Discomfort

I grabbed my things and stood up. I needed to clear my head, and Diego, as always, had a way of making that easier.

I headed downstairs and spotted him leaning against a shiny new BMW. I never understood how he pulled it off. He wasn’t rich—at least, not on paper—but he’d always lived surrounded by that kind of flash. Even back in college, it had been the same.

“Came all the way here just to show off?” I teased.

The idiot pulled me into a hug and planted a quick kiss on my cheek.

“Not happy to see me?” he shot back, grinning.

I was. God, I was. I just wanted a little of that luck to rub off on me too.

“With the kind of money I need right now, you could at least tell me where you found that gold mine,” I said, keeping my tone light… even if I wasn’t entirely joking.

He gave me a strange look—there and gone so fast I almost missed it. For a second, it felt like he’d carefully chosen his next words.

We climbed into the car and fell into easy conversation about nothing important. For a few blessed minutes, I managed to forget the office, the locked door, and that disgusting smile. Until Diego circled back to the one subject I wanted to avoid.

“The cash you need… it’s for your mom?”

I met his eyes and gave a small nod. Diego had always known about her battle with the illness.

“Yeah. She needs more sessions, and the insurance company is fighting it.”

He pulled a concerned face and scratched the back of his head. I knew that gesture too well. Whenever Diego did that, something was coming—and it was rarely good.

“Look, man… I don’t know if you could handle what I do to get all this.” He smiled sideways, half-challenging. “You’ve always been the straight-laced one. Not sure you’d have the balls to face that kind of work.”

I stared at him, stunned.

For a split second, a ridiculous thought flashed through my mind.

“Diego… you’re not into anything illegal, are you?” I asked, half serious, half hoping he’d just laugh it off.

He burst out laughing, loud and genuine, like I’d told the funniest joke he’d ever heard.

“No, you idiot.” He was still smiling when he added, “But if you’re willing to try, I can take you after your shift.”

He shrugged, as if it were nothing.

“It’s only at night. Won’t mess with your day job at the company.” He paused, studying me more closely than usual. “Although, honestly… with that pretty face of yours, you’d make a hell of a lot more working for Ágata.”

The words hung in the air a beat too long. A bad feeling settled in my chest instantly. What the hell did my face have to do with any of this?

We pulled up to the restaurant, but I barely registered the place. His comment kept echoing in my head, too loud to ignore.

Curiosity won out over common sense.

“So…” I started, glancing at him across the table. “What do you actually do?”

Diego just smiled.

He leaned forward, fingers laced together with calm confidence—too calm—like he was about to drop something that would shift the entire axis of my world.

“You’ll find out when we get there.” His voice was smooth, almost gentle. “And if you want, you can start tonight. I’ll call Ágata and let her know I’m bringing you.”

The smile that followed told me he knew exactly what he was doing.

I sighed. I knew better than to try squeezing anything else out of him right now.

I went back to the office after lunch, but a cold knot had settled deep in my stomach and refused to loosen. My mind kept spinning, trying to picture what kind of work could bring in that much money. Every possibility that came to mind felt wrong—yet I couldn’t stop turning them over, searching for one that didn’t make me sick.

The hours dragged like the clock had a personal grudge against me. When quitting time finally came, I picked up the folders with the reports for the president’s meeting and headed toward that asshole’s office.

I knocked, stepped inside… and walked straight into a scene I wished I could unsee.

There was someone under his desk.

For a second, I froze. It wasn’t a surprise—not really—but still…

I knew exactly what was happening. The restless foot visible beneath the edge of the desk gave it all away.

I kept my face blank. I walked over, set the folders down where they belonged, and muttered a quick goodbye like I hadn’t noticed a thing.

Back at my desk while I gathered my things, I saw the guy leaving the office. He kept his eyes on the floor and moved too fast, like he was trying to disappear before anyone could say a word. The same guy who always swore he’d never sell himself.

I looked down, swallowing any reaction that might betray what I’d seen.

I hope I never get desperate enough to reach that point, I thought, shoving the papers into my backpack harder than necessary.

I grabbed the rest of my stuff and left.

Diego was already waiting outside. I slid into the car, and we headed toward one of the city’s upscale neighborhoods. The farther we drove, the heavier the unease grew—quiet, insistent, impossible to shake.

I returned to the office after lunch, but a persistent chill had settled in my stomach and wouldn’t let go. My mind kept spinning, trying to imagine what kind of job could pay that well. None of the answers that surfaced felt right—yet I couldn’t stop searching for one that might.

The afternoon dragged on as if the clock were deliberately slowing down just to spite me. When quitting time finally arrived, I gathered the folders containing the reports for the president’s meeting and headed toward that asshole’s office.

I knocked, stepped inside… and immediately wished I hadn’t.

There was someone under his desk.

For a second, I stood frozen. It wasn’t a shock—not really—but still…

I knew exactly what was happening. The restless foot visible beneath the edge of the desk told the whole story.

I kept my expression neutral, walked over, placed the folders on the desk, and said a quick goodbye as if I hadn’t seen a thing.

Back at my own desk while packing up, I watched a colleague slip out of the office. He avoided eye contact with anyone, walking too fast, like he was desperate to vanish before anyone could speak to him. The same guy who always swore he’d never sell out.

I dropped my gaze, refusing to let any reaction show.

God, I hope I never get desperate enough to end up there, I thought, shoving the papers into my backpack with more force than necessary.

I grabbed the rest of my things and left.

Diego was already waiting outside. I slid into the car, and we drove toward one of the city’s wealthiest neighborhoods. The farther we went, the heavier the unease grew—silent, insistent, and impossible to shake off.