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The three of them talk and laugh over their drinks, and for a moment Laia thinks it's the last one, that after this they'll say their goodbyes and go, but then a guy built like a tank walks up to the group and somehow breaks it apart, pulling Pol off toward the far end of the room. That leaves Claudia alone with the woman, who suddenly puts a hand on the back of her neck, first kisses her on the neck, and then kisses her on the mouth—with tongue—which makes Laia turn to face the wall. If she'd had any doubt thinking that first kiss was just a greeting between friends, it evaporates now. Claudia has something going on with her, that's clear, and knowing it makes her feel a vertigo that squeezes her throat as if someone has looped a rope around it.

"Laia." Claudia's voice makes her spin around and there she is, standing right beside her, with the woman waiting behind her.

"Take a cab back to your car," she says, pressing a bill into Laia's hand and closing her fingers around it.

Laia takes a moment to react.

"Why? What are you going to do?"

The wrong question—she never should have asked it if she wasn't willing to hear the answer that could hurt her most.

"I'm going home with Nadia. Please take the cab—I don't want you walking alone at this hour."

Laia looks down at her hand and sees a twenty-dollar bill peeking out. She should give it back, tell Claudia to go to hell, and tell Elvira the same for putting her in this position—but her boss isn't the one to blame for Laia having stupidly fallen for a woman she only ever saw from a distance, walking down the street, and neither is Claudia.

"Okay, thanks," she says, slides off the barstool, and disappears into the crowd.

Chapter 8

"Good morning," Claudia says when Laia walks down the hallway and runs into her.

It's Monday, it's nine in the morning, and they're both heading to the same place: Elvira's office. It's time to go over the weekly report, and Laia is about as eager to sit there while her boss reads it as she is to open one of the windows overlooking the factory floor and throw herself out.

"Hey," the assistant murmurs, hands stuffed in the pockets of the zip-up hoodie she's wearing this morning.

Friday wasn't just a matter of Claudia showing up late after her night out—she didn't show up at all, and she didn't bother calling until eleven in the morning, when the secretary came into Laia's office to tell her she'd said she had a migraine.

"How's the hangover?"

Claudia, who was about to knock on the office door to announce her arrival, freezes mid-gesture and turns to look at Laia with an expression that's somewhere between warm and remorseful—and it throws the assistant completely off balance.

"My head hurt."

"Bullshit. We both know it's an excuse. You could at least make an effort and come up with something better," she snaps, annoyed.

"You're right," Claudia admits, without defending herself, and Laia starts to realize it bothers her more that Claudia won't fight back than the fact that she skipped work—probably because she was tangled up in the sheets with that woman. "Next time I'll come in. I promise."

Laia lets out a short, sarcastic breath and moves to stand beside her, knocking on the door and opening it immediately, because she's not willing to stand there and listen to her lie to her face. Besides, it's not her problem—she's getting paid for the overtime either way.

"Come in." Elvira pushes the laptop to one side, puts on her reading glasses, and reaches out her hand as Laia passes her the weekly summary.

She reads it in silence for what feels like an eternity to Laia—especially when she glances sideways at Claudia and sees her sitting there, still, serious, hands folded in her lap as if she's waiting with quiet resignation for the whip to come down.

"Seems like you outdo yourself every week." Elvira sets the document on the desk and fixes her gaze on her niece. "What you do outside of here is none of my business, but if it means you're showing up late or not showing up at all, that's a problem. I thought we'd made it clear that you need to respect my staff—you're not some privileged brat here just because you carry my last name. This is—"

"I respect everyone." Claudia lifts her eyes to her aunt, and Laia goes completely still in her chair.

Once again she looks like a lost child and at the same time like a woman who is very calm, who knows she's done something wrong and accepts it—and Laia would give up her car if it meant being allowed to spend five minutes inside her head trying to understand her.

"What I do has nothing to do with them. I don't see how it affects them or why—"

"You don't see it?" her aunt cuts her off. "Let me explain, then. When you're late, someone always has to cover for you, because your work doesn't do itself. And when you don't show up at all, the problem gets worse, because everything you were supposed to do all day either doesn't get done or gets dumped on two people who already have their own jobs. So yes, Claudia—you're disrespecting your coworkers, and you're disrespecting me. I've busted my ass to build this company. I've worked harder than anyone and I've always pulled my weight when it was needed. That's the philosophy here. And if you can't respect it, the best thing you can do is go see your parents, tell them to tear up the contract, and let them cut you out of the will entirely—because that seems to be what you're after."

Laia has no idea where to put herself. She gets so flustered she chokes, coughs, and her eyes start to water.

"Sorry," she murmurs, and when she pulls herself together and looks at Claudia, she realizes her mind is somewhere else again—like that time in the hallway.

Physically she's sitting in the chair, legs crossed, hands folded on her thigh, but her mind is somewhere far away from here.