Guillermo

Olívia
"I can’t stay here. There are cameras in the hotel hallways; someone will find out."

"We don’t need to sneak around."

He looks annoyed, and although I partially agree—since we’re both free and there’s no reason to hide—I don’t want to be pointed out at my workplace as the boss’s mistress. Just the thought of it makes me grimace.

"Olivia, the idea of hiding doesn’t appeal to me, but I understand what you’re doing. The thing is, this between us won’t end, so here’s what we’ll do: you come home with me today, we have dinner, and then we finally have that conversation."

"If it’s not about rules, what is it that you want to talk about so much?"

"About the past."

A warning light goes off inside me—not because of what he said, but his tone.

I glance at the clock and see it’s almost six in the morning. We’ve practically stayed up all night, but despite being exhausted, I don’t regret a thing.

The problem is I have to meet the chef in less than three hours, so before he can stop me, I get up.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my room. I have to work in a little while."

He sits on the bed, and the sight of his bare chest immediately scrambles my thoughts again.

"Don’t look at me like that."

"Like what?" I ask, feeling the tips of my breasts swell.

"Like I’m your breakfast desire."

I smile because he hit the mark perfectly.

"I can’t deny it."

"Come here."

He reaches out and lifts me onto his lap. The sheet separates us, like a kind of barrier, but it takes exactly one kiss for us to be on fire.

"I’m scared."

"Of what?" His mouth nibbles my ear as I struggle to stay in control.

As soon as I realize what I said, I hold back my impulsive tongue.

"It doesn’t matter. I need one more round of you. I can’t imagine a better way to start the day."



I decided to leave the suite before him, even though by now, a lot of people might already know what happened there. I don’t feel ashamed. Nobody has anything to do with my life; I just don’t want to be seen as receiving special privileges for being in a relationship with my boss.

Before overloading my mind with conflicting thoughts, I choose to allow myself to dream about what happened.

"You’re distracted." Melissa accuses, and I pretend not to hear.

I know she still has no idea where I slept last night, or she would have started interrogating me already.

"Olivia?"

"Yes?"

Finally, I give up and put down the reports I was reading.

"Logan was really impressed with you."

"I already talked to him about the kind of relationship we could have."

"What does that mean?"

"It means my heart isn’t available, Melissa." I reveal the bare minimum because I know how indiscreet she can be sometimes. "I told you that day—I’m not looking for a boyfriend."

She looks at me silently, and after a while, she starts moving away from the table.

"I hope you know what you’re doing."

I don’t respond, but inside, I think: I do too.

As if sensing that my mind is occupied, my phone alerts me to a message.

Guillermo: "Miss Freitas, how’s your day going?"

I finally decided to change his name in my phone, removing the “Doctor.” I look at the phone again and wonder how it’s possible to see him smiling even through a message.

"Good."

Although I love joking with him in person, over text somehow our differences feel more pronounced.

Only a few seconds pass before the phone rings.

"What’s wrong?"

I glance around to see if anyone can hear me.

"Nothing."

"Olivia."

"Can we talk later? I have to meet Chef Julien now."

My appointment with the chef ended up being moved to late afternoon since the restaurant got very busy in the morning.

"Six o’clock in the west wing of the lobby."

"Guillermo."

"You’re not running away. We need to talk."

"And it has to be at your house?"

"Yes. Bring a change of clothes."

When he sounds bossy like that, I feel completely torn between arguing because he’s so commanding or jumping into his arms and covering him in kisses, because the truth is I love his dominant way.

I opt for a middle ground.

"This isn’t going to become a routine. I won’t be sleeping at your house every day."

"We’ll talk today, and then you decide what you want to do."

I know he totally avoided the answer, but I pretend not to notice. Whatever we decide about us, it has to be done in person.

"Alright."



"How’s your head, Olivia? That fall looked pretty bad."

Since the day I fell, I haven’t seen Kathleen, so I get a huge shock when I find her alone in the elevator. I look at her and remember what Melissa told me when we met—that most of the hotel staff ate out of her hand—or at least that was the case when she was the CEO’s secretary.

I’m stunned by her audacity. Whether Guillermo brought it up or not, I know she’s the one who removed the wet floor sign. The woman must be crazy. Now I understand the nickname “rabid bitch,” because that’s exactly how she looks right now.

Despite trying to keep a mocking expression, I can see the hidden resentment beneath her perfect appearance. I wonder if she came to confront me today because someone told her I spent the night in the presidential suite.

Maybe that’s it, but even though I feel uncomfortable knowing others might judge my relationship with Guillermo, I won’t let that arrogant blonde intimidate me. So, even though I initially thought about not entertaining her attitude, I change my mind.

"Doing just fine. It was just a scare, you know? I don’t break that easily."

The elevator doors open on the restaurant floor, but before leaving, I turn to her.

"And you, how are things going in your new role? Must be strange not being the CEO’s secretary anymore, but you know what they say, right? Nothing is guaranteed in this life. Good afternoon, Miss Taylor."

I walk to meet the chef with a feeling of my soul being cleansed.

It’s the first time in my life I confront someone, and the feeling is amazing.



"It's so simple!"

"Isn’t it? The secret is the consistency. My mom used to say that in Brazil they usually roll little balls and serve them to children. Later, I’ll look for some pictures on Google and show you."

"You—"

"Sorry, Julien. I’ll show you." — I smile, remembering he asked for a more informal approach. "As I was saying, in Brazil this sweet is common at kids’ parties. They roll it, cover it with chocolate sprinkles, and put them in paper cups. It looks really cute, but if you’re going to adapt it for the restaurant, you could serve them on a spoon."

"Celebration brigadeiro."

I immediately feel my face burn when I hear Guillermo’s deep voice right behind me.

"Celebration brigadeiro?" — Julien repeats.

"Yes, it’s an Olivia tradition. Actually, I think it’s become mine too."

I can’t believe he said that and lift my face to look at him. His gaze on me shows exactly what he’s thinking, and I feel my pulse quicken.

"I’ll wait to debut this sweet at the day-after-tomorrow event."

I want to see the guests’ faces when they try it.

"Brigadeiro is delicious." — Guillermo says with a mischievous look. "Shall we?" — He asks me, and I don’t have the courage to look at Julien now and imagine what he must be thinking.

"But I didn’t teach him how to make the coffee."

"You can come back another day. Your shift is over, Miss Freitas."