She sensed his hesitation.
“Let’s just say that our ethics didn’t match. Since I didn’t have a choice in what projects to work on, and I’ve never responded well to authority, our goals no longer meshed.” She heard the rustle of material and figured he was sitting down somewhere. “What about you? Why the Company?”
She paused, debating what to tell him. “I was working on my master’s degree in psychology, and my professor asked me to stay after class one day. He was a contractor for them, doing soft interrogations in Europe over the summer months. He’d been asked if he had any students he thought might fit a job they had, particularly female, and particularly someone who spoke Spanish. Next thing I knew, I was in South America, and the rest is history.”
“The Colonel Cartel?”
“Not at the start. I was actually trying to weasel in with one of their distributors. I never got very far with it, though, because of Guillermo. Ran into him at a local nightclub while makinginroads with my mark, and he took one look at me and pursued me hard. The Company changed my direction.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute or two, then switched topics. “You should get some rest. I’ve ordered you some food. Told them to knock and then leave it outside the room. Wait two minutes, then collect it.”
“How do you know what I like? Maybe I’m a vegan and gluten-free.” She wasn’t, but she couldn’t resist needling him just a little bit.
“You’d be amazed what I can find on my computer.”
“Bullshit. You were able to figure out what I eat?”
“Did you know how many pictures there are of you on the internet? I was able to make notes of restaurants, look at credit card charges, the usual. I think I did okay with the choice.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Of course you will because we agreed I’m in charge.”
“I’d say ‘we agreed’ is a bit of a stretch. You’ve commanded from the get-go. I wasn’t really offered a choice.”
“And yet you did what I told you without offering. Seems to me that’s a natural response to agreeing with someone.”
His logic tracked. She had pretty much done exactly what he told her to do. Initially, she’d been stressed and panicked. Autopilot response kept her from spiraling.
But she also had to be honest and say that it felt good to fall back on being told what to do. Her whole life, she had done what others told her to do—her parents in regards to Joey; her teachers in terms of her education and life path; the CIA in her assignment, what to do, and how to do it; and Guillermo with what to say, how to dress, whatever he thought was appropriate. The paradigm was familiar and easy to fall into. She liked it. Needed it. Making decisions only added to her stress and exhaustion, not just right now, but always.
And besides, she’d asked him for help. What was the point of asking for help, then rejecting it or putting conditions on what she’d accept? Obviously, she’d felt unequipped to figure out the next steps and went to someone more knowledgeable, or at least better equipped.
And what did she do? She’d given him some pushback after she’d settled down, but even she could admit she’d done it simply because she’d felt like she was supposed to, not because she actually wanted to.
He paused, and she swore she could hear him thinking. “But you’re correct. It’s not consent.”
Odd choice of words. Something about them made her… off-kilter. Not uncomfortable. Not nervous. More like something was foreshadowed, but because she was too early in her own storyline, she didn’t quite see it yet.
He went right back to ordering her around, but his tone was softer. Still wasn’t a request. Not even a suggestion. But something… more was there. Permission? Yes. He was giving her permission to accept the instruction without guilt or worry that she was being judged, even by nonexistent people she'd created for the voices in her head. “Rest. Eat. Then sleep. Don’t leave your room until I text you tomorrow. You’re not going anywhere until then anyway.”
“Understood.”
“Thank you.” So much was behind the show of gratitude. Mostly, it was confirmation that she understood what he was really saying to her when he told her what he wanted from her. But also that she understood it came from a place of protection and not bossiness, let alone dickishness. “By the way, G?”
“Yeah?”
“I like that blue dress you had on at Frenessì. The heels were even better.”
“How did you?—?”
“I’m just that good, G.” He disconnected.
She remembered the blue dress he referenced. Formfitting, plunging neckline almost to her waist, open to her low back, and barely covering her ass. The shoes had been five-inch heels with cords that wrapped all the way to her knees.
It was the night Guillermo had told her they were to be married.
Warmth returned at M’s admiration. The fact that he found her attractive was affirming. The outfit in question wouldn’t have been how she would have dressed ten years ago, but when you were the woman of a cartel jefe, you dressed the part. Initially, she’d been very uncomfortable showing off her body like that, but over time, she had become used to it. The look had been good on her, and yes, it gave her a primal thrill that he’d thought so too. But she would be very happy never to wear anything like it again.
