“Understood?” I asked, finally taking my seat at the head of the table with absolute calm.
“Yes, Mr. Ferrara,” they answered almost in unison.
“Good. You may go.”
They stood at once, collecting their materials with quick, almost mechanical efficiency. I watched them file out one by one in silence, feeling that familiar satisfaction of total control settle over me again.
I wasn’t there to make friends.
I was there to produce results.
And they knew it.
The moment the door clicked shut behind the last executive, I allowed myself the smallest release of tension, exhaling a short, irritated breath. The sleepless nights were taking their toll, and my impatience was becoming obvious—even to me.
I rolled my neck, feeling the discreet crack of vertebrae, when a light knock at the door stole my brief rest.
“Come in,” I ordered without looking up.
The door opened, and the familiar scent of feminine perfume immediately filled the room. I lifted my eyes with deliberate slowness—and found Estela standing there, arms loaded with folders and documents.
“I’m here to collect the reports from the meeting, Mr. Ferrara,” she said, stepping closer.
Estela was young, efficient, and attractive. A combination I’d noticed months ago—on a night when I nearly gave in, during an unusually weak moment.
A mistake that would not repeat itself.
“They’re here,” I indicated curtly, pushing the folders across the desk toward her.
Estela approached with careful steps, but when she reached the desk, her fingers brushed mine—intentionally.
I noticed the deliberate movement, the subtle, suggestive smile she aimed in my direction.
“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Ferrara?” Her tone was almost provocative as she leaned in closer than professionalism allowed.
I kept my expression impassive, deliberately ignoring the gesture as I withdrew my hands from hers.
“I don’t need anything else, Estela. Take the documents. And make sure my schedule is organized. I have too many obligations left to handle today.”
The disappointment that crossed her faceU face didn’t escape me. Her lips pressed together as she gathered the folders quickly, embarrassed by my indifference.
“Of course, Mr. Ferrara,” she replied, her voice stripped of its earlier confidence.
I watched in silence as she left, closing the door behind her with exaggerated care. I drew in a breath, irritated.
Mixing business with pleasure was a mistake.
A mistake that could threaten the absolute order I valued above everything.
Maybe it was time to transfer her to another department. I didn’t need distractions—especially now, with too much at stake.
I stood, straightening my dark jacket. The watch on my wrist made it clear my day was far from over—and I had no time to waste on inconveniences.
Or on mistakes I hadn’t even made.
The rest of the day dragged in excruciating slow motion. Back-to-back meetings. Endless financial reviews. A growing irritation that stacked minute by minute.
By the time I ended the last meeting, it was past nine at night. My head throbbed, every pulse a reminder of the sleep I would never get back.
