The Spanish Love Deception: A Novel

This wasn’t how I had pictured my evening going.

It was late, InTech’s headquarters had mostly emptied, I had at least four or five hours of work ahead of me, and my stomach was rumbling so loudly that I suspected it was about to start eating itself.

“Estoy jodida,” I said under my breath, realizing how screwed I really was.

One, because the last thing I had eaten was a sad green salad that clearly turned out to be a big mistake as much as it had seemed the most sensible idea, having the wedding a total of four weeks away. Two, I didn’t have any snacks at hand and no change for the vending machine downstairs. And three, the PowerPoint slide on my laptop screen was still blinking at me, half-empty.

My hands fell on my keyboard, hesitating over the keys for a full minute.

A text pinged from my phone, drawing my attention. Rosie’s name flashed on the screen. I unlocked it, and an image immediately popped open.

It was a photo of a luscious flat white, topped by a beautiful milk foam rosette. Beside it, there was a triple-chocolate brownie that shamelessly glinted under the light.

Rosie: You in?

She didn’t need to specify the plan or send me the address. That feast could only belong to Around the Corner, our favorite coffee shop in the city. My mouth started immediately salivating at the thought of being in that caffeinated safe haven on Madison Avenue.

Muffling a groan, I wrote back.

Lina: I’d love to, but I’m stuck at work.

Three dots jumped on the screen.

Rosie: You sure? I saved you a seat.

Before I could type back a reply, another text came through.

Rosie: I got the last brownie, but I’ll share. Only if you get here quickly. I’m not made of steel.

I sighed. Definitely better than the reality of working extra time on a Wednesday evening but …

Lina: I can’t. I’m working on the Open Day stuff I told you about. I’m deleting that photo, BTW. Too tempting.

Rosie: Oh no. You didn’t tell me more than the fact that you were stuck with it. When’s it taking place?

Lina: Right after I’m back from Spain. *bride emoji* *skull emoji*

Rosie: I still don’t get why you have to do it. Aren’t you swamped with work?

Yep. That was exactly what I should have been doing, the job I was paid to do. Not organizing an open-doors day that served as an excuse to show around a bunch of suits that I’d have to feed, babysit, and be extra nice to. Whatever the hell that meant. But complaining wouldn’t get me anywhere.

Lina: *unamused emoji* It is what it is.

Rosie: Yeah, well, I don’t like Jeff all that much right now.

Lina: I thought you said he was a silver fox. *smirking emoji*

Rosie: I said, objectively. And he can look good for a 50-year-old and still be a jerk. You know I seem to find those particularly attractive.

Lina: You kinda do, Rosie. That Ted was a total assface. Happy you two are not a thing anymore.

Rosie: *poo emoji*

The texts stopped coming long enough for me to think our conversation was done. Good. I needed to work on this crappy—

My phone pinged again.

Rosie: Sorry, the owner’s husband just showed up, and I got distracted. #swoon

Rosie: He is so handsome. He brings her flowers once a week. *crying emoji*

Lina: Rosalyn, I’m trying to work here. Snap a photo and show me tomorrow.

Rosie: Sorry, sorry. Did you talk to Aaron, BTW? *thinking face emoji* Is he still waiting?

I wasn’t proud to admit that my stomach had dropped at the unexpected mention of something I hadn’t let myself think about.

Liar. These past two days had felt like waiting for a bomb to drop when I least expected it.

No, ever since Monday, Aaron hadn’t said anything about the whole I’ll be your date to the wedding nonsense. Neither had Rosie because we had barely seen each other with how busy both our schedules were.

Lina: I have no idea what you mean. Is he waiting for something?

Rosie: …

Lina: Something like a heart transplant? I heard he doesn’t have one.

Rosie: Ha, funny. You should keep the jokes for when you two talk.

Lina: We won’t.

Rosie: That’s right. You two are too busy staring at each other intently. *fire emoji*

An unwanted blush rushed to my cheeks.

Lina: What’s that supposed to mean?

Rosie: You know what it means.

Lina: That I want to light him up in a pyre like a witch? Then, okay.

Rosie: He’s probably working late too.

Lina: So?

Rosie: So … you could always go to his office and glare at him in that way I’m sure he loves.

Whoa. What the heck?

I moved uncomfortably in my chair as I stared at my phone screen in horror.

Lina: WTF are you talking about? Did you eat too much chocolate again? You know it makes you trippy. *shocked emoji*

Rosie: Deflect all you want.

Lina: Not deflecting, just genuinely concerned about your health right now.

Rosie: *eye roll emoji*

This was new. My friend had never directly addressed whatever nonsense she thought she saw. She still dropped a comment here and there every once in a while.

“Simmering tension,” she had said one time.

To which I had snorted so hard that a little bit of water came out my nose.

That was how ridiculous I thought her observations were.

In my humble opinion, all those soapy shows she watched were starting to mess up her perception of reality. Hell, and I was the Spanish one out of the two. I had grown up watching soap operas with my abuela. But I surely wasn’t living in one. There wasn’t simmering tension between Aaron Blackford and me. I did not glare at him in a way he loved. Aaron didn’t love anything—he couldn’t do that without a heart.

Lina: All right, I have work to do, so I’ll let you get back to your coffee, but stop raiding the pastry counter. I’m concerned.

Rosie: Okay, okay. I’ll stop—for now. *heart emoji* Good luck!

Lina: *heart emoji* *fire emoji*

Locking my phone and placing it facedown on the table, I took a deep, energizing breath.

Time to get this show going.

The image of the chocolate brownie popped in my head. Assaulting me.

No, Lina.

Thinking of brownies—or any food—wasn’t going to help. I needed to make myself believe that I wasn’t hungry.

“I’m not hungry,” I said out loud, putting my chestnut hair in a bun. “My stomach is full. Packed with all kinds of delicious food. Like tacos. Or pizza. Or brownies. Coffee and—”

My stomach grumbled, ignoring my visualization exercise and invading my mind with memories of Around the Corner. The delicious scent of roasted coffee beans. The welcome sensory attack that involved taking a bite of a brownie that included three sorts of chocolate. The sound of the coffee machine steaming milk.

Another complaint rose from my noisy stomach.

Sighing, I reluctantly kicked out all those images off my mind and rolled up the sleeves of the thin cardigan I had to wear in the building, thanks to the AC being tuned up to the max in summer.

“Okay, stomach, work with me here,” I muttered to myself, as if the words would maybe make some kind of difference. “I’ll take us to Around the Corner tomorrow. Now, you need to stay quiet and let me work. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The word echoed in my office, as if it had been my stomach answering.

But I wasn’t that lucky.

“That was odd.” The same deep voice came again. “But I guess it goes with your personality.”

Not needing to lift my head to know who was behind that rich tone, I closed my eyes.

Damn you, Rosalyn Graham. You summoned this evil entity into my office, and you’ll pay for this in chocolate.

Cursing under my breath—because, of course, it had to be him hearing me rally myself—I schooled my face into a neutral expression and looked up from my desk. “Odd? I like to think of it as endearing.”

“No,” he answered quickly. Way too quickly. “It’s a little disturbing when you say more than a couple of words. And you were having a full conversation with yourself.”

I grabbed the first thing I found lying around in my desk—a highlighter. I breathed in and then out. “I’m sorry, Blackford. But I don’t have time to pick apart my quirks right now,” I said, holding my highlighter in the air. “Do you need anything?”

I took him in as he stood under the threshold of my office door, his laptop under one of his arms, one of his dark eyebrows raised.

“What’s Around the Corner?” he queried, starting in my direction.

Exhaling slowly, I ignored his question and watched his long legs closing the distance to my desk. Then, I had to watch him walk around it and stop somewhere to my left.

I swiveled my office chair, fully facing him. “Sorry, but is there anything I can help you with?”

His gaze fell behind me, on my laptop screen, his big body bending down.

My eyes shot to his face, probably looking at him in one of the ways Rosie had pointed out earlier—glaring—only without whatever crap she’d read between lines that didn’t even exist. His brows drew in.

Aaron placed his left hand on my desk and bent further down.

“Excuse me?” I told to his round and kind of huge shoulder.

Jesus, what is he, a giant?

Realizing how very close his body was to my face and how much larger it seemed up close, I leaned back in my chair. “Hello?” The word came out wobblier than I would have preferred. “What are you doing?”

He hummed, the soft noise sounding as close as he was. Right in my face.

“Blackford,” I said very slowly, watching how his eyes scanned the PowerPoint slide on my screen. It displayed a draft of the schedule I was assembling for InTech’s Open Day.

I knew what he was doing. But I didn’t know why. Or why he was ignoring me—besides because he was trying to be the biggest pain in my ass.

“Blackford, I’m talking to you.”

Lost in thought, he hummed again, that damn noise sounding all hushed and masculine.

And annoying, I reminded myself.

I swallowed the lump that had just magically appeared in my throat.

Then, he finally spoke, “Is that all you’ve got?”

He absently placed his laptop on my desk. Right beside mine. My eyes narrowed.

“Eight a.m. Meet and greet.” One bulky arm flew in front of my face, pointing at my screen.

I plastered my body to the backrest of my chair, watching his biceps flex under the fabric of the plain button-down he wore.

Aaron continued reading out loud from my screen, pointing with his finger at every item, “Nine a.m. An introduction to InTech’s business strategies.”

My eyes traveled all the way up to his shoulder.

“Ten a.m. Coffee break … until eleven a.m. That will require large amounts of coffee. Eleven a.m. Pre-lunch activities. Not specified.”

I surprised myself, noticing how his arm filled out the sleeve perfectly and completely, his muscles snuggled into the thin fabric and not leaving much space for imagination.

“Noon. Lunch break … until two p.m. Quite the banquet. Oh, and there’s another coffee break at three p.m.” That arm I had been focused on halted in the air and then dropped.

Flushed, I reminded myself that I wasn’t here to gawk at him. Or the muscles I noticed beneath his boring clothes.

“This is worse than I thought. Why didn’t you say anything?”

I snapped out my trance, looking up at him. “Excuse me, what?”

Aaron tilted his head, and then something seemed to catch his attention. My gaze followed his hand across my desk.

“An event like this one,” he said. Then, he picked up one of the pens I had scattered around. “You have never planned one. And you don’t seem to know how.” He dropped it in my cactus-shaped pencil cup.

“I have some experience with workshops,” I muttered as I followed his fingers repeating the action with a second pen. “But just for colleagues, never for prospective clients.” Then a third one. “Excuse me, what do you think you are doing?”

“Okay,” he answered simply, grabbing my favorite pencil, one that was pink, topped with a feather in the same bright color. He looked at it strangely, his brows arching up. “It’s not ideal, but it’s a start.” He pointed at me with the pencil. “This? Seriously?”

I snagged it out of his hand. “It cheers me up.” I dropped it in the cup. “Does it offend your tastes, Mr. Robot?”

Aaron didn’t answer. Instead, his hands went for a couple of folders I had piled up—okay, fine, they had been rather dropped down somewhere—to my right. “I know my way around events like this one,” he said, picking them up and squaring them on a corner of my desk. “I organized a couple before coming to work for InTech.” He followed that up with going for my planner, which had been lying upside down somewhere in the mess that I was starting to realize was my working space. He held it in his paw-sized hands. “We just need to work fast; there’s not much time to put everything together.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa.

“We?” I ripped my planner out of his hold. “There’s no we here,” I scoffed. “And would you please leave my stuff alone? What are you even trying to accomplish?”

His furtive hand moved again, going around the back of my chair. Aaron was almost sandwiching me between the desk and my chair as his head hovered above mine, his eyes roaming around my things.

I waited for my answer, watching his profile and trying really hard not to acknowledge the warmth I felt radiating off his body.

“There’s no way you can focus; your desk is all cluttered,” he finally told me in a matter-of-fact tone. “So, I’m fixing it.”

My mouth was hanging open. “I could focus just fine until you got here.”

“Can I see the attendee list Jeff drafted?” His fingers flew over the keys of my laptop, opening a window.

All the while, I felt my body growing … warm. Uncomfortable. But at least he had stopped touching all my things.

“Oh, here it is.” He seemed to scan the document as I just stared at his profile, starting to feel overwhelmed by his proximity.

Jesus.

“All right,” he continued, “that’s not a lot of people, so at least the catering will be relatively easy to get sorted. As for the … outline you prepared, that won’t work.”

Dropping my hands on my lap, I felt dread spreading in my belly, making me wonder how in the world I was going to pull this off. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, but thanks for letting me know,” I said weakly, reaching for my laptop and bringing it closer. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to it.”

Aaron looked down just as I glanced up at him.

He searched my face for a brief moment that seemed to stretch into a full—and very uncomfortable—minute.

Stepping from behind me, he moved to my other side. He leaned on the table with strong forearms, which I might have looked at a second too long, and turned on his own laptop.

“Aaron,” I said for what I hoped was the last damn time tonight, “you don’t need to help me. If that’s what you are trying to do here.” That last part I muttered.

I rolled my chair closer to my desk as I watched him punch in his password, trying hard not to focus on those infuriating broad shoulders that were right in my line of vision as he leaned on the wooden surface.

Por el amor de Dios. I needed to stop … checking him out.

My starved brain was clearly struggling to behave normally. And it was his fault. I needed him gone. ASAP. At a normal distance, he was extremely annoying, and now, he was … right freaking here. Being extra difficult.

“I have something we can use.” Aaron’s fingers flew over the pad of his laptop as he looked for the document I guessed he was referring to. “Before leaving my former employer, they had me put together a list. A manual of sorts. It should be somewhere here. Hold on.”

Aaron kept typing and clicking as I grew more and more irritated by the second. With myself, with him. With just … everything.

“Aaron,” I said as a PDF document finally blinked open on his screen. I softened my voice, thinking maybe being as nice as I could ever be when it came to him was the way to go about this. “It’s late, and you don’t have to do this. You have already pointed me in the right direction. Now, you can go.” I pointed at the door. “Thank you.”

The fingers I was still watching gracefully tapped on the keys one more time. “It includes a little bit of everything—workshop examples, key concepts for activities and group dynamics, and even objectives that should be kept in mind. We can go through it.”

We. That word again.

“I can do this on my own, Blackford.”

“I can help.”

“You might be able to, but you don’t have to. I have no idea why you have this impulse to fly in with your red cape like a nerdy Clark Kent and save the day, but no, thanks. You might look a little like him, but I’m not a damsel in distress.”

The worst part was that I actually needed the help. What I had trouble accepting was that Aaron was the one willing to provide it.

He straightened to his full length. “A nerdy Clark Kent?” His brows furrowed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

My mouth snapped closed.

“No.” I rolled my eyes even though he might have been a little right.

He sort of looked like the man behind Superman’s secret identity. Not the one with the cape, the one who wore a suit, had a nine-to-five job, and was kind of … hot for a guy working in an office. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. Not even to Rosie.

Aaron studied my face for a couple of seconds.

“I think I’m going to take it as a compliment,” he said as one of the corners of his lips bent up just the tiniest little bit.

Smug Clark Kent look-alike.

“Well, it’s not.” I reached for my mouse, clicking to open a random folder. “Thor or Captain America? That would have been a compliment. But you are not a Chris. Plus, no one cares about Superman anymore, Mr. Kent.”

Aaron seemed to think about my statement for an instant. “It sounds like you still care though.”

As I ignored that, he proceeded to walk behind me. Then, I watched him cross the office to the desk that belonged to one of the guys I shared the space with but who had obviously left hours ago. He grabbed his chair with one hand and rolled it in my direction.

My arms crossed in front of my chest as he placed that chair beside mine and let his large body fall on it, making it squeak and look rather frail.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“You asked me that question already.” He pinned me with a bored look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I don’t need your help, Blackford.”

He sighed. “I think I’m having another déjà vu.”

“You,” I stuttered. Then scoffed again. “I … ugh.”

“Catalina,” he said, and I hated how my name sounded on is lips in that precise moment. “You need the help. So, I’m saving us both some time because we both know you’d never ask.”

He wasn’t wrong. I would never ask Aaron for anything, not when I knew exactly what he thought about me. Personally, professionally, it didn’t matter. I had been well aware of what he thought of me all this time. I had heard him myself all those months ago even if he didn’t know that. So, no, I refused to accept anything from him. As much as that turned me into a grudge-holder too. Just like he was. I’d live with it.

Aaron leaned back and placed his hands on the chair’s armrests. The shirt strained with the motion, the change in the tension of the fabric too flattering enough for my eyes not to unconsciously drift there.

Jesus. My eyes fluttered closed for a second. I was hungry, tired from dealing with all this, betrayed by my own two eyes, and honestly simply confused at this point.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he said.

Stubborn. Why? Because I hadn’t asked for his help and I was supposed to take it when he decided to offer it?

Now, I was pissed. That was probably why I opened my mouth without thinking. “That’s why you didn’t speak up during the meeting where all this was dumped on me and then some? Because I didn’t ask for help? Because I am too stubborn to ever accept it?”

Aaron’s head reared back just slightly; he was probably shocked by my admission.

I immediately regretted saying anything. I did. But it had somehow slipped out, as if the words had been squeezed out of me.

Something flashed through his otherwise serious expression. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to step in.”

Of course not. No one had. Not even Héctor, who I almost considered family. Didn’t I know that by now? Yes, I was more than familiar with the fact that when it came to these situations, there were two groups of people. Those who believed that not saying anything made them stand in neutral ground and those who picked a side. And more often than not, it was the wrong one. Sure, it wasn’t always as harmless as condescending and disrespectful comments like those Gerald had made. Sometimes, it was far, far worse than just that. I knew that. I had experienced that firsthand a long time ago.

I shook my head, pushing the memories away. “Would that have made a difference, Aaron? If I had asked you to intervene?” I asked him, as if he held the solution in his hands when he really didn’t. I watched him, feeling my heart race with trepidation. “Or if I told you I was exhausted from having to ask, would you step in then?”

Aaron studied me in silence, searching my face almost gingerly.

My cheeks heated up under his scrutiny, making me regret more and more that I had spoken.

“Forget I said anything, okay?” I averted my eyes, feeling disappointed and mad at myself for putting Aaron, out of all people, on the line when he didn’t owe me anything. Not a single thing. “I’m stuck with this anyway. It doesn’t matter how or why.” Or that it wouldn’t be the last time.

Aaron straightened, leaning his body toward me just the splinter of a hair. He took a deep breath as I seemed to hold mine, waiting for him to say whatever was brewing in his mind.

“You’ve never needed anyone to fight your battles, Catalina. That’s one of the things I respect the most about you.”

His words did something to my chest. Something that created a kind of pressure I wasn’t comfortable with.

Aaron never said stuff like that. Not to anyone and particularly not to me.

I opened my mouth to tell him that it didn’t matter, that I didn’t care, that we could just drop it, but he held up a hand, stopping me.

“On the other hand, I never pegged you for someone who would cower and not give their best when faced with a challenge. Whether it’s unfairly imposed or not,” he said, turning away and facing his laptop. “So, what’s it going to be?”

My jaw clamped closed.

I … I wasn’t cowering. I was not scared of this thing. I knew I could do it. I just … hell, I was just exhausted. It was hard, finding the motivation when something was this discouraging. “I’m not—”

“What is it going to be, Catalina?” His fingers moved on the laptop pad with practice. “Whining or working?”

“I am not whining,” I huffed.

Clark Kent look-alike jerk.

“Then, we work,” he fired back.

I took a good look at him, taking in how his jaw bunched up with determination. Perhaps some irritation too.

“There’s no we here,” I breathed out.

He shook his head, and I swore the ghost of a smile graced his lips for a fragment of a second.

“I swear to God …” He looked up, as if he were asking the heavens for patience. “You are taking the help. That’s it.” He peeked down at his watch, exhaling. “I don’t have the whole day to convince you.” Scowl back in place, he returned to the Aaron I knew. “We’ve wasted enough time already.”

This scowling Aaron I felt more comfortable with. He didn’t go around, saying stupid stuff, like that he respected me.

Now, it was my turn to scowl, as I was painfully aware of how I wasn’t kicking Aaron out of my office anymore.

“I’m as stubborn as you are,” he murmured, typing something in his laptop. “You know I am.”

Returning my attention to my computer screen, I decided to allow this strange truce to settle between us. Just for the sake of InTech’s reputation. For my own mental health, too, because he was driving me completely crazy.

We’d be two scowling idiots who would tolerate each other for an evening, I guessed.

“Fine. I’ll let you help me if you are so set on it,” I told him, trying not to focus on that warm ball of emotion forming in my belly.

One that felt a lot like gratitude.

He peeked at me quickly, something unreadable in his eyes. “We’ll need to start from scratch. Open a blank template.”

Looking away, I tried to focus on my screen.

We had been in silence for a couple of minutes when out of the corner of my eye, I perceived movement. Quickly after, he placed something on my desk. Right between us.

“Here,” I heard him say from my side.

Looking down, my gaze found something wrapped in wax paper. It was a square, about three or four inches long.

“What’s this?” I asked him, my eyes jumping to his profile.

“A granola bar,” he answered without looking at me, typing on his keyboard. “You are hungry. Eat it.”

I watched my hands move to the snack of their own accord. Once unwrapped, I inspected it closely. Homemade. It had to be, judging by the way roasted oats, dried fruits, and nuts were assembled together.

I heard Aaron’s long sigh. “If you ask me if it’s poisoned, I swear—”

“No,” I murmured.

Then, I shook my head, feeling that weird pressure in my chest again. So, I took the snack to my mouth, bit into it, and—holy granola bars. I moaned in delight.

“For Christ’s sake,” the man to my right muttered under his breath.

Gobbling all the nutty and sugary amazingness down, I shrugged. “Sorry, it was a moan-worthy bite.”

I watched his head shake as he was focused on the document on his screen. As I studied his profile, an odd and unfamiliar feeling settled in. And it had nothing to do with my appreciation for Aaron’s unexpected baking skills. It was something else, something warm and fuzzy that I had gotten a whiff of a few minutes earlier, but now, I wanted to bend my lips into a smile.

I was grateful.

Aaron Blackford, scowling Clark Kent look-alike, was in my office. Helping me and feeding me homemade snacks, and I was glad. Thankful even.

“Thank you.” The fugitive words escaped my lips.

He turned to face me, and I saw him relax for an instant. Then, his eyes jumped to my screen. He scoffed, “You still haven’t opened a blank template?”

“Oye.” The Spanish word slipped out. “You don’t have to be so bossy. Not everyone has super speed like you, Mr. Kent.”

His eyebrows rose, and he looked unimpressed. “Quite the contrary. Some even have the opposite superpower.”

“Ha.” I rolled my eyes. “Funny.”

His gaze shifted back to his screen. “Blank template. And make it today, if that’s not too much to ask.”

This was going to be a long night.