C9

​CHAPTER 9

​Amy steps so close that I can see her pupils dilating. Her hands leave her pockets and rest on the counter, one on each side of my body, trapping me. This could easily be considered workplace harassment. And yet, I remain silent. Through it all, her perfume envelops me, but this time it isn't comforting; it’s aggressive.

​“I don't care who started it,” she hisses near my face. “In this building, you are my secretary. My employee. And I will not tolerate you playing the victim or seeking attention from mediocre men who have no idea what they are touching. Is that clear to you?”

​Her face is millimeters from mine. I can see the vein pulsing in her neck and the way her lips tighten. This isn't normal jealousy; it’s the jealousy of an owner over a valuable piece of property. And the most disturbing part of all is that, beneath my indignation, I feel a spark of pleasure at her possessiveness. My treacherous body responds to her proximity, and my eyes involuntarily drop to her mouth.

​“It’s clear to me,” I whisper, my voice failing me again.

​Amy looks at me, her gaze drifting down to my chest, which rises and falls rapidly. Her expression softens for a fraction of a second, shifting into something hungrier, before hardening once more.

​“It seems you have too much energy, just like Mr. Vaughn,” she says, pulling away abruptly and reclaiming her mask of coldness. “Susana had planned for you to leave at six so you could rest. Forget about it.”

​“What? But I have to go see my mother, she's expecting me for a video call and—”

​“Tell her her daughter has to work,” Amy sentences, walking toward the exit without looking back at me. “You will stay today until you finish organizing the warehouse files you left half-done, and after that, I want you to draft the minutes from this morning's meeting. You aren't leaving here before eleven tonight.”

​“That’s five hours of overtime!” I exclaim, following her down the hallway. “That’s unfair!”

​Amy stops dead in her tracks and spins around. The look she shoots me would have stopped anyone else's heart.

​“Fairness is something you cannot afford, Camila. Obedience, on the other hand, is the only thing that will keep you in this position. If you ever cross another unnecessary word with Julian or any other man on this floor, overtime will be the least of your problems.”

​She turns around and steps into her office, slamming the door with a thud that echoes throughout the entire place.

​I stand there, frozen in the middle of the hallway, feeling the curious stares of the other employees who quickly look back at their screens. My dignity screams at me to quit, that no one has the right to treat me like this. But my reality—the faces of my sisters and my father's debts—forces me to swallow my pride.

​I walk over to my desk and collapse into my chair. My body aches, my head thumps, and above all, the internal confusion I feel is agonizing. I am viciously angry with Amy Murphy; I hate her for her arrogance and her abusive control. But at the same time, the image of her defending her "territory" against Julian plays on a loop in my mind, sparking a heat that makes me hate myself.

​What kind of woman am I? I’m supposed to like good guys like Julian—the ones who ask you out to lunch and smile sweetly at you. I'm supposed to like guys in general. So why did my pulse accelerate more at Amy’s shouting than at Julian’s compliments? Why does the thought of being locked in this building with her until eleven tonight terrify and excite me in equal measure?

​I pick up my phone and send a quick text to my mother:

​“Mom, I have to stay late. Lots of work. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you guys.”

​Susana walks past me a few minutes later, throwing me a look of pity.

​“Wow, welcome to the club,” she whispers. “Amy is in a dog of a mood today. If you need anything, I’ll be on the 40th floor. Don't let her break you, Camila.”

​“She won't shreds,” I reply, though I’m not sure if I’m speaking to Susana or to myself.

​I get up and head toward the elevator; a long, lonely afternoon in the dusty basement warehouse awaits me. But as I ride down, I can't stop thinking about what Amy told me: “Mediocre men who have no idea what they are touching.”

​I mean, with that, she clearly proves she is confident in herself, that she likes other girls. And don't misinterpret me, I really don't care about any of that; I’m not interested in anyone's sex life. But I am interested in the effect she knows she is having on me, and this punishment isn't just about Julian. This is her way of reminding me that, in this power game, she holds all the cards; and I, as much as I want to deny it, am anxious to see what her next move will be.

​I enter the warehouse, and the silence envelops me. I turn on the fluorescent lights that flicker with an electric buzz, take off my jacket again, roll up my blouse sleeves once more, and prepare myself for a night of forced labor beneath the invisible shadow of the woman who is beginning to possess not just my time, but also my wildest thoughts.

​And to think this is only day one... I don't even want to imagine what the rest will be like.