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"What's the matter?" I ask, feigning innocence.
"You're the matter! These hacking attempts have got to stop."
"What happened?" I reply, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Your little stunt created a weakness in my system," he explains, gritting his teeth. "You tried to go through a back door, and as a result, it let in an actual virus. Now I have to spend my entire Friday making sure my system is cleaned up and healthy."
"Maybe if you just let me go home, you could be rid of me and everything I'm trying to do," I suggest, but he's unyielding.
"Stop this!" he orders, his voice ice cold. "I am not letting you go!"
My stomach drops, but I refuse to let him see how much his words affect me. Instead, I look him straight in the eyes, matching his intensity, and silently vow to keep fighting for my freedom, no matter what it takes.
Giovanni slumps into the chair opposite my desk, looking tired and defeated. His head is in one hand as he closes his eyes, saying my name over and over again with a weary sigh. I just watch him, watching the tension in his face. In a way, I do feel bad. I didn't mean to cause actual problems for him, but I just want to go home.
"Please, just let me go home," I say softly, hoping my sincerity comes through.
"Stop asking!" he snaps back at me, his anger reignited. "Why don't you understand? You're not going anywhere."
Frustration bubbles up inside me, and I can't help but retort, "You should be nicer to someone when they're trying to apologize."
"Nice?" he scoffs. "I don't need to be nice to you, especially when you're doing everything in your power to make my life a living hell."
We sit in silence, the tension between us palpable. I stare at the floor, trying to ignore the ache in my chest that's growing stronger by the second. After what feels like an eternity, Giovanni takes out his wallet and slides a black Amex card across the desk towards me.
"Take this," he says, his voice strained. "I need a break from you. Go to the mall, get something to eat, and then bring me something back. And remember, don't even think about running. You won't get far, and I'll always know where you are." He stands and returns to his office, slamming the door behind him.
My fingers close around the credit card, the cold metal sending shivers through my body. I get up and make my way over to the mall, fuming with every step I take. As I walk through the halls, my heels clicking against the marble floor, I don't even bother going to the food court. The thought of eating makes me feel sick. Instead, I stomp through the mall, my mind racing with thoughts of escape. But his message rings clear in my head: he'll find me. It's fruitless to run without disabling whatever security system he has on me first.
A random store catches my eye, one of those little convenience stores you see in malls sometimes. I go inside, searching for something sweet to ease my frustration. As I look through its rows of offerings, I notice something that makes me pause. A prepaid cell phone in clear plastic stares back at me, a lifeline in my grasp. I blink several times, considering the possibilities. A way to access the internet without being monitored. Sure, I don't have anyone to contact right now, and giving away my position might put me in the crosshairs of the rival gang. But that might change.
With a determined grip, I grab the phone and a bag of Jolly Ranchers, heading to the counter. I use Giovanni's credit card to pay, feeling a thrill of defiance as it slides through the machine. If I'm going to find my freedom, this little device could be my savior. And it's a small victory over the man who holds me captive.
As I walk through the mall, clutching the prepaid phone and the bag of candy in my hand, my mind races with thoughts of Giovanni discovering the purchase on his credit card statement. I need a distraction, something to mask my real intentions.
My gaze lands on a high-end shoe store, and a wicked smile graces my lips. This will work perfectly. I stride into the store, my heels clicking against the polished floor, ready to embark on the shopping spree to end all shopping sprees, courtesy of Giovanni's black Amex.
"Welcome!" a sales associate greets me. He's tall, with golden hair that falls just above his piercing blue eyes. His name tag reads "Ethan." I appreciate his chiseled jawline and broad shoulders as he approaches me, even if his features don't come close to Giovanni's allure. "What can I help you find today?"
"Show me your most stunning heels," I purr, my voice dripping with newfound confidence. Ethan's eyes widen at my request, but he quickly recovers, leading me deeper into the store.
"Right this way."
The shopping trip is nothing short of exhilarating. I try on pair after pair of breathtaking shoes, from sky-high stilettos adorned with intricate beadwork to sleek pumps encrusted with sparkling gems. Each time I slip my foot into a new shoe, I imagine how envious even the wealthiest celebrities would be of my growing collection. I know deep down Giovanni might make me return them all, but for now, I revel in the decadence, not to mention the bill Giovanni is going to get.
Throughout the entire experience, Ethan casts sultry glances my way, making me shiver with a mixture of excitement and nerves. I know that Giovanni would be more than angry if he saw Ethan looking at me. The idea of defying him even further has an odd thrill to it.
"Would you like me to have these sent to an address, or would you prefer to take them with you?" Ethan inquires, breaking me from my thoughts.
"Actually, I work in the office next door. If someone could help me bring them over, that would be amazing."
"Of course," he replies, flashing me a dazzling smile. "I'd be more than happy to help you myself."
Ethan carefully boxes up each pair of shoes, placing them on a cart. As he finishes, he hesitates before asking, "You know, this might be a bit forward, but if you're not seeing anyone, could I have your number?"
My cheeks flush at his question – no one's ever asked for my number before. I nod and fumble around in the plastic bag, pulling out the prepaid phone. I turn it over, showing him the number on the back. He looks at me quizzically.
"I dropped my regular phone in the bathtub. I'm waiting for a replacement," I say, quickly coming up with an excuse for the odd situation.
