Strawberry Kisses

by Phavy Prieto

  The cafeteria was half empty, since most of the employees had coffee on each floor. The cafeteria was used with potential clients or for informal meetings or, as in this case, for clandestine appointments disguised as business meetings.

  "How did this week go? I have been quite busy because of some last-minute unforeseen events which I had to personally take care of and I hardly came to the office."

  "Don't worry, everything went well. Did something serious happen?" I asked taking a sip of coffee, too hot for my taste.

  "Nothing to worry about," he said without giving too much importance. "The concert is at eight tonight. Do you want me to come and pick you up?" he asked staring at the tabletop as if he were studying a strategy to apply.

  "Actually, I don't need to go home and we should be at the concert at least an hour before. I thought of going directly there after work."

  "Perfect! Then you'll come with me because first I have to leave some documents at home. Then we'll go to the concert, okay?"

  "Why do I get the feeling that you are so kind just because you are going to ask me for some favours later?" I asked directly since I had a nose for these things.

  "You can't be fooled, can you?" he said in a low voice with a smile.

  "I actually can, but it seems that you are not very good at."

  "Maybe, just maybe, I'll need to ask you a little favour, a simple one," he admitted, staring at me with those overwhelming eyes to which I couldn't refuse anything.

  "Sure, simple," I underlined thinking that it would most likely be huge, gigantic, monumental.

  "My mother thought it was a good idea to call Michael on Monday to congratulate him after having learnt about my presence at the wedding in Scotland," Damian began to tell. I started fidgeting because I knew what he would say next. "As I already told you, our friendship is long-standing, and Michael has always been like a brother to me. My mother is also very fond of him, despite the distance created when she learned about his relationship with Rebecca. That's why she didn't go to the ceremony. I would say that my mother is probably even more resentful than I am about what happened in the past. The fact is that Michael told her about my future bride and, according to my mother's words, his exact words were: "She's charming. I'm very happy that Damian has finally found his sunshine."

  "What a gaffe!" I moaned, putting a hand to my chest. "What did Michael say when he found out there was no fiancée?" I asked anxiously and cursing that bleached busty woman who had reached her goal.

  "My mother thought it was all true."

  "No!" I screamed as I realized that I was in a public place with other people that noticed our presence.

  "She was so excited that I couldn't tell her the truth."

  "How could you do that?" I asked lowering my voice.

  "You will just need to pretend to be my fiancée for a few weeks and that's it. You were very good this weekend. I don't think it will be very complicated," he said with such self-confidence that I believed it too.

  "That means lying to your mother! Isn't that supposed to be wrong?" I asked, trying to figure out what kind of woman Damian's mother was.

  Usually my relationships didn't go that far as to know my supposed mother-in-law. If she was like one of those portrayed by most of my friends, I would better run away.

  "After what happened with Rebecca, believe me, she doesn't have great expectations," he replied with a devilish smile that made me think the worst. Why did Damian's mother still take into consideration the busty giraffe?

  If she is expecting a Barbie-like daughter-in-law, you’d better go to a toy store, because I don't think I look like her, not even with pink nail polish.

  For the rest of the afternoon I couldn't stop thinking of that pantomime. Me, the mister-muscle-boss' official fiancée! Everyone in the office would know about it soon. For sure they would know! It was a family business. My already indispensable role in the company would fade and, together with it, my conscience. I had to lie to an entire family and, even worse, to my alleged mother-in-law who seemed happy to meet me.

  I angrily threw my pen against the table because I could not focus on work. I went through my planner in which I had just deleted all the tasks already accomplished. That’s why I liked to have a planner, to cross out something that I had already achieved with great pleasure. Maybe my desire not to waste time, to control everything and leave nothing to chance came from the fact that I had had the ambition to overcome my limits, to stand out and be the best in everything since I was a child. Maybe being a know-it-all at school didn't help: when I was a child, my best friend was arithmetic. As I grew, my breasts developed and that was when I started getting attention of the boys despite the pimples on my face. I had never been bullied, I was a normal child, a bit introverted, who excelled in her classes, but who could not fully fit into a group, perhaps because I was too rational.

  As time went by, things got better. I met Nerea with whom I still got along despite our very different characters and made new friends at university, although I almost never managed to create strong and lasting bonds. I thought things would change at work, but apart from one of the accountants who unfortunately went on a leave due to the risk of miscarriage and who never came back, I could not maintain a friendship beyond the office environment with anyone. Maybe I was the odd one who did not allow others to build enough confidence and start a relationship with me. In my favour, I must say that I had almost always found myself in predominantly male contexts and, as I made my career, my role led people not to get too close to me out of fear.

  The point is that of all the possible women Damian could marry, I wasn't one of them. I didn't know how to deal with people and I wasn't a model. My qualities could be reduced to a brilliant résumé and a certain eloquence. Maybe I could add that I was funny sometimes, but not much more.

  "Miss Acosta," Ingrid's voice brought me back from my impromptu musings.

  "Yes, Ingrid," I replied a bit dazed.

  "I'm leaving an hour earlier as I told you this morning. Do you need anything? Otherwise I'll see you tomorrow."

  "No, I don't. Don't worry, you can go," I said distractedly. "Well, yes, I actually do need something! Can I ask you something a little out of the ordinary?"

  I didn't know how long Ingrid had been working in the company. She was young, with straight, neatly combed blond hair, and wore glasses that made her appear more intelligent. She would definitely represent a better profile of a possible daughter-in-law to Mrs. Devoir than I did.

  "Of course," she replied immediately, "if there is anything I can help you with, you can count on me."

  Her availability surprised me and made me think that we could become good friends.

  "Have you ever seen Mrs. Devoir around here? I mean Damian Devoir's mother." I observed Ingrid's face to see if I could draw any conclusions from her expression.

  "I've only met her twice. She is a very polite and elegant lady, but I didn't have the opportunity to deal with her personally, since she comes here only for the shareholders' meetings, being one of them."

  Great! That's not much use to me.

  "Well, I had to try," I whispered. "Thank you very much for the information, Ingrid."

  "Do you want me to find out more about her?" she asked as she was about to turn her back.

  "How?" I couldn’t avoid asking her.

  "If you ask me about Mrs. Devoir, it must be because you want some kind of information. I can try. What she likes, what places she usually goes to, what her favourite dishes are, if she participates in some charity and the kind of things that women of her status generally do."

  I had to admit that the idea of knowing about the world in which that woman moved in order to be able to enter into her graces was not entirely senseless.

  "To be honest, I'd really be grateful to you, Ingrid," I admitted nonchalantly.

  "I guess this is strictly personal and confidential, right?"

  I wondered if, considering the short time I had known Ingri
d – four days to be precise – I could put my trust in her so that no one in the company would find out about my interest in the private life of Damian's mother. I concluded that I had nothing to lose: in the end the whole company would learn about the mess Damian himself had got me into.

  "Yes, this is personal," I admitted. "Let's say that Mr. Devoir and I have a... a..."

  "You don't need to give me any further details, Miss Acosta. I noticed the interest that Mr. Devoir shows in you. Don't you worry, no one will ever know about your request."

  I didn't know if such professionalism was a good sign. Gaining my trust in order to get recommendations in future by someone holding this position was probably her intention.

  "OK, you can go now. I don't want to detain you any longer otherwise you will be late for your appointment with the doctor", I replied with a faint smile, and my young secretary left my office with a nod.

  Yes, I definitely liked my new secretary, although I also missed my previous intern.

  Exactly an hour later Damian was leaning against the door jamb of my office in one of his seductive poses while carefully observing every corner of the room, as if his interest was more focused on those details than on me behind the desk.

  "Aren't you going to change anything about the decor?" he asked stepping forward.

  "Why? I don't even know how long I'm going to stay in this office," I replied with a shrug. The truth was that I didn't usually pay attention to such things, probably due to my pragmatism.

  "I don't know a single woman who doesn't change her office as soon as she arrives. They usually put flowers everywhere, photos of their children, if they have any, or of their cat, and some paintings. You didn't even put a photo of me instead."

  "Are you a cat?" I asked biting my tongue so as not to laugh and not to meet his gaze otherwise my eyes would surely betray me.

  "You are the cat here. I still have the marks of your fingernails on my back," he whimpered as he approached the desk.

  "Oh, no! Not here!" I moaned, squeezing my legs together as if that could avoid my panties from getting wet.

  Why lie? My panties were already wet since Damian has been leaning on the door jamb.

  "It must have happened because you didn't behave, Mr. Devoir," I said accusingly to defend myself.

  "I should misbehave more often so that you can mark my skin with your fingernails again, Miss Acosta."

  His body was so close, his smell so good that I felt intoxicated. When I sighed excitedly, longing for that mouth that was brushing my lips crying out for a kiss, Damian moved away with a cough as if he wanted to regain composure.

  "I think we'd be better get out of this building quickly," he said standing up straight. That suit fit him terribly well.

  "At your place?" I asked with a clear intention, even though he had already proposed it in the cafeteria.

  "At my place," he confirmed with that dark look.

  I followed him by car to his house. I didn't have the faintest idea of where he lived, but I envisioned a huge house just outside Madrid, in an area similar to La Moraleja, one of those typical houses of the rich that appeared on design magazines and with luxury furniture imported from Turkistan. We didn't leave the city but headed downtown towards the most expensive area of the capital. I wondered how I couldn't think of it earlier. Indeed, the posh boy had to live in an exclusive neighborhood for the rich.

  Not even in my wildest and most perverted dreams had I ever thought that I would have gone to sleep with someone who could afford the luxury of living in the heart of Calle Serrano in Madrid. It would probably be the first and last time I would enter a building like that. Not only had the boy two parking spaces, almost impossible to find in an area where each square meter cost something like my annual salary, but also an amazing penthouse overlooking the whole city, with a view more impressive than the one I remembered I enjoyed as a child from a Ferris wheel.

  If he wanted to impress me by taking me to his house, he succeeded perfectly.

  "Do you like it?" he asked after a prolonged silence during which I was mesmerized by the view that I could admire from his living room. The entire apartment was furnished with impeccable taste in earth tones color palette.

  The kitchen occupied an open space with a massive central island and a metal extractor hood that was hanging from the ceiling. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a large metal bookcase that was opened on both sides. The way the two rooms were harmonized in the same space was spectacular. Beyond the bookcase there was a big sofa for at least seven people in front of a coffee table, and in one of the walls there was a small fireplace underneath a wide ultra-thin wall-mounted TV. Yes, it was definitely an apartment that could appear in some design magazines.

  "It's amazing," I whispered looking at the sunset in the horizon.

  "Great. Now I know you're going to like the place when you move here."

  Did I hear that right? No, no, no, no...

  Chapter XIV

  "To move in?" I said in a high-pitched voice, the same voice that I used as a child to declare my innocence when my mother rebuked me for having eaten half of the cake, while I had chocolate all over my face. Then my mother decided to make only apple and raisin pies so I wouldn't even touch it.

  "Didn't I tell you?" he asked as calmly as someone who says 'I'm going out for a minute to buy bread'.

  That man drove me crazy and upset me at the same time. How could he deal with such a topic so lightly?

  "If we want to make this work without raising any suspicion, the most logical thing would be to live together. Otherwise it will look strange to get married without having lived in the same house before."

  "Instead this wouldn't be strange at all. Imagine for a moment if I was one of those deeply religious girls who want to get married still being a virgin," I replied nervously.

  To come and live here would be my perdition.

  "You?" he said looking me straight in the eye with a hint of a smile. "Even dressed up as a nun, as you did at that restaurant, you couldn't look like one of those girls. The fire in your eyes betrays you. Not to mention how your body quivers every time I get close to you," he whispered with that smile that made me literally melt. "That option is not valid anymore after our weekend in Scotland."

  Shit! That was true.

  "Okay, but how can I come and live here so suddenly?" I asked as if I were seriously considering to move in.

  "It will only be temporary. In a couple of weeks all this will be over and we will pretend to have argued. I think we understand each other very well and there is some chemistry between us. I am sure we'll be good friends," he replied with a wink.

  I was disoriented. What should I reply to that proposal?

  No, I'm sorry, but I also have my little heart and I would be grateful if others did not come and crush it like an ant.

  The truth was that my little head was already making lists of what I should or should not put in the suitcase from the moment he offered to move in. That only meant one thing: that I would accept.

  "When should I move in?" I asked with resignation.

  In the end, whether I wanted to or not, who would dare to refuse Adonis every night? Of course, not me. Even if I had to pick up the remains of what would be left of me when everything was over.

  He was hesitant as if he didn't know what to reply. I crossed my arms impatiently.

  "What about tomorrow?" he said nonchalantly. "You know, my mother invited herself to dinner and..."

  "Tomorrow? What do you mean tomorrow?" I screamed. I felt it was a trap, a plot in which I had fallen like a fly in a spider web. "Damn you!" I huffed, realizing it was all intentional.

  "Okay, I admit it," he whispered, clasping his hands as if trying to apologize. "I thought that if I told you all at once, you would send me to hell, and for a good reason. So I figured it was better to tell you little by little."

  "Actually, I'm still thinking about it," I replied, biting my lip.

  Sur
prisingly, his ensuing laughter managed to subdue the anger that pervaded me. Deep down, I couldn't get angry with that poor beautiful creature. Besides, I could take the opportunity to congratulate his mother for creating something so majestic. The question wasn't if I were willing to do that huge favour for him, but how devastated I would be once that play was over.

  I had to be honest and stop hesitating. I liked Damian Devoir. I was attracted to him in an extraordinary, unprecedented way and he was definitely a god in bed. So I didn't have to be very lucid to know that the more time I spent with him, the more I would find myself involved. And if I added to this that constantly bumping into him at the office would remind me of what I could never have, the situation I was getting into was dangerous, very dangerous.

  On the other hand, there was the possibility of focusing exclusively on the moments in which I would enjoy that sculptured body until our expiration date came. I was going to immerse myself every night in an orgasm abyss that would leave me with pleasant memories, even if they could turn bitter over time. If all ended well and by mutual agreement, we could also keep in touch for some occasional intimate encounter, right? Okay, that was a remote possibility, but still.

  "Well, don't kill me if I tell you that I mentioned you were an excellent cook," he confessed, covering his face with one hand as if he were afraid I would slap him.

  "Excellent cook? I'm not even capable of cooking an omelette!" I exclaimed with my eyes popping out of their sockets. "It's easier to see a donkey flying than a good tortilla made by me," I huffed.

  "Ok, don't worry," he raised his hands in his defense. "We'll order food and pretend that you cooked it."

  "Yeah, you are convinced that a mother is going to fall for it, like in the commercial of croquettes that look homemade but instead they are frozen for a gazillion months," I answered walking towards the kitchen. "Do you have a hammer? I think that if we break the oven and the stove we will have an excuse."

  At that moment I lifted my leg as if to give him a kick and felt two arms catch me and lift me in the air.