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It’s the first time he’s ever touched me and I can’t speak, I can’t breathe, I can’t do anything.
His eyes seem to bore into mine, searching, analyzing. I’m frozen, caught in the intensity of his scrutiny.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re deliberately underperforming in the hope of me disciplining you.” He looks like he’s about to say something else. Then his attention is drawn to the glass doors leading to the parking lot. “Someone to see you,” he says.
He turns and walks away, his steps measured and deliberate. That’s the most he’s ever spoken to me, and each word washed over me like a wave, engulfing me in desire.
I want him so much it hurts. Was he flirting, even with that scowl on his face? God, I wish I had someone to ask, but everyone else is busy working with customers.
As his figure disappears into his office, the ghost of his presence lingers, prompting a myriad of questions in my mind. Why does he act like he hates me? Why hire me if he thinks I’m incompetent?
I look at the doors to see my father waving to get my attention. He looks nervous, and I beckon him in.
“You can’t turn up at my work,” I tell him, my nose wrinkling at the smell of sweat wafting from him. “Have you been out all night again? Mom’s been worried sick.”
His face is etched with lines of worry and desperation.
“I need money, it’s urgent,” he whispers, his eyes darting around the dealership as if fearing someone might overhear.
“What for this time?”
“I got unlucky. I got into a game with a group of Russians, but they’re going to break my legs if I don’t clear my debts. I was so close, Amelia. Almost walked away with a million.”
“You’re gambling again? You promised you’d stopped for good this time.”
“I know, I’m sorry. But, please, you’ve got to help me out. You’ve got your savings, right?”
Seeing him like this, so broken and helpless, sends a sharp pang of guilt through me.
I remember the man he used to be, strong and confident, now reduced to a shadow of his former self. His gambling addiction has not only consumed him but also our family’s peace.
But along with the guilt, there’s a simmering frustration. Frustration at his constant need, the way his mistakes keep pulling me back just when I start to move forward.
It’s a relentless cycle, one that drains me emotionally and financially.
“Dad, I...” I start, my voice a mix of empathy and exasperation. “I don’t have it right now. You know I’m saving every penny for Mia’s college fund.”
He looks down, his hands wringing together, a physical manifestation of his inner turmoil. “I know, I know you’re doing your best for your sister. But if I don’t pay them back…”
His voice trails off, but the unspoken consequences hang heavily between us. The constant threat of debt collectors, the fear of what they might do if my father can’t pay up – it’s a weight that’s all too familiar.
“I’ll try to get some of the bonus early,” I say, the words tasting bitter. “If the car sells for over the estimate at the auction, I’m due a percentage.” I can’t deny him, not when he’s this desperate. “But please, Dad, this has to stop.”
“When’s the auction?”
“A couple of weeks.”
His voice gets louder, drawing attention. “A couple of weeks? They want the money today. Please, Amelia, I’m begging you here. You’ve got to help me. The banks won’t touch me. I’m dying here.”
Rafael’s commanding voice booms out. “Adrian North, in my office, now.”
The words ring out with an authority that brooks no argument, echoing through the space around us. I frown. How does he know my father’s name?
As my father walks toward him, I’m rooted to the spot, my mind a whirlwind of questions and concerns. What does Rafael want with my father?
Is he going to help, or is this the moment when everything comes crashing down? Is Dad going to beg my boss for money? Am I about to lose my job for this?
I watch, feeling utterly powerless, as he disappears into Mr. Bianchi’s office. The door closes with a soft click, and I’m left staring at the polished wooden surface, the only barrier between me and a conversation that could change everything.
