'd be all over the city at the most ridiculous times. Then I thought twice about it. There were many ways this could come bite me in the ass, so I dropped the idea. Instead, I made good use of my persuasion skills and put some extra effort into scheduling all the meetings so that the itinerary from one appointment to another was optimized and the number of miles traveled minimized. Except for two meetings which I ended up having to schedule after office hours, I had done a good job.

I proudly emailed the details to Dullac and started working on something else.

"Take your things, we're leaving now," my boss said while he barged out of his office and entered mine. "My car is brand new and I'd like to avoid driving it all over the city for now. We'll take yours."

I looked at him puzzled and did not move an inch. Erm, what?

"Didn't I mention that you'd be coming with me? I need you to take minutes at each meeting."

"No, you didn't mention that."

"Oh. Well, consider it mentioned, now. Take your keys and let's go, our first appointment is in half an hour."

"I don't drive," I replied mechanically, as I'd been doing for ages. People were always shocked when they found out I didn't drive. In their defense, everybody drives in LA. This city is not made for walking around and taking public transportation.

"In LA? Seriously?" He scoffed. "Why?"

"I just don't," I said while I did my best to ignore my heart clenching.

"Maybe you should. It might prevent you from being late in the future," Dullac replied with a snarl. "I guess we'll take my car, then."

While I followed the big boss to the underground garage, I couldn't help but have a feeling of déjà-vu. This scene was oddly similar to what had happened a few days earlier with Dullac Junior. The apple really did not fall far from the tree, it seemed.

"You really should get a car, you know?" Dullac told me as we got out of the garage, his tone full of condescension, like he had any right or higher moral ground to tell me how to live my life.

"I know," I merely replied, not wanting to start a fight at the beginning of what was about to be a two-day road trip.

"Then why don't you?" He insisted despite my obvious efforts not to dwell on the subject.

Jeez, take a hint!

"Money," I lied.

"I've got a few contacts in the city. I'm sure they could find you a decent car for a reasonable price, that you'd be able to pay for in several installments. Let me know if you'd like me to call them."

Was that a nice offer or another flex to show me how many strings he could pull in this city? I was leaning towards the latter.

"Yes, yes, Mr. 'I am a big name in LA,' I know. You know everyone in this damn city and you can make anybody's life miserable in the blink of an eye. It's getting old. I don't want a car anyway."

He rolled his eyes and an insolent smirk showed on his lips.

"What an ironic thing for you to say. The 'rebellious kid who hates authority figures' act is getting old too, you know. I've seen your efficiency and read your work. You're well-worded and good at problem-solving. You're not nearly as stupid as you act. Drop the pretense and start behaving like a professional woman instead of an angry teenager."

"Where did you read my work?" I asked, focusing on the most meaningless detail of his monologue because that was my way of avoiding touchy subjects. I was, indeed, much smarter than I acted sometimes. But I also was a fiery cocktail of angry, broken, sassy, with a hint of Latin temper. Sometimes I was just that stupid.

"Do you really think I'd let you work with me so closely without checking what you're worth first? I had Arthur give me the reports and minutes you wrote and I asked him for his opinion about you. He said that, even though you're an insubordinate pain in the ass – I'm paraphrasing – you're doing a good job."

My sassy, flirty, and one hundred percent inappropriate reply was out of my mouth before I even registered I was saying it.

"I can be very subordinate when need be," I heard myself say in my best 'fuck me' voice.

Like I had just said, sometimes I was just that stupid. It was not the anger, the pain, nor the Latin temper that had made me say that. Just pure stupidity. And a – very stupid – sexual attraction for my big boss.

I decided that, since the poor-taste joke was out anyway, it was better to own it rather than try to apologize and save the situation. I sat up straighter in my seat and stared at him. He couldn't take his own eyes off the road without risking killing us both, but I'm sure he would have held my stare if he could have.

"Be careful what you wish for," is what I thought I heard him hiss between clenched teeth. It couldn't possibly be right.

"What?" I asked in shock.

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm just saying that, once again, you're taking the childish way out of a serious conversation. When I look at you, all I'm seeing is wasted potential. I don't pretend to know why you act like that, but I strongly advise that you snap out of it and grow up."

Snap is what I did.

"Excuse me?" I gasped, outraged. "You don't know a single thing about me, what makes you think you can say that to me?"

He let out a dark laugh.

"I know you more than you think, April. You're not that special, and not that mysterious. You had a tough teenagerhood, probably an absent father, and now that you are older and have gained a bit of self-confidence, you're acting up. Let me guess, you had few friends in high school and you were a Mathlete?"

My jaw dropped upon hearing such horrors. Should I yell? Should I slap him? Should I tell him how wrong he was? Should I laugh at his face? Should I remain silent? All of the above?

I braced myself, like I always do when I have to talk about my high school and college years, and I plastered a smile on my face, determined not to show him that this was a painful subject to me.

"You couldn't be more wrong. My dad was very much present in my life and, if I was indeed a Mathlete, I also had a lot of friends. And I was a cheerleader, too."

"I have to admit, I did not expect that. Did you date the quarterback?" He jokingly asked.

"No," I retorted, trying not to buckle from the pain growing in my heart. I dated a whole other kind of guy. "My best friend did, though."

"How line-blurring of you. Being both a nerd and friends with the cool kids."

"I guess I was just so great that everyone wanted to be friends with me," I retorted while flipping my hair over my shoulder, like the sassy queen I was.

A true, honest laugh came out of Dullac's mouth. I think that was the first time I saw him show me anything other than anger, disdain, or condescension.

"I'm sure you were..." He said in a low voice while directing his focus back on the road.

***

The two days spent with Dullac Senior going from one meeting to another went by surprisingly fast, and even more surprisingly without any incident to report. We both were professional, and friendly enough with each other for the road trip not to be a total disaster, nor a total bore. The numerous hours we spent stuck in the LA traffic had not been as bad as I had expected them to be. To some level, Dullac could be funny, and he made an entertaining travel companion. He had also been generous enough to pay for both my lunches and had provided me with countless Starbucks drinks.

On Wednesday, after the last meeting which had taken place in his office and ended a couple hours after our usual finishing time, he offered to drive me home. I refused at first, thinking it was both too much and too weird, then ended up accepting. After all, it was dark outside, and he was insisting heavily.

"Wow, this place is a dump," he commented as he stopped the car in the parking lot of my building.

He wasn't wrong, but the comment stung anyway. Sorry I'm not earning millions like you, sir! And my place wasn't that bad, the building was old but sound and sanitary, it's just that the neighborhood wasn't the safest you could find in LA.

"And I see you're back to your charming manners," I replied sarcastically.

"My apologies, that wasn't a very nice way of describing your home. But seriously, though, I wouldn't be surprised if they found a meth lab in one of your neighbors' flat."

"Maybe I'm the neighbor with a meth lab in their flat," I retorted and that made him laugh.

"No, you're too smart to be doing the dirty job. You'd get someone else to do it to keep your hands clean. And you'd definitely be too high in the hierarchy to deal with the production anyway. You'd be the drug lord. Or the drug lady, in that case."

I looked at him with surprise, unable to continue the fun banter we were having.

"What?" He inquired.

"In a very weird way, that's quite the compliment you've just paid me. I'm pretty sure that's the first time you say something nice to me, even if it's lost in a drug cartel metaphor."

"That's not true, I lauded your efficiency and your writing just yesterday."

"But you also called me an insubordinate pain in the ass and assumed that I have daddy issues and were bullied in high school. This time you've just called me smart. No backhanded compliment. You're getting soft!"

He laughed again, and I found myself laughing with him. Just like I had consistently done for the past two days.

When the laughing stopped, the car became dead silent. That was my cue to leave the vehicle and go home. Then why wasn't I moving?

The answer was simple: deep down, I wanted to invite him upstairs for a drink that would turn into a night of hot sex. It was wrong to want that, I was aware of it, but the heart has its reasons, so they say... Well, not so much my heart than my vag'.

When I met Dullac Senior for the first time less than two weeks earlier, I had instantly found him attractive. With his dark hair, his icy blue eyes that looked like they could see right through me, his chin dimple, and his always impeccable suit, he reminded me of a DC villain. His villainy had been confirmed promptly when he had criticized my physical appearance without any prior provocation, and that's what had kept me and my sex drive from fantasizing about the hot CEO. Now that he was being almost nice to me, though, the tables had turned. How was I supposed to refrain my libido when this gorgeous snack was sitting right next to me, calling me smart and all?

Yes, I am conscious that changing my mind about a man just because he called me smart is ridiculous, thank you very much.

But there I was, in Dullac's car, imagining all kinds of scenarios involving the both of us naked, some rope, a whip, and his hand on my throat. This guy had to be into BDSM. You don't look like you own every single room you step into and enjoy vanilla sex, do you?

As my thoughts became dirtier and dirtier, Dullac didn't do anything to interrupt my internal monologue. He wasn't hinting that he wanted me out of his car. If anything, he also looked like he was lost in his own thoughts. Maybe he was also feeling the thick sexual tension between us? Maybe he wanted to jump me just as much as I wanted to jump him?

Just as I was convincing myself that I was being crazy and got ready to leave, the phone in his pocket vibrated. I reached for the door handle but he raised his index finger to indicate that he wanted me to stay and picked up his phone.

"Yes, dear?"

His wife. Of course. The man was married, for Christ's sake!

"Sorry, I had a lot of urgent meetings today, I just got out of the office. I'm on my way home. I'll call you as soon as I'm there."

Doesn't she live with him? Won't he see her at home?

"No, I'm alone," he lied to her. There was a brief moment when she spoke and then he replied, "I don't know, I guess I just didn't hear my phone vibrate the first time you called.... No, I am not screwing my secretary right now! .... Mags, you—.... Oh, sorry, Magdalen! You're being ridiculous, you've met Joy! She is happily married and way too nice to steal another woman's husband. I was just in a late meeting, I'll send you my business schedule if that can appease you! .... For God's sake, honey! Let me drive home and we'll have this conversation later, when I can have a glass of whisky at the same time because this is preposterous! Talk to you soon, bye."

He hung up and let out a long heavy sigh.

"You lied to her," I commented. "You're not alone."

"She was being paranoid and I didn't want to add fuel to the fire. It's not like we're doing anything wrong. I'm just driving my employee home because it's late and LA is not safe at night. Or ever, especially in your neighborhood."

"Sure. Where is she right now? It didn't sound like you were going back to her, are you spending the night in your shag pad instead?"

Why was I putting a spoke in my own wheel? Who cared where she was and why he wasn't meeting her that night? My bringing up his wife's absence wasn't the best way of making sure I'd ever see the aforementioned shag pad.

"It's really none of your business," he stated with a sigh, "but she's in our house in Palm Springs. I have a condo here, in Manhattan Beach. That's where I live during the week, and I go back home on the weekends and for the holidays."

Manhattan Beach, huh? Bougie!

I felt a bit of compassion for Mrs. Dullac who didn't see her career-oriented husband during the week. No wonder they had marriage issues, according to Joy. Then I remembered that it was not my problem.

"So you do have a shag pad!" I exclaimed, half laughing.

"Stop calling my place that. You make it sound like I'm fucking other women in there."

"Aren't you?"

"What, fucking other women? Of course not!"

Did I believe the guy? I was tempted to say no. But something in the way he felt so offended that I even suggested that he was a player or a cheater made me believe him. Plus, Joy also thought that he had a clean record.

"Then you have nothing to hide and you shouldn't be lying to her."

He turned his face and looked at me in disbelief, like I was missing an obvious point.

"I'm sorry, are you married?" He asked sarcastically.

"No, but that—"

"Then you cannot possibly have anything relevant to say about this situation. It's white lies that keep a couple together. Am I alone right now? No. But am I doing anything wrong? Still no. So what's the point in telling her that I'm with you and risking making her angry and upset over nothing?"

I rolled my eyes. One, just because I wasn't married didn't mean I did not know anything about long-term relationships. Two, the point in telling her was obvious. I'd much rather my partner told me if they were spending one-on-one time with someone else rather than find out they did it behind my back. The former shows honesty, trust, and good communication, the latter shows lies and an intention to hide, hence potential cheater behavior.

I did not bother explaining my point to Dullac, though, he seemed way too set on being dishonest and I didn't have it in me to start another debate. Instead, I said, "From what I've heard, she's the one doing the cheating, anyway."

That was the worst thing I could have ever said. As soon as the words were out, I regretted saying them. The week before, Joy had told me how Dullac's wife was often acting very weird, asking her to cancel dates with her husband for no legitimate reason and being surprisingly busy when trying to reschedule. Because, mind you, setting up dates for Dullac and his wife was apparently part of Joy's job description. And it appeared that Magdalen Mags Dullac was more often than not too busy for her husband, even though she was unemployed. With that and what apparently was Mags's overall sketchy behavior, Joy was convinced that she was cheating on him, and I was treating this information like facts.

Still, though, it was mean of me to just say that Dullac. Not to mention that I was betraying Joy's trust, who had told me that in confidence.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," I tried to backpedal but it was too late.

"Don't play dumb with me, who told you that?"

"No-one in particular, it was just office gossip, I wouldn't pay too much attention to it," I attempted to play it down.

"Are you telling me my own company thinks that I'm being cheated on? What happens in my marriage is nobody's business, for heaven's sake! And particularly not my employees'!" He yelled at me.

I kept quiet. I did not often feel sorry for people, except myself maybe, and even less so for people who had a bad record of being rude to me in several instances. That night though, in that car, I couldn't help but have sympathy for my boss. I didn't know who Joy had told about Mrs. Dullac's alleged infidelity, but if it had reached me, the temporary worker who would be gone almost as soon as she'd arrived, I could imagine that a large proportion of the assistants and support staff was also in the loop. I would hope that the people higher up in the hierarchy were unaware of the tales of the lower people, though.

In any case, whether only two or two hundred people in this company were spreading the rumor that Dullac was cuckolded by his wife was irrelevant. Just the fact that it was happening was humiliating, and potentially harming his authority. Not to mention that he must be sad, too.

"For what it's worth," I tentatively said after a long silence, "I'm sorry I told you that. It's none of my business."

He didn't acknowledge what I had just said and kept his gaze straight in front of him, full of anger. His eyebrows were frowned, making his eyes look even deeper set in his face, and his jaw tense. His hand that was still on the steering wheel was gripping the thing with unnecessary force.

I had no business staying in this car any longer. Dullac was clearly upset – because of me, mostly, but I suspect that his dismay was due to deeper stuff than just finding out that his employees had been bad mouthing him – and I was in no position to make the situation better. I'm not sure I wanted to either. He was not my friend, it was not my place to calm him down and let him know that stupid rumors about the CEO are a staple of office life.

I picked up my purse from the floor and went for the door handle.

"Wait," Dullac asked calmly, yet I could see the fire burning inside him. A similar fire was growing between my legs. In his enterprise to hold me back, he had grabbed my exposed thigh. It could have passed for a fair mistake, you know, like he had held on to the first thing that had come within his reach when trying to keep me in the car. Except that, once I stopped my movement and turned my head to face him, his grip didn't loosen. If anything, it tightened, his slender fingers digging in my podgy flesh, claiming it, not letting it go.

I should have been offended by this gesture. Hell, I should have swatted his hand away and run out of his car. He was married, he was my boss – not for long but still – and, most importantly, he was the father of a man I had made a move on a couple days earlier. Talk about red flags! Both on his end and mine. And yet, I couldn't bring myself to turn him down. If one simple hand on my thigh could do this to me, imagine what he could do with the rest of his body, on the rest of my body...

As if on cue, his grip tightened even more, to the point that it started to hurt and his fingers would probably leave bruises on my skin. Delightful.

His eyes locked in mine, reading and judging my reaction. What he saw was nothing but silent consent, I can guarantee it, so he squeezed me tighter. I tried to muffle the whimper that came out of my mouth; without success. The cocky man next to me smirked and kept staring. I rubbed my legs together in the hopes of relieving some of the pressure I was feeling in my lower abdomen; again, without success. His smirked grew bigger and more insolent.

He scooted his hand higher, scrunching up my tight skirt even more in the movement. His hand now at the junction between my thigh and my hip, he squeezed hard again, his knuckles brushing against my underwear. When his pinky started flirting dangerously with the seam of my panties, impatient to get in there, I jumped a little.

"It's true, you know," he eventually said, not breaking eye contact.

"What is?" I asked, my right mind already long gone through the window.

"My wife. She did cheat on me. Probably still does."

This had the same effect on me as an ice-cold shower.

"What? How do you know?"

He shrugged, his hand and eyes still on me.

"Intuition, I guess. I've never caught her, and she's never confessed, but I can feel it. There are signs."

"And you're okay with that? With your wife fucking somebody else?" I asked louder than I meant to.

He sighed heavily, clearly upset.

"No, of course not. But like I mentioned earlier, marriage is not that simple. It's not like I can just leave her and be done with it, she's my wife! We've been together for thirty years. One does not simply pack their bags and walk away. Marriage requires constant work, that's how we can overcome obstacles."

"Yeah, obstacles like someone leaving the toilet seat up or not doing the laundry. We're talking about fucking adultery, here! And from the sound of it, it's a recurring thing, not a one-time mistake. It's not just a pebble in the middle of road, it's a fucking boulder!"

"I know!" He yelled, matching my rising tone. With his outburst, his fingers gripped me even tighter. I had forgotten they were here; the sexual tension had left the building the second he had mentioned his cheating wife. "I fucking know. I'm still thinking, okay? It's not an easy decision to make. Sometimes it's just easier to look the other way and be happy rather than confront each other, you know?"

That's the cowardly way. And that's not being happy.

As we sat there in silence, listening to his marriage crumble to pieces, I realized that I didn't want anything to do with its collapse.

I covered his hand with mine and, slowly, loosened it until it was not holding on to my thigh anymore. I had dark red dots where each of his fingertips had dug in my flesh. I pulled my skirt back down and laced my fingers with his and let our entangled hands rest on my lap.

"Listen, erm..." I marked a pause. How was I supposed to address him? I had always called him 'sir' or 'Mr. Dullac', but surely his hand frolicking dangerously close to my underwear a few seconds earlier called for another way to call him. Was his first name even an option?

"Oh for God's sake, just call me Victor!" He guessed and simultaneously answered my internal questions.

"All right. Listen, Victor." The name felt weird when I pronounced it. "I will not be your petty revenge. Sort your shit out first, and then come back to me."

While I was saying the words, I was trying to convince myself more than him. No matter how certain I was that we would have an amazing time in bed together, I was worth more than a married man trying to get back at his cheating wife with me.

I brought our clasped hands to my mouth, kissed his knuckles and eventually released him. I leaned over the center console and kissed his cheek too, right next to his lips. I was doing my best to be good, but I wasn't a saint either.

"Goodbye, Victor," I said and, without turning back, I grabbed my purse and left the car.

"I'm still expecting you in the office tomorrow morning!" He called out after me when I climbed the few stairs that lead to the entrance of my building. "On time!"

I giggled and entered the building, still not looking back.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: Hi everyone! I've had a few more readers than usual lately, so thank you very much for that! If you read this regularly, please consider leaving a vote and a comment (this can only be done by creating a Wattpad account) as that helps a lot.

Next chapter on Wednesday.

Love,
Charlie.