Everything in the Open

Everything in the Open
“Living is the art of persisting with gentleness.”
– Fabrício Carpinejar

Ricardo

I had a rough night between the sheets, and not in the way I would have liked.
It took me a long time to fall asleep; I kept imagining ways to get closer to Júlia, who seemed armored against any kind of romantic involvement. When I finally dozed off, it was only for a few hours, and I woke up determined to do something about it.

After Júlia and her friends left the club, the night lost its shine. I just wanted to go home, lie down in my bed, and try to figure out how fate could toy with us so cruelly.
How could the mysterious girl from Brotas be the same woman my cousin kept saying he loved? The situation was, at minimum, complicated—but not impossible. And giving up was never my style.

The image of the dance floor kept flashing in my mind: Henrique surrounded by two women, one in front and one behind, like the filling in a human sandwich. The girls—Bruna and Jéssica—practically dragged him over there, and he, of course, didn’t resist.
That was Henrique. And that picture only reinforced what I already suspected: he might be smitten with Júlia, but it wasn’t love.

Meanwhile, I kept thinking about Brotas. About the way she left the hotel—silent, not leaving a number or a note. That puzzled me. She wanted distance from any tie, from any man.
Lucas had told me she’d been deeply disappointed in the past, and now I understood the reason for that armor.

Since I still didn’t know where she lived, I decided to call Angel. With a little persuasion and a reasonable excuse, I got Júlia’s address and number. With no reason to postpone, I drove over that same Sunday morning.

The building was small but well kept. I didn’t want to cause a scene—especially if Cecília or her boyfriend were home—but fate seemed to be on my side: the lobby was empty. I took the elevator from the ground floor and went up before anyone could stop me.

I rang the bell.
Nothing.
I rang again.
On the third ring—just as I was debating a fourth—the door opened, and there she was.

No makeup, hair tied messily, and yet… absolutely beautiful. For a second I forgot why I’d come.
“Hi,” she said, uncertain.
“Hi, Júlia,” I forced a smile. “May I come in?”
She hesitated for a moment, then gave in.
“Uh… sure. Come in.”

The welcome was far from warm, but I’d expected that. I stepped inside and waited for her to close the door.
“This is an odd situation,” she commented, pointing at the sofa. “Sit.”
I sat, crossing my ankle over my knee, and let my eyes sweep the room. The apartment was small but cozy. In several corners, photos of her and Cecília, always smiling. I picked up a framed photo and looked at it for a few seconds.
“Nice picture,” I said.
“Thanks.”

“You’re not going to ask why I came here? Or how I got your address, since you didn’t seem interested in being found?”
She crossed her arms and stared at me.
“I have no idea what brought you here,” she replied coldly. “But honestly, I don’t care to know. We had a night in Brotas. It was nice, and that’s that. Everyone went their own way.”
I smiled without looking away.
“You’re right.” I nodded calmly. “There’s nothing more to discuss about an exceptional night two months ago.”

She raised an eyebrow, sizing me up in silence. When she saw I didn’t move—just waited—she was the one to break the quiet.
“Then I guess there’s nothing left to say,” she said, indicating the door.

Her attitude only confirmed what I already knew: Júlia was decisive but not aggressive. Different from Alicia, who turned everything into a battlefield. Júlia was firm and human, and that combination was devastating.

“We do have something to talk about,” I said without getting up. “Two things, actually. Two proposals. And one has nothing to do with the other.”
She looked at me, suspicious.
“Proposals?”
“Yeah.” I leaned forward and pointed to the seat beside me. “Sit here.”

She sat down—on the opposite sofa, facing me—visibly guarded.
“I don’t bite, Júlia,” I said gently. “Not even if you ask me to.”
She lifted an eyebrow but didn’t react.
“So… what are the proposals?” she asked bluntly.
“I have two proposals,” I answered. “One professional, the other personal. They don’t influence each other. You can accept one, both, or neither.”

For a second, her expression softened; she settled back and weighed me like someone listing pros and cons.
“Which one first—the professional or the personal?” I teased, playing to spark her curiosity.
“Your showing up here is so unexpected,” she said. “I don’t even know what to think.”

I like looking at Júlia. There’s something about her that attracts me differently—since the bench beside her at that bar in Brotas. She caught my attention like few women have. I had to handle this impulse carefully.

“I’ll start with the professional.” I took the lead. “I know you need a job, and I need someone with leadership profile for the projects area. I’m looking for an assistant who can make decisions, who has posture and technical knowledge—you meet those requirements. We’re opening positions for an affordable housing project; I posted the vacancy a few days ago.”

I saw her eyes light up for a moment, but tension returned quickly.
“I already turned Henrique’s offer down,” she said stiffly. “Why would this be any different?”
“You were mistaken not to look into Henrique’s offer more closely,” I explained. “We genuinely need new staff. We’re expanding the team to develop an affordable housing project. I had that position advertised only two days ago.”

I showed her the job posting banner and the list of requirements—things I already knew she matched. I saw her interest grow, but pride seemed to hold her back, and I kept working to reduce any obstacles she might raise.

“You meet the requirements, and we’re not creating the position just for you. What I’m doing is giving you preference for the role.”
“Because you’re interested in me or because I’m Angel’s friend?” she asked challengingly.
“Both reasons,” I answered frankly. “Because you’re Angel’s friend and because, professionally, you meet the requirements. People who work with me—and whose opinions I value—said good things about you. Lucas spoke positively, and that weighed in your favor. And, frankly, I don’t want to have to train someone from scratch.”

Her face showed disbelief and maybe a touch of distrust.
“You’re more shameless than your cousin,” she shot, half accusatory, half amused.
“You don’t have to answer now,” I said calmly. “Think it over. I just want to make two things clear: you won’t work with Henrique—the departments are separate—and you’ll work directly with me, on my Engineering team.”

I made sure to emphasize that: I wanted her to decide with a clear head, weighing pros and cons, knowing exactly where she’d be if she accepted.