I am Mrs. Ballmer
As she passed Helena, Camila made a deliberate move: she brought her hand to her neck and slightly pulled away the collar of her blouse, exposing fresh red hickey marks on her pale skin.
The gesture was accompanied by a wave of sweet perfume mixed with the unmistakable scent of recent sex. It was a primitive marking of territory, screaming, “I have the man you wanted.”
A vein throbbed on Helena's forehead. Disgust rose in her throat.
If it weren't for professionalism and the contract, she would have refused to breathe the same air as that woman. “How disgusting,” thought Helena, looking away so as not to vomit.
“Very good!” shouted Cauan, oblivious to the cold war, clapping his hands. “Now t
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