Twelve
“The Grand Palace? Is it even open at noon on a weekday?” Rodrigo had to bite the inside of his cheek at Esmeralda’s question. She’d been peppering him with them the entire thirty-minute drive uptown. She’d never liked being kept in the dark and it probably made him a jerk that he was enjoying seeing her practically vibrate from curiosity.
The driver stopped in front of the main entrance of the theater where the curator for the Latinx Diaspora Film and Television Archives was waiting for them. He turned to her and bit back the smile threatening to appear on his face. She looked so damn edible with that scowl on her face. He was so tempted to lean in and kiss all that annoyance right out of her. “It’s open for us. There’s something I want you to see.”
He pushed open the door to the town car, but she would not budge. “No, tell me what we’re doing here first.”
He crossed his arms, mirroring hers. “Terca.”
“You’re the stubborn one. Just tell me.”
He shook his head smiling and reached for her hand. “Ven. There’s someone waiting for us,” he told her and pointed at the curator who was patiently waiting for them to get out of the car.
“Fine,” she groused as Rodrigo stepped out of the car and helped her do the same. Once they both had their feet firmly planted on the pavement, he had to force himself to let go of her hand.
“Señor Almanzar.” The curator walked over to them, a welcoming smile on his face. “And this must be Ms. Sambrano.”
“Sambrano-Peña,” she corrected the man in a friendly tone. Rodrigo admired that in Esmeralda—she knew who she was. And nothing would change that. Not even losing the CEO position.
Rodrigo extended his hand to the man and made introductions. “Esmeralda, this is Huchi Piera. He’s the curator and archivist for the theater and he’s been kind enough to prepare some footage that I think will be helpful for your presentation.” He saw when his words landed and for a fleeting moment a genuinely pleased smile appeared on her face. The realization that Rodrigo had done something to help her.
And he wished he could tell her what he was really thinking. That he’d woken up wanting her. That he could not get last night out of his head even for a second. That he’d almost had to jerk off in his office, because he still had her smell on his hands. That he was desperate to know if she was thinking about it, too. He wished he could ask if what he’d overheard her tell her mother had been true, or if, like him, she was just trying and failing to keep her feelings in check. But instead, he gestured toward the entrance.
“Shall we?” His tone was a little sharper than he intended. But when she looked at him, her eyes were wide and her mouth parted just a little. She looked excited and touched by him bringing her here, and it was getting harder to not give in to his instincts. To not bring her close, or place a hand at her back, so Piera and anyone else in the theater could see she was his.
“This way, Ms. Sambrano-Peña,” Piera called, breaking the spell between them. By the next second she was all business, turning to follow the curator to the private screening area he’d prepared for them.
“Have you been to a show here before?” the curator asked as they crossed the large foyer of the theater and took a set of winding stairs up to a mezzanine.
“Yes. I have, many times,” she said as she looked around. The Grand Palace was a gorgeous old theater, built in 1930 by the renowned architect Thomas W. Lamb. The sumptuous filigree carvings on the walls were exquisitely done and made it one of the most beautiful theaters in Manhattan. “It’s such a beautiful building. The last time I was here, I brought my mom to see Johnny Ventura,” Esmeralda said, slowly taking it all in, pausing to admire the beauty of the place. She’d always been like that, an admirer of other people’s craft. Reverent when she was in front of true artistry.
Piera made an approving sound at the mention of the legendary Afro-Dominican merenguero. “Those were excellent shows.”
“I missed that one,” Rodrigo explained. “I wanted to come, but...” He was going to say he was working, which he had been, but he didn’t want to talk about the office. “I never got around to getting tickets.”
“Next time let your novia handle the tickets. My wife is always a lot more organized about that sort of thing than I am.”
The older man calling Esme his girlfriend flustered him so much he missed the last step and almost fell flat on his face at the landing. When he got his footing back, he shook his head in her direction. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake. Esmeralda stiffened at his harsh tone. “Wow, you’d think he just accused you of something.” With that she turned to Piera. “We’re not dating. In fact, we’re barely friends.”
Piera raised an eyebrow and stopped just beyond the doors to the small screening room. “Of course. My mistake.” He didn’t sound sorry at all. He was at that age when Latinx people said whatever they wanted with impunity and lived for getting their noses in people’s business. “But you really should consider it. You make a very elegant couple.”
Rodrigo swallowed down the growl in his throat and pointed at the open double doors in front of them. “Is this it?”
The curator gave him that shameless old man grin and nodded. “Yes, everything is ready for you.” He winked at Rodrigo as if they were in on the same joke, then he turned to Esmeralda. “I’ve left copies of some old photographs that we have from when your dad did Navidad Para el Pueblo here at the theater.” A beatific smile appeared on the old man’s face at the mention of the free concerts for the Latinx community in New York City that Patricio had sponsored for decades. “Your father was a great man, and a true champion of our culture. He saved the theater in the ’90s when developers wanted to tear it down. Did you know that?”
Esme gasped at Piera’s revelation and turned to Rodrigo, an eyebrow raised in question. Her voice trembled ever so slightly when she finally spoke. “I had no idea.”
Rodrigo felt a stinging in the back of his throat as he took in Esme’s reaction. He’d been so caught up in getting through this week that he’d forgotten this was not just a competition for Esmeralda, this was her chance to finally reclaim a part of her she’d been denied her whole life.
Piera smiled kindly at Esmeralda. “Mr. Sambrano quietly did many things for a lot of groups looking to conserve and document the culture of the diaspora. That’s what the footage you’ll see showcases. It’s a shame the documentary was never finished.”
“We’re watching the footage from the documentary? I thought that—” Esme asked, looking between Piera and himself.
“I’ll take it from here. Thank you, Mr. Piera.”
The old man dipped his head again and pointed at some doors that were visible from the balcony in the mezzanine. “My offices are down there. You can come get me once you’re done. We’ve left everything you asked for in the screening room. You’re all alone up here, so if you need anything you can call down from the phone that’s inside. Just dial zero. It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Sambrano-Peña.” With that he left them standing alone together.
“After you.” Rodrigo stood awkwardly in front of Esmeralda, gesturing toward the door. And it seemed he could not stop himself from sounding like an ass.
She narrowed her eyes at him, but her curiosity seemed to win out and she finally stepped inside.
“Is this the stuff that Carmelina swore I would not touch?” she asked mischievously.
“That’s exactly what it is.” He was grinning now, especially because Esme was giving him one of those “I don’t want to be impressed, but I still am” looks.
“I assumed she had called anyone who could let me see the footage to warn them off.”
“Carmelina thinks the only way to win is to be a bully,” he said with a wave of his hand. “People do what she says not out of respect, but fear.
The only way someone like me gets ahead is remembering that relationships are the biggest asset I have.”
He lifted a shoulder, looking around the small room as she digested his words. “A few years ago, when the theater needed some funds to buy equipment to keep their archives in a climate-controlled space, I helped them. When Carmelina forbade the studio from giving you access to the footage, I remembered Piera had asked for copies to keep in the archives. So, I called in a favor.”
“That’s pretty devious, Rodrigo Almanzar,” she said, a tiny conspiratorial smile forming on her lips.
“I’m not just a pretty face, Esmeralda,” he joked, eliciting a laugh from her as he guided her to the front of the room. His hand pressed to the small of her back as she took everything in. The room was small, with only about a dozen large plush reclining chairs facing a large screen. There was a table at the front of the room laden with the things he’d ordered.
He knew the moment she saw it because she did a double take. “Is that...mofongo and champagne?” she asked as a goofy grin appeared on her face.
“It’s lunchtime. And El Malecón is right across the street. It used to be your favorite,” he said soberly, but it was getting harder and harder not to match her delighted expression.
She clicked her tongue as she took the few steps to the table, inhaling as she reached it. It did smell amazing. “It’s very hard to remember we’re supposed to be archrivals when you’re being this nice.”
* * *
Rodrigo seriously gave her whiplash. One moment he looked horrified at the suggestion that they were a couple and the next he’s walking her into a private theater with her favorite dish and champagne on a literal silver platter.
“Who pairs plantains and Moët, Rodrigo?” she asked, feigning an annoyance she didn’t feel while he poured her some of the chilled bubbly.
“Bougie Dominicans, Esmeralda,” he quipped as he passed her the glass, and she could see the smile tugging at the side of his own mouth.
She raised the glass to her lips and it occurred to her the fizz of the bubbles were already under her skin before the liquid touched her lips. Rodrigo always did that to her, made her body effervescent with energy. One look, one word and she could forget all the ways in which he was never a good idea. But one thing she could not deny was that he got her. Rodrigo understood what made her tick like no one else ever had. And this ridiculous and perfect lunch choice was only further evidence of that. Again the questions balled up in her throat.
Are we going to just walk away from each other again? Are we going to let my victory steal this from us? Are you not feeling like your world got turned upside down last night, too?
But she didn’t ask a single one. She would not spill her guts just to have Rodrigo pick Sambrano Studios over her...again. “I guess it is lunchtime, we might as well eat,” she said a little too brightly, reaching for one of the little white plates next to the platters of food. She placed a ball of mashed plantains and chicharron on it. Then she sat down on the stool he’d pulled out for her.
“I know what happens when you get hangry,” he teased as she took a big bite.
“Jerk,” she grumbled through a mouthful of mofongo, but she was too content for it to hold any real animosity. “Mmm...perfect mofongo is perfect.”
He nodded, looking a bit too pleased with himself, as he watched her eat. She felt the heat from his stare warm her skin. But in the next moment he settled down with his lunch, and soon they were both tucking into the delicious food. Once she was done, she poured herself a fresh glass of bubbly and walked over to one of the plush leather armchairs in front of the gigantic screen.
Rodrigo fussed around for a moment, pushing the small table to a corner of the room. Then he turned off the lights, leaving them in total darkness for a moment before the screen lit up.
She turned around to look at him, but she could only make out his shadow as he walked over to her. “I’m nervous,” she confessed, as conflicting emotions swirled through her. Rodrigo’s eyes softened at her confession, and even if everything about these last few days felt murky and confusing, she knew he got why she was feeling that way.
“It’ll be good, Joya,” he said, reaching for her hand. And dammit, that was exactly what she needed. Something to ground her. And with his strong hand clutching hers she felt ready. He’d been this person for her so many times in her life. And she would be lying to herself if she didn’t recognize that she’d missed his steadiness. The way he seemed to almost instinctually knew what to say or do.
“Are you ready?” he asked so gently it was barely a whisper.
She nodded as tears crawled up her throat, but the sound of her father’s voice saved her from having to say anything other than a hoarse thank-you. She sat back to watch the oral history of what her father had built. It was a whirlwind of emotions, so much sadness and regret for what she never got to say to or ask him. She wished he could’ve been a different man, but right beside that disappointment there was admiration and an undeniable affinity.
The thirtysomething Patricio Sambrano who had set out to create something that had never been done before really was a kindred spirit. There was a fire in those brown eyes Esmeralda recognized at a bone-deep level. She may not have been the child he raised or recognized, but his ambition and drive were in her blood. He’d dreamed big and made it happen and she would do the same.
By the time the screen went dark she was dizzy with the onslaught of ideas the interviews and footage had given her. Rodrigo had been right, this was exactly what she needed to see to finally get the pieces of what she would present the board to come together. She’d known what she wanted for the future of Sambrano, and in a way it eased her to know that the Patricio from the early days would likely approve of her choices. Even though he’d let her down, he’d left her a legacy that was worth preserving. More than that, she wanted to finish what Patricio had set out to do and had not managed to achieve: make Sambrano Studios a representation of all that Latinx people were.
She turned to Rodrigo, who was still quietly sitting beside her, and all she felt was a wave of overwhelming gratitude. No one else would’ve done this for her. But he’d known, he understood why she needed to see these interviews. Even after a two-minute conversation last night he’d known. He’d done what was best for her, even when it meant hurting his own chances to stay on as CEO.
Rodrigo Almanzar really was a good man. Before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you,” she whispered against his lips. She had too many emotions coursing through her to find the right words. Without wasting any time he brought her to his lap, deepening the kiss. And soon the soft grateful embrace turned into something torrid and urgent.
His chest rumbled with a possessive sound and his fingers gripped her waist. “Rodrigo.” She gasped, already so caught up in him she could barely remember where she was. She ground herself against him, feeling his hardness against her core, just a few layers of fabric keeping her from what she needed. She was astride him now, knees on either side of his muscular thighs, rocking into him, needy and urgent.
“Unbutton your blouse,” he ordered, and that commanding growl made wet heat pool at the apex of her thighs. “I want to see your breasts.”
“Someone could come in,” she said, hands already undoing the first button.
“No one’s coming here unless I call for them. Unlike you, other people usually obey my requests,” he told her with a smirk, his eyes zeroed in on her chest as he slid a hand under her flowy skirt and ran a rough palm from her knee up to the juncture of her thighs, his fingers skimming along the edge of her panties. “Do you want me here?” he asked, two fingers stroking at the seam of her pussy over the lacy material of her underwear.
“I do,” she whispered.
“I can feel how hot and wet you are.” His voice was dripping with sex and that edge of raw possessiven
ess that drove her wild. Rodrigo touched her like he owned her, and that’s how he kept her coming back.
“Touch me.” She gasped as the roughness of the lace grazed her clit, her hips grinding into his hand of their own volition. Without taking his gaze off her, he roughly pulled down her underwear. Two digits deftly parted her folds and soon he was circling that nub of nerves until her skin was on fire. “Pull down your bra. I want to suck on your nipples.”
“Ahh...” She couldn’t form words. Her body was aflame with need and pleasure. It should annoy her how he could work her into a frenzy with just a few deft touches. Instead, she slid the straps off her shoulders and pushed down her bra, just like he’d asked. She felt so exposed, but she wanted what he was giving her, needed it. This felt illicit and thrilling and heaven help her, she would not stop.
“Put your hands on my shoulders, lean in. Oh yeah,” he said, low and dirty. “You need this bad.”
She did, she really did. He turned his face up as he worked her with his hands. He licked up the valley between her breasts, tongue flat and rough on her skin, making her shiver.
“You were always so sensitive here,” he muttered, lips grazing her nipples. His tongue darted out, flicking the pebbled peaks, just like his fingers were flicking her core. He sucked on her and caressed her until her whole world reduced to the pleasure he was giving her. “Come for me, Joya,” he demanded, and she did, tremors racking her body as her orgasm crashed over her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face to the crook of it. Esmeralda had been kidding herself earlier, telling herself this was closure, that she was over it. The only way that lie could survive was if she never saw him again. As long as Rodrigo reached for her, she would keep succumbing.
One Week to Claim It All Page 10