“So, where were we?”
I genuinely forgot for a moment, until I reach for my phone –a nervous habit I have when I don’t know what to do with my hands– and see an unread text from Lorena.
“Our growing list of secrets,” I blurt, placing my phone back down.
“Yeah,” Tomás huffs out, leaning his weigh on the bench, propping one elbow on the table. He looks so effortlessly hot it takes me a second to get my bearings straight enough to pay attention to what he’s saying. “I wonder if she’ll suspect anything when we tell her we’re going together to your sister’s wedding. She didn’t seem to think anything was up when I stole you for every dance I could get out of you at Hummingbirds,” he says through a grin that can only be described as prideful.
It’s true. She didn’t seem to think anything of Tomás and I dancing in our own little world for the entirety of Salsa night. As relieved as I should be by that, I can’t help but feel surprised. Yes, Tomás is her brother, but even she can’t deny that he’s an overall catch. But then again, she knows how I am, or how I’ve allowed others, including her, to perceive me –unattached and uninterested in love– that she just assumes nothing is there. And it was just some harmless dancing. That’s what it needs to be, but the more I spend time with him, even if it’s in these small pockets of time, a part of me can’t help but feel that it’s not that easy to ignore.
Clearly, I didn’t think this through.
This has mess written all over it.
And in my delusional state of trying to prove my dad wrong, yet once again, I didn’t think of the implications.
Interrupting his rather cute rambling, since he’s clearly concerned with what his sister thinks, I cut in. “I read over those onboarding documents.”
He stares at me for a beat, trying to read my face, seemingly surprised that I brought up work of all things. “Okay?”
My eyes roll. “The rules at Turner & Vize are surprisingly specific about fraternizing.”
His shoulders sink. The reminder like a needle to a balloon. “Yes, they are. And…”
“And that’s why we are going to have to tweak our plans.”
“So, you don’t want me to come with you to the wedding?”
Fuck. I didn’t think this through fully. I don’t want him to get in trouble at work, but I also don’t feel like seeing or hearing my dad gloat when I show up sans a plus one.
“No, you can, but I think it’s best that what you tell Ralph when you ask for the time off, is how we keep it when we’re together.” I feel my stomach start to sink as I continue. “I’ll just tell my dad that it’s a work relationship, not an actual one.”
The look of disappointment –and betrayal– is steeped so heavily on Tomás’ face that it’s distracting.
“Why do I have a feeling you’re going to fight me on this?” I ask him.
“Because I am. You said your dad has been on you for not having a plus one. And yes, Ralph will be ecstatic, to say the least, when I tell him that I can meet with your dad to try and secure some sort of business partnership. But why can’t we make this work for both of us?”
I could think of a dozen reasons why we shouldn’t. Though very few of them have to do with my dad, and more about me not wanting to get Tomás in trouble.
Or for me to get used to having a man who treats me this good —without hardly knowing me— around.
“But what about work? You’re not worried that if he agrees to work with Turner & Vize that this will end up blowing up in our faces?”
Tomás’ chest puffs up as he inhales. “Securing your father as a client is why Ralph hired you.”
“Is that supposed to surprise or shock me? My last name, regrettably, is Tesoro. This isn’t the first, and likely won’t be the last time, that someone has ulterior motives with me because of my dad.”
I can’t help but notice how guilty he looks. It’s endearing. To comfort him I lean forward, rubbing his leg.
“I’m sorry. I should have told you,” he confesses. “But trust me, if I were to get your dad on board, Ralph would easily overlook the whole dating thing.” He quiets for a moment.
“Let me listen to it again.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s referring to the voicemail I let him listen to earlier.
“Please,” he adds, so politely that I navigate to my voicemails, cringing as I replay it for him.
Note to self: delete this message as soon as it’s done playing.
