Page 4 of Tell Me What You Want

He shrugs. He’s quite serious. “I don’t care about soccer.”

“No?”

“No.”

Maybe it’s because my family, friends, and I are huge fans, but I’m always surprised when somebody doesn’t like soccer. I swell with pride over our team and mutter, “Well then, you don’t know what you’re missing.”

He comes close to my ear again, giving me goose bumps.

“Win or lose, we accept the final score,” he whispers to me.

He takes a step back and returns to his prior position.

He must have heard what I said. I turn around so I don’t have to see him. I glance at my watch: it’s quarter to three. Shit! I’ve lost most of my lunch break, and now I won’t have time to get to Vips for my favorite club sandwich. I guess I’ll just stop at a bar on Almudena Street and grab something quick.

Suddenly, the lights come on, the elevator renews its trajectory, and all of us trapped inside applaud.

Curious again, I turn to look at the stranger who was worried about me. In the light, he is taller and sexier, and he’s still looking at me.

When the elevator reaches the first floor and the elevator doors pop open, Manuela and the girls from accounting stampede like wild horses, screaming hysterically. I’m so glad I’m not like that. The truth is, I can be a little boyish. My father raised me like that. When I step off the elevator, I’m taken aback to see my supervisor standing there.

“Eric, for the love of God!” she says. “When I came down to meet you for lunch and got your text saying you were stuck in the elevator, I was so worried. What a nightmare! Are you all right?”

“Perfectly fine,” responds the man who was talking with me only moments before.

Suddenly, my head is swirling. Eric. Lunch. My supervisor. The person I just told myExorcistbit to and whose mouth I shoved a piece of strawberry gum into is Eric Zimmerman, the superboss? I blush a bright red and refuse to look at him.

God! I’m so ridiculous. I want to get out of here as soon as possible, but then someone grabs my elbow.

“Thanks for the gum, Miss ...?”

“Judith,” responds my supervisor. “She’s my assistant.”

The now-identified Mr.Eric Zimmerman turns to me. “Then it’s Miss Judith Flores, right?”

“Yes,” I respond like a fool—like a total fool!

My boss gets tired of not being the center of attention and grabs him possessively by the arm, pulling on him.

“What do you say we go eat, Eric? It’s late!”

I lift my head and smile. An instant later, that impressive man with clear blue eyes steps away, but just before going out the door, he turns and looks right at me. When he finally disappears, I sigh and wonder why I couldn’t have just stayed quiet in the elevator.

3

The first person I spot in the cafeteria the next morning is Mr.Zimmerman. I notice him glancing up at me, but I pay him no attention. I have no interest in greeting him.

When it comes to bosses, I’ve always thought the greater the distance, the better. And this one’s a smart operator. The truth is, the man makes me nervous. I sense he’s watching me, studying me, from behind his newspaper. When I peek—wham!—I’m right. I down my coffee. I have to get back to work.

I end up running into him several times during the day. And when he moves to his father’s old office, which is right across from me and connected to my supervisor’s office by the archive room (a space full of file cabinets), I want to die. He never addresses me, but I feel his gaze. I try to hide behind my computer screen, but it’s impossible. He always finds a way so our eyes meet.

When I leave the office that night, I go directly to the gym. One spinning class and time in the Jacuzzi relieve me of the stress I’ve accumulated during the day, and I’m exhausted when I get home, ready for sleep.

It’s more of the same for the next few days. Mr.Zimmerman, that big handsome boss whom I’ve begun to dream about and whom the entire office looks up to, is everywhere I go.

He’s serious and a little threatening, and he hardly smiles. But I notice he searches me out, and it disconcerts me.

The days pass, and one morning, we finally exchange greetings. He doesn’t close the door to his office today, and now he can target me better with his gaze. My God, this is so stressful.

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