Page 5 of Thiago
India silently cursed as she marched toward the front door of Beppe’s Cucina Italiana. She was running behind because she had left the office later than planned. She was usually good about leaving on time on Fridays, but she’d gotten sidetracked pulling together more information for the Santiago Migos plan. She had plenty of other work to do running the marketing department of an international conglomerate’s largest territory, but Thiago had given them a ridiculously short timeline, and she was going to damn well meet it.
She entered the bar of the crowded restaurant and told the man behind the counter that she was there to pick up an order. As soon as she paid, she rushed through the door with the paper sack in hand and climbed into her vehicle, a gray pearl Audi A7.
In less than thirty minutes, she was at her building, parking in the below-ground garage. She took the elevator to her floor, anxiously tapping her feet the entire time. When she entered her apartment, the tension drained from her body, and a smile touched her face.
This always happened when she arrived at home. She decompressed and relaxed. Her one-bedroom apartment was, in essence, her escape from the world. Much different fromthe dingy apartments she and her mother had lived in or the decades-old house she had moved to when her grandmother became her guardian. Not for the first time, she wished her mother had lived to see how well her life had turned out, but she took comfort in knowing her Grandma Selah had lived long enough to enjoy the fruits of her success.
She crossed the polished hardwood floors to the kitchen, which was hardly used since she didn’t know how to cook. One day she hoped to use it more, but for now, the quartz countertops and stainless steel appliances were in pristine condition. A trio of pendant lights hung above the small island in the middle, where a bowl of fake lemons added a splash of color.
Several feet away, the layout opened to a dining area before stepping down into the sunken living room. Because of the size of the living room, India had set up a home office on one end, with framed charcoal drawings—the cityscape outside her window, a Jaguar hiding in tall grass, and an eagle soaring over mountains—hanging on the wall above her desk. Elsewhere, abstract pieces dominated with hints of gold, blue, and red. Her furnishings were all high-end, consisting of clean lines coupled with comfortable, plush chairs in cream and maroon. The high ceilings and tall windows allowed in plenty of light and gave the space an open, airy feeling.
India unpacked the food she had bought, removing the paper cover with the restaurant’s name from the pan of lasagna and covering it with aluminum foil. Next, she placed the container in the oven to stay warm and stuffed the bag and other evidence of her food purchase into the trash.
She hurried into her bedroom, where soft lighting encouraged relaxation, but she couldn’t relax at the moment since she was short on time. She hurriedly undressed and then slipped into the shower, letting the warm water beat down on her skin. After a long day, the soothing spray was a welcomerelief for her achy joints, but she couldn’t stay under the spray very long. It was almost seven o’clock. Thiago would arrive soon.
She hopped out of the glass stall and rubbed scented lotion on her skin. Then she donned a sheer black teddy with strategically placed rose petals that covered her nipples and a thong that slid between her butt cheeks. She examined her body from different angles in the mirror, adjusting the strap on her shoulder before smiling with satisfaction and smacking her own ass. Of course, it was always better when Thiago did it.
She was standing in front of the closet, searching for something to wear, when the doorbell rang.
Shoot! That had to be him.
India picked up her phone and checked the live feed to the hallway outside. Sure enough, he stood in front of the door. He looked up at the camera and stared right at her, as if he could see her, quietly demanding she open the door.
The camera feed always distorted the appearance of visitors, but not Thiago. A while back, he had told her that he’d done some modeling in the past but hated having his looks constantly picked over and, in general, found the work to be boring. He also hated the spotlight, which was better suited to his younger brother, Ignacio, who had followed in their parents’ footsteps and become an actor. But if Thiago ever changed his mind, he’d have management companies beating down his door to represent him.
India retrieved her kimono from the closet and slipped her arms through the voluminous sleeves. Short and lavender, it hit midthigh and showed off her smooth legs. Since Thiago was early, she’d let him in, but then he’d have to wait while she finished getting dressed.
She padded barefoot down the hallway and opened the door. Without a word, Thiago entered slowly.
“You’re early,” she said, closing the door and heading to the kitchen to turn off the oven.
“I decided to knock off a little earlier than usual.”
From the nearness of his voice, she could tell he had followed her to the kitchen. Though they’d been seeing each other for seven months, his deep, accented voice still sent a thrill through her.
India turned to face him, arching an eyebrow. “Why?”
He shrugged. “Long week. I needed to get out of there, I suppose.”
Interesting. She always got the impression that he was exactly like her, getting a high from working hard and winning. He rarely took off—even on the weekends.
But she understood. More often, she looked forward to her weekends off. There was something to be said for downtime. Work-life balance, the modern gurus called it, though the term only seemed to apply to people in their positions. Did anyone care about work-life balance for people with two or three jobs trying to make ends meet?
“You can’t continue at the pace you’re going,” she remarked, though she doubted he’d listen. He hadn’t listened any other time she pointed out he needed to slow down.
“I have too much to do, and I will not be satisfied until the numbers for next quarter come in.”
She should have known. He had a goal he was aiming for, and as she’d learned since getting to know him, failure was not an option.
Using oven mitts, India removed the food from the oven and set it on top of the ceramic stovetop.
“Smells amazing,” Thiago said.
“It’s lasagna tonight,” she said, removing the gloves and placing them on the counter.
“When did you find time to make that?”
She smiled through the twinge of guilt nicking her chest. “I made it last night, and then all I had to do was warm it up in the oven when I came home.”
