Guillermo

Guillermo
On the day of lunch with the Oviedo family

The moment I left her at the hotel, I wanted to go back. It felt strange coming home knowing she wouldn’t be with me.

Olivia needed only a few days to change even the place I live in. There’s no way I can sit at my desk on the first floor without remembering what happened.

Her thighs spread, the nightgown open, showing her full breasts, her head thrown back, asking, offering.

Fuck!

But I know my mother is right. I can’t let things between us go any further until she knows the whole truth.

In my defense, I can say Olivia knocked me out. Being a man who’s had to plan most of his adult life, having her seep so quickly into my system was not what I expected.

God, I wanted to kill my brother!

Seeing her smile at Gael’s sweet talk or even the almost instant friendship between her and Rafe drove me insane with jealousy.

Nina grumbles when I place her in the crib, but unlike the past few days, she doesn’t cry.

She looks at me in the dim room as if we’re both thinking the same thing: why isn’t Olivia here with us?

"Good question, Princess Nina. Maybe because your daddy is an idiot."

She smiles, claps her hands, and for one crazy second, I think she’s agreeing with me.

I sit in the rocking chair and try to replay the past few days in my head.

I won’t give up on her.

I know I should.

Every card is stacked against me, but I also know I found something real. Now I just need to think of a way to fix the mess I caused without pushing her away for good.

I grab my phone and send a message.

The server marks it as delivered, and I keep staring at the screen, hoping she’ll answer.

After an hour, she declines my dinner invitation.

Olivia: "Thank you, but no. There are too many changes happening in my life, and I need to think."

Even though it goes against my nature, I decide I’ll give her tomorrow so she can have some time for herself, but I won’t give up until she hears what I have to say.

I’ll call Joaquín and ask him to come stay with Nina on Monday night.

It’s time to raise the stakes.



On Monday

I can hardly wait to see her.

I sent several messages, all answered coldly, and now tonight, they haven’t even reached the server. She didn’t answer my calls either.

To make things worse, I’m heading back to Boston after spending an entire day in New York dealing with a damn Sheikh who threw a party with luxury escorts, occupying an entire floor and horrifying the other guests of one of our most prestigious hotels.

Heads will roll when I find out who allowed that. The press is reporting the incident relentlessly. A Republican senator found a woman wrapped in a towel in the hallway, and my manager said he thought the man was going to have a seizure.

I’m pissed as hell and even more irritated for not being able to talk to her. So, even after spending hours buried in a real hell, I asked Joaquín to pick up Nina at my mother’s house.

There’s no way I’ll be able to sleep tonight without talking to Olivia first.

I’m not usually anxious. I could never afford to be, since my family’s lives were in my hands, but right now I’m counting the minutes until I see her.

I’m handing my car to one of the hotel valets when a message from him arrives.

Joaquín: “She seems to be a good girl.”

If it had come from anyone else, that statement might not mean much, but my brother—fearless as ever—is the most suspicious bastard that exists, and now I know that despite what I asked, he investigated her.

With the buildup of emotions bottled up throughout the day, I walk into the lobby without sending any reply. Less than a minute later, another one arrives.

Joaquín: “The truth isn’t always pleasant, but it’s still the truth, brother.”

I know— I think as I walk.



She’s not at the hotel, and the calls and messages go straight to voicemail.
Where the hell did she go?

The temptation to go to her room is strong, but even for a born control freak like me, that would be too much. I don’t have the right to invade her apartment if she’s not there.

I head up to my office and check the records to see if she checked out of her room.

My gut tells me she didn’t. Despite seeming to want distance from me, Olivia isn’t a coward. She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.

It takes me little time to confirm that, as I suspected, she still occupies the apartment.

I turn on the monitor on my desk and activate the cameras covering the hotel entrance.

We’ll settle everything today.



The sound of a message wakes me from a nap, and only when I look at the clock do I realize it’s already past midnight.

“Miss Freitas has just gotten out of a car.”

It’s from Jake, a trusted employee of my father who has worked for us for over fifteen years.

One of the things I appreciate most about him is that he never asks questions about the orders he receives. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else to do what I requested because I wouldn’t want to expose her, but with him, I know there’s no risk of Olivia’s name becoming gossip.

I press the buttons to watch her enter, and for a moment, I don’t want to believe my eyes.

Olivia is walking through the lobby next to a guy who can’t be much older than her.

I zoom in on the cameras to make sure he’s not just a guest and that this isn’t some coincidence, but when the jerk accompanies her toward her elevator, I’m about to punch something.

I grab my phone and complete the call.
“Miss Freitas is heading to the north elevator. Stop it, go there, and tell her she’s expected in the presidential suite.”

Yes, I don’t need to be told this was a terrible move and that I probably just exposed both of us, but there isn’t a single logical thought crossing my mind now. The only thing I know is that there’s no damn way that bastard is taking my Olivia up there.

As I head up a floor to the presidential suite, I’m a mess inside. For the first time since I’ve known her, I wonder if I’m wrong and she’s just like Layla.

No. She wouldn’t do this after everything we’ve shared in the past few days.

Either way, that guy will only get to her apartment over my dead body.

I track her movements via my phone, which is also connected to the hotel cameras, still in the hallway leading to the elevator, and only when I see the blonde with the shaved head leaving alone do I finally breathe again.

Still completely insane with jealousy, I type a message as soon as I enter the suite.

“I’m waiting for you, Miss Freitas. Don’t even think about running.”



I know I should wait for her inside the room, but the urgency is unbearable.

Finally, when the elevator doors open and I have her within reach, all my troubled mind can focus on is the scene I’ve been replaying since she entered the hotel. Less than five minutes ago, there was a bastard coveting my woman.

I look at her.

The tight jeans she’s wearing outline every curve of that delicious body.
Her long hair, which just a few days ago was wrapped around my fist while I made her climax, now falls loose.
Her appetizing lips, naturally red, begging for mine.
And her eyes, those blue depths that drown me every damn time we look at each other.

I should take it slow.

We need to talk, but I can’t think clearly. So, before I can rationalize, I close the remaining steps to reach her and, holding her face exactly where I need it, I take her mouth—invading, consuming, reclaiming what’s mine.