During the day, Eric and I work side by side as boss and admin; and at night, we play and enjoy each other. His inclination toward experimentation is innate, and every time we’re alone, he drives me mad with his fantasies, with his way of touching and taking me. He loves to watch when I masturbate with the vibrator he gave me, a whim of his I’m more than happy to indulge. He makes me feel such lust that I want to go back to that swingers’ club and do everything again. When I confess this to him, he laughs aloud, and when he penetrates me, he fantasizes that it’s another man and he’s only watching, which makes me crazy.
On Wednesday, when we get to Orense, we go straight to a meeting. On the way, Eric talks to a certain Marta on the phone, and he gets pissed about something. The day gets twisted, and he ends up bitching about the branch director’s lack of professionalism. The director hasn’t prepared any of the things we’ve requested, and Eric doesn’t take it well. I try to mediate so we can relax and get on with the meeting, but Eric tells me to be quiet.
On the way back, Eric is in a sinister mood. Amanda sneers at me with superiority, and I’m so annoyed, I could bite somebody’s head off. When we get to the hotel, Eric asks Amanda to step out of the car so he can talk to me privately. She exits, and he gives me a look that shatters me into a million pieces.
“Let this be the last time you speak at a meeting without my having specifically addressed you,” he says.
I understand his anger. He’s right, and though I’m bothered by the scolding, I want to apologize, but he won’t let me.
“In the end, Amanda may be right. Your presence here may be unnecessary.”
The facts that he mentions that woman and that he talks about me to her enrage me.
“I could give three shits what that imbecile has to say.”
“But maybe I do,” he snarls.
He rubs his eyes and touches his face. He doesn’t look good. His cell buzzes. Eric glances at it and cuts off the call.
“You don’t look very good,” I say in an attempt to soften the moment. “Do you have a headache?”
Without answering, Eric stares at me, hard.
“Good night, Judith. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Is he firing me?
With what little dignity I have left, I open the car door and step out. Amanda is just a few feet from me, but I’d rather not deal with her. I go straight to my room.
The next morning is Thursday, and when the alarm clock goes off at seven thirty, I resist. I want to sleep some more. Between groans, I get up and head for the shower. I need the water to awaken my body. After the shower, I open my suitcase and pull out a pair of panties. I put them on and think I’m going to have to ask Eric to give me back the ones he took or I’m not going to have any reserves. My anger has faded. I’m sure that his has too and we have a terrific day ahead of us. I open the closet and pull out a blue suit with a skirt and an open-collar shirt. I want to be sexy today so he’ll want to come back to the hotel right away.
At eight, hotel staff knocks on my room door, and two seconds later, a very nice cart is rolled in with my breakfast. I make myself a cup of coffee and enjoy a mini sandwich.
My cell buzzes. There’s a text message. Eric: Eight thirty in the lobby.
Not even a simple Good morning, sweetness, or Jude, or whatever.
But without a minute to spare, and longing to see him, I grab my briefcase. I pack my cell and the documents we’ll need today and close it. We’re off to another branch office in Asturias today, and I hope it turns out better than yesterday.
In the lobby, I see Eric leaning on a desk. He looks impressive with his light-gray suit and white shirt. I see that his beautiful hair is still wet from the shower, and I shiver. I would have loved to shower with him.
Two women walking by turn to look at him. Typical. I walk up to him in my heels and around his broad back as he concentrates on reading the paper.
“Good morning,” I say in a sweet voice.
Eric doesn’t take his eyes off the newspaper.
“Good morning, Miss Flores.”
But wait—we’re back to using our goddamned surnames?
I didn’t expect him to take me in his arms as if he’s my boyfriend. But, c’mon, it wouldn’t be too much to ask for a bit more warmth after a night apart.
His indifference disconcerts me.
Why won’t he look at me?
Not ready to play cat and mouse with him, I decide to just step aside and wait until he says it’s time to go. I take a peek at my watch. It’s eight thirty. I peer out the hotel door and see the limo waiting. Why aren’t we leaving? Eric doesn’t acknowledge my presence and keeps on reading the paper, his jaw tense. Is he still mad? I want to ask him, but I don’t want to go first.
I don’t move. I don’t sigh. I’m sure he’s waiting for me to do something so he can give me a sharp scolding.
People—about 90 percent of them businesspeople like us—pass us by. Now it’s eight thirty-five. I’m surprised we’re still here. Eric is a lunatic when it comes to punctuality. Twenty to nine. He’s being totally cool, not giving a damn that I’m standing here like a half-wit. And then I hear the rat-a-tat of sharp heels. It’s Amanda, wearing a suit jacket and white skirt.
She doesn’t look at me. She has eyes only for Eric.
“I’m sorry about the holdup, Eric,” she says to him in German. “There was a problem with my clothes.”
I notice that he smiles. And looks at her. His blue eyes scan her from top to bottom.
“Don’t worry about it, Amanda. The wait was worth it. Did you sleep OK?”
“Yes,” she responds, not bothering with my presence. “I slept some.”
I slept some?
Did she say, “I slept some”? What are these two idiots trying to tell me?
She smiles, then touches his waist.
I’m having a hard time breathing as I realize what’s happened between these two, and I want to scream. Suddenly, Eric puts his hand on Amanda’s back and very quickly grazes her waist.
“C’mon, let’s go; the driver is waiting.”
I don’t know what to do. An uncontrollable jealousy like nothing I’ve ever felt boils inside me, and I just want to grab a beautiful vase and smash it over his head.
My heart’s going a mile a minute. This is humiliating, enraging—and he continues, indifferent.
Eric’s still mad, and I don’t understand why. But no. I’m not going to give in. Eric doesn’t know me, and nobody’s going to make a fool out of me.
I start after them.
If that idiotic German thinks I’m going to make a scene, he’s got another think coming. I’m not going to give in that easily. At the limo, the driver opens the door. Amanda climbs in, then Eric, but when I’m about to step inside, Eric stops me with his hand.
“Miss Flores, please sit up front with the driver.”
Bam! That’s quite a slap in the face!
But I can be a cool customer too.
“As you say, Mr. Zimmerman,” I respond, chill as ice.
Indifferently, I sit next to the driver. But now I’m beyond enraged. For a few seconds, I hear them chatting and laughing behind me, and then that’s interrupted by the metallic noise of opaque glass sliding closed near my ear. I take a sideways glance as it separates the front seat from the back of the limo.
I’m furious. Without realizing it, I’m digging my nails into the palms of my hands.
“Would you like to listen to some music?” the driver asks.
I nod. I can’t talk. I put on my sunglasses and try to hide my face. Suddenly, Dani Martín’s song “Mi lamento” comes on, and I want to cry something fierce.
But no. I swallow my tears and try to enjoy the song and the drive. I even sing along.
In the forty-five minutes it takes to get us to the office, my mind works at top speed. What are those two doing back there? Why did Eric ask me to sit up front? Why is he still mad at me? When the limo stops, I get out before the driver has
a chance to open my door.
Once out of the car, I smile when I see Santiago Ramos. He’s the admin for this branch office, and we’ve always had a good rapport. The driver opens the car door, and Eric and Amanda emerge. I don’t look at them. I just stare straight ahead with my sunglasses on.
Eric greets Jesús Gutierrez, the branch director, and his executive council. He introduces Amanda and then me. Conducting myself with utter professionalism, I shake hands with each of them and follow. But this time, instead of staying behind Eric and Amanda, I slow down to say hi to Santiago. We share a pair of quick kisses on the cheek as a greeting.
Once we are inside, a couple of young women offer us coffee. I accept gladly. I need coffee. My distance from Eric, coupled with my chat with Santiago, helps me calm down. In my peripheral vision, I see Eric turn. It’s just for an instant, but I know he is looking for me.
Santiago and I keep talking, and we laugh when he tells me stories about his little girl. Ten minutes later, we all stroll into the conference room and take our positions. Like always, Eric presides. Amanda sits to his right, and I try to find a seat farther away.
“Miss Flores.” I hear my boss call my name. I manage to keep a straight face.
“Please sit on the other side of the table. In front of me.”
I want to kill him . . . just kill him.
But determined to be the perfect assistant, I pick up and sit where he indicates. On the other side of the table. In front of him.
The meeting begins, and I listen carefully to everything. I don’t look at him, and I don’t think he looks at me either. I have my cell in front of me, and I fear I might get one of his texts. But luckily, none come. At one o’clock, we pause the meeting. It’s time to eat. The branch director has reserved a table at a nearby hotel, and Santiago offers to give me a ride. I accept.
Not paying any particular attention to my Iceman—he’s standing with Amanda—I’m walking by him when I hear him call. I ask Santiago to give me a minute and go see what my boss wants.
“Where are you going, Miss Flores?”
“To the restaurant, Mr. Zimmerman.”
Eric sees Santiago waiting for me.
“You may go in the limo with us.”
Good. Now he’s pissed off.
Payback!
Amanda stares at us. We speak in Spanish, which I think annoys her.
“Thank you, Mr. Zimmerman, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to go with Santiago.”
“I do mind,” he responds.
There’s no one around us. No one can hear us.
“Too bad for you, sir.”
I turn around and walk away.
I know I’ve just been as reckless as any administrative assistant can be. And probably more so, given that Eric’s the boss. But I needed to do that. I needed to make him feel how I’m feeling.
Without concern for the consequences, I go back to Santiago and casually take his arm. We get into his car and head toward the restaurant while I start to calculate when I’ll stop working. Because, after this, they’re going to fire me for sure.
When we get there, Santiago and I get a pair of Cokes.
I see Eric come in, with Amanda and the big bosses behind him, and I can sense his anger. The executives come in and take their places. Eric looks like he’s going to sit but then gives some excuse and beckons to me. Santiago and I see him, and I can’t not go.
I take a swallow of my Coke, put the glass on the bar, and go see what’s up now.
“Yes, Mr. Zimmerman, how may I help you?”
Eric lowers his voice, though his stern expression remains the same. “What are you doing, Jude?”
I’m surprised I’m Jude again. “I’m having a Coke, a Coke Zero, because it has fewer calories.”
He’s exasperated by my response and my snappiness.
“Why are you constantly making me angry?” he asks, which disconcerts me.
“I’m . . . ?” I ask, whispering too. “You’re something else . . .”
His gaze is tense. Hard and defiant.
“Let’s go back to the table,” he says, turning around.
When Santiago and I had arrived at the restaurant, we picked spots at the other end of the table, and I head back there. The food is exquisite, and I continue chatting with my friend. I take a glimpse at my boss a few times and see him smiling at Amanda. My rage swells again. And when our eyes meet, I’m practically on fire.
At four thirty, we go back to the office. Of course, I ride with Santiago in his car. The meeting picks back up and doesn’t end until seven. I’m so tired of this.
21
At the end of the workday, Amanda, Eric, and I go out to the waiting limo together, but I don’t give him a chance to humiliate me again—of my own volition, I take a seat up front with the driver.
I can hear them. In fact, I can hear Amanda giggling and laughing up a storm. I keep waiting for the divider to separate us, but this time, Eric doesn’t close off the backseat. He wants me to hear everything they’re saying. He’s speaking in German, and just hearing him sets me off.
When we arrive at the hotel, I open my door and step out. I want more than anything in the world to get away from Eric and his companion, but instead, I wait courteously for them to emerge from the limo. When they do, I say good night and take my leave.
I practically run to the elevator. When the doors close, I let out a long sigh of relief. The day has been horrible, and I want to disappear. As soon as I open the door to my suite, I toss my briefcase on the beautiful couch. I turn on some music. I let my hair down, take off my jacket, and untuck my shirt. I need a shower.
Then I hear a series of knocks on the door. I sense it’s him. I decide to ignore the rapping, but the knocks are insistent. I’m so tired. But I’m stunned when I give in and see it’s Amanda at my door.
“May I come in?” she asks me in German.
“Of course, Miss Fisher,” I say, also in German.
She enters. I close the door and turn to her.
“Are you going to stay the weekend, like you did in Barcelona?” she asks before I have a chance to say anything.
I do what Eric does sometimes. I twist my face in thought.
“Yes,” I finally say.
My answer annoys her. She runs her hand through her hair and puts her hands on her hips.
“If your intention is to be with him, forget it. He will be with me.”
“What are you talking about, Miss Fisher?”
“You and I both know very well what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb. You’re not some poor Spanish girl who thinks she’s hit the mother lode with Eric, are you?”
I’m taken aback by that. I blink, and then I let loose with everything that’s been burning inside me.
“Listen, girlee, you’ve made a big mistake with me. And if you keep it up, you’re going to have a big problem, because I’m not the type who keeps quiet or gets scared away. So be careful what you say, because you don’t want this poor Spanish girl to beat the crap out of you.”
Amanda takes a step back. Apparently, I sound pretty threatening.
“I think the smartest thing you could do is to stay away from him,” she says. “I’ll take care of whatever he needs. I know him, and I know how to quench his desires.”
I clench my fists so hard that my nails puncture skin. But I’m well aware I can’t act out my emotions. I count to twenty, because ten isn’t nearly enough, and walk over to the door and open it.
“Amanda,” I say as courteously as I can, “get out of my room, because if you stay much longer, I fear something very ugly is going to happen.”
When she leaves, I slam the door. I take off my heels and launch them toward the couch. Goddamn it!
Eric has been using me to make that inflatable doll jealous. I curse and slam my foot against one of the expensive chairs in the suite. How could I have been so dumb? Not wanting to think about anything else, I grab my cell just as a text message comes in. Eric: C
ome to my room.
Just reading that makes me want to explode. He’s always thought of me as just a toy, but in that moment, I realize he’s also thought of me as a stupid toy. Furious, I text, Go fuck yourself.
I don’t expect a response.
In a matter of seconds, I hear a door opening; and suddenly, a shirtless Eric appears before me with a harsh look on his face and a card in his hand. Without a word, he stands in front of me. He tosses on the floor the card he used to open the door, pulls me up by the arm, and kisses me deeply. I try not to respond, but my body betrays me. I want him. My desire is uncontrollable. And an instant later, I’m the one who’s kissing him and craving more.
His hands rush to undo the back buttons on my skirt, and we crash against the wall. Without heels, I’m very small next to him. He uses his leg to pry my legs open, while one hand sneaks under my shirt and snakes around my abdomen. I close my eyes and let go. I let him go too. Without removing my skirt, his hand continues its descent, then slips under my panties and burrows until it hits my clit.
My clit swells and I moan. I rub up against him to bring his fingers deeper; he gives me a little slap with his free hand. I’m in flames. And then he unbuttons his pants, pulls his hand away from me, and tugs me to the center of the room. He stares right at me and whispers to me as his lips graze mine.
“Sweetness, you have no idea how much I want you.”
He lowers the waistband, and my skirt falls to the floor. He squats, brings his nose to my panties, and inhales. He takes a gentle bite of my labia, and I moan. His greedy hands touch and caress me. They climb my legs and grab the elastic on my panties. He slips them off me. One more time I find myself naked from the waist down in front of him, but I don’t say a word. I let myself surrender to however he wants to animate me and unhinge me and make me his.
He rises from the floor. He pushes me back on the couch, turns me around, and has me lean over the back. My head and arms drop while my butt rises, exposed, on a platter for him. For just a few seconds, I delight in his nibbling my cheeks and notice his arms coming toward me. Another slap. Harder this time. It stings. But the sting eases when I feel his penis pushing against me.