Touch Me Boss: A Single Dad Office Romance

by Aria Ford

  Ofélia sunk into her chair, fingers absently trailing the perspiration over the mug, her sight unseeing again. “I just cannot believe he didn’t tell me. What was he thinking? I know he apologized, but it is not enough. Jesús should have known how worried his family was.”

  “He reminds me of Tom,” Atlas had her attention again. He didn’t know why he’d said what he had, but he continued, unable to stop the flow. “I haven’t told you this, but Tom is my half-brother. My mom died when I was six, and six years later my father introduced me to his new wife and my five-year-old brother.”

  Ofélia was silent, perhaps out of respect or fear she’d stop him. Whatever it was, he was happy she was quiet. His tongue had grown heavier with the confession, his gaze resting on his hands atop his crossed leg.

  “Suddenly I had this brother and new mother, and my father didn’t understand why I didn’t care.” Atlas looked up, a sudden lethargy gripping his blood, his body. “Tom is crazy, as I’m sure you know. He’s always been like that. An attention seeker, and it worked with my dad and stepmom, I was the only one who saw through the act to his stupid nature.”

  “You hate your brother?”

  “No!” Something in Ofélia’s tone made him snap. There was caution there wavering her voice as she’d asked, not with accusation, but with wariness.

  Atlas had put two-and-two together by now: She clearly valued her family, families in general and it most likely pained her to her this sob story.

  “Sorry,” she was saying. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

  “It was an understandable assumption. You don’t need to apologize, and truthfully I used to think so too.” Atlas failed to recall a time when he wasn’t carrying a white-hot ball of pressure in his chest at the mention of Tom, a symbol of everything Atlas had lost, namely his mother.

  Otherwise his father surely wouldn’t have ever considering siring another child and remarrying.

  “I don’t hate him. At least, not anymore,” Atlas met her gaze and nodded. “I’m sure I used to. But that’s not the case with your brother. What I’m saying is that siblings are supposed to push your buttons. You can’t vouch for what other people will say or do, and,” and what?

  Ofélia had been leaning forward again, hanging onto his every word, waiting patiently for him to finish by the looks of it. Her deep brown eyes like big ovals, rimmed by long, black lashes, her nude-glossed mouth matching her eyes in shape. Complete rapture summed her expression up.

  “And,” Atlas drawled, spreading his hands over the tabletop, hoping he sounded cool and unaffected. “You have to remember you can only control your own thoughts and actions.”

  “I guess.” Ofélia sagged back again. “If he did not want to study at the college anymore, he could have said so.”

  “He was probably worried about what you’d think of him.”

  She bobbed her head, folding her arms and lifting that full chest of hers. “Lo sé. I mean, I know. Really, I will have to just let this go then.”

  Atlas smiled his agreement and she sighed, gulping down the contents of her mug and wiping her mouth. She stood and carried their dishware to the drop-off counter.

  Outside the café she thanked him.

  “I appreciate you coming to Aguascalientes for my family. I am going to have to remind Jesús about his manners when I talk to him next.” Her smile grew larger and Atlas had to get a grip on the loop-di-loop of his major organs. “But I really am happy that he is okay.”

  “I know.”

  And then they were left with the awkward goodbye.

  Atlas called her back, his heart pounding harder as she resumed her place in front of him.

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I actually have been looking into Aguascalientes. For future projects and stuff.” And stuff? Atlas smiled through the mounting tension rising behind his neck, cramping his stomach and doing a number to his mind obviously. He hadn’t sounded so unprofessional in his life.

  “I could use someone to show me around. Give me a tour.”

  She hooked her thumbs in her jean pockets, her floral blouse riding up and revealing her browned, delectable belly and the piercing he hadn’t noticed. “Atlas?”

  “Mhm,” he hummed, drawing his gaze to her face, his face and neck a tad hotter and not all of it could be blamed on the weather.

  Expecting her to chide him, instead she asked, “A tour? You want me to show you around the city?”

  Atlas nodded, no longer trusting of his voice or his eyes or anything of his near Ofélia.

  Yes, Ofélia, I want you to show me around the city.

  I want you to do that and so much more.

  Evening fell swift and merciless, taking Ofélia by surprise when they exited the Three Centuries Park, their last stop of the tour.

  She hailed a cab and Atlas hopped in with her. He directed the driver to her address first, claiming he’d take the ride back to his hotel alone.

  “It’s a matter of pride. I can’t let you go home last without knowing you arrived safely in person.” He turned to stare out the window then, as stiff as ever. The change of clothes hadn’t changed the cool exterior of the man.

  Khakis, a loose, plain white tee-shirt and sandals certainly became him, but the last nine days apart had given her head both breathing room and a chance to think clearly. Ofélia made progress where her silly, one-sided affection for Atlas went and it helped knowing she’d likely never see him again.

  It had been a shock, then, and a pleasure to hear Atlas’ voice a couple days ago. He had called to let her know he had information of Jesús. To think his whole trip was to deliver a message her little brother could easily have sent her was upsetting.

  And oddly heartwarming – Ofélia rested her hot cheek on the cool glass of the window, the familiar sights passing her eyes. Her whole being buzzed in the presence of Atlas, it would be a wonder if she cared for anything else.

  When the taxi rolled in front of the apartment, she woke up to Atlas’ voice and touch on her shoulder.

  “Ofélia?”

  She sat up, confronting him with a heating face. “Yes, I know. Sorry,” she mumbled to the cab driver and exiting the car.

  Atlas came around from his side, having heard him tell the driver to wait while he walked Ofélia to her door.

  Here it was then. The stilted farewell, or forever, she had been avoiding earlier before he dragged her back for a tour. Ofélia shouldn’t have agreed to it, but she enjoyed the day tremendously.

  She knew her sister was covering the care of their mother today, and it allowed Ofélia that odd opportunity to enjoy herself without obsessively thinking of her family. What’s more Atlas relieved her of her worry for Jesús and for that she decided a celebration – or tour – was a treat for the both of them.

  Still she didn’t wish a final goodbye.

  “I hope my tour was helpful. I could give you the number to the travel agency I used when I came to San Diego. They were really friendly and not very expensive,” Ofélia licked her lips. The air was dryer with a lack of rainfall, and though the day’s heat had cooled for the night, she burned with another desire.

  Atlas’ long bangs brushed his forehead and she quelled the urge to reach out and brush it to the side. He was watching her, too, his lips narrow and his eyes unreadable.

  “Ofélia,” his mouth moved, and she swayed in place, wanting, needing to close the space between them. If she had to ask of one last thing from him, it would be a kiss.

  Atlas was a muy good kisser.

  Ofélia tingled with the anticipation as it looked like he was leaning in, his attention locked on her mouth as well.

  “Ofélia?”

  She looked down the veranda, her sister and her on- and off-again fiancé, Alfonso, were meeting them.

  “Catrine? What are you doing out here?” Ofélia swiveled to their front door, and then glared back at her sister. “You left our mother in there.”

  Catrine held up the groceries in her hand an
d prompting Ofélia to notice that Alfonso was holding two other bulging plastic bags.

  “We ran out of food for dinner. I called Alfonso to help. We must have been gone for thirty minutos.”

  “I don’t care if you were gone for una hora, Catrine. You don’t leave mom like that, ever again. Promise?” Ofélia heard her irrationality, stopped short and acknowledged her face flaming out of shame for their public family display.

  In front of Alfonso was one thing – that boy had been around since Catrine and him started dating in high school. Whether Ofélia liked it or not, she had gotten used to his presence.

  Atlas was another matter.

  He must think we’re barbarians.

  Her baby sister stopped and studied Atlas. Readjusting the grocery bag to her opposite hand and leaning against Alfonso, she asked after their guest. There was a mischievous glint in her eyes that Ofélia had to correct.

  And why not?

  This had to be the first time since Aarón five years ago that Ofélia was with another man, and especially a gringo, an American of all potential candidates.

  It was the least she could do to save Atlas from having to offer an explanation to her party-girl sister of all people.

  Introducing them, Ofélia added, “Mr. Neville was on his way, chiquita, and we should be starting dinner.”

  “No, no.” Catrine stood straighter. Behind her Alfonso mimicked her stand. “Señor Neville, you should have dinner with us. Our family hasn’t had guests in a long time,” there was that mischief again, rearing its head.

  Ofélia pleaded that Atlas would decline.

  “I would love to, as long as your sister is all right with it.”

  Atlas smiled at her. Ofélia caved.

  Well, she caved in front of her sister and her sister’s boyfriend. Once Catrine and Alfonso went in, her sister barely waiting to squeal for Ofélia’s imaginary happiness, Ofélia rounded on Atlas, stopping him from following.

  “Why?”

  He gave her a look of feigned innocence. But Ofélia memorized his blank face blows and knew he was covering some motive. She didn’t have it in her for another of their trysts.

  She was thrilled for him, of course, that it worked out with señor Montero, Agata and Gustavo Oriol, and that he was in the process of revealing the heartbreaking, fake news of their break-up.

  Ofélia wanted no more of his business proposals.

  The brief flirtation with engagements and marriage were out of her system; at this rate she might as well sign herself to the local convent as it was looking like she would be leading a spinster life.

  “Why are you doing this, Atlas?” she tried the direct method, crossing her arms and taking a stance that she hoped exuded business. And since he was a businessman, she wanted him to take this – to take her seriously. “Why are you not leaving? Why did you accept my dumb, little sister’s joke of an invitation?

  “You know Catrine only wants to ask all the questions she knows I will not answer.”

  “I know.”

  She knew there was more, and she learned Atlas, as much as he’d like to present himself as being composed and in-control, also needed his time to sort through his emotions.

  “I came down here because I wanted to see you,” he brushed his hair back and moved to support himself on the veranda railing. Like everything else in the building, it needed a desperate coat of paint.

  If Ofélia, Catrine, and Jesús didn’t have all their childhood memories wrapped up in the building their late father, rest his soul, bought decades ago, after he married their mother – that and the lack of money – Ofélia would have moved them to a smaller, more affordable and better kept location in the countryside.

  A change of air could help speed up her mother’s convalescence their recent doctor trip revealed.

  It was only a remainder that, unlike Atlas, she had very little control over all the things happening in her life.

  “I had the message from Jesús to share with you, but I also wanted to see you.”

  “See me?” Ofélia approached him, waiting for the rebuff that never came. “Why?”

  “Because I,” Atlas looked up at the ceiling and he balanced his hands on the railing behind, his throat convulsing with…nerves? Ofélia’s heart picked up and her mouth grew dry. She had the urge to run around, abounding with energy she didn’t have a moment ago. “Because I didn’t want to leave it like this.”

  She deflated. “Oh.”

  Atlas lowered his gaze, leveling with hers. “I didn’t want us to hate each other or something. It didn’t seem…right.”

  Yes, it wouldn’t. He’s used to tying up his business neatly, clearly.

  If he wanted to clear his conscience and needed Ofélia’s help with it, then she’d help him because it would get him out of her life quicker to do the necessary healing over her wounded spirit.

  “You do not need to say sorry. I owe you a lot, Mr. Neville.” Back to formality, she smiled flatly. “And you do not need to go to a dinner for something like this. I forgive you for nothing, because you did nothing.”

  Now would you please go? Ofélia barely restrained from asking.

  Rather than turning on his heel, and leaving her life for good, Atlas pulled her into a hug. Her arms were pressed between them, his head burrowed into her shoulder, warm breath fanning over her shoulder.

  “I like you, Ofélia. A lot.”

  That turned around quickly.

  “What?” she tried to get out of his arms, but he’d latched on fast. “Atlas, let go of me.”

  “You’re angry at me, I know.”

  She laughed bitterly. “Oh, you do?” Tears were quickly forming when she remembered his conversation with Thomas, his brother. “You like me but not enough to bang me.”

  “You heard that, did you?”

  Yes, she did.

  “It wasn’t like that.” Atlas’ mouth and Ofélia couldn’t cover the sob. “Understand me when I say that it didn’t sound as it did. First, I have never, and do not want to, bang any girl. Secondly, I don’t take anyone to bed without getting to know them out of respect for the girl who might be my lover – my girlfriend.

  “Finally, I respect you more after everything so I couldn’t just take you to bed. You deserve more than that.” She heard him take a breath, glad she wasn’t alone in her breathless state.

  Lips against her shoulder, he echoed his earlier statement. “I like you, Ofélia. I really, really like you. I wouldn’t be standing in front of you I didn’t. I don’t say what I don’t mean. And I mean I really like you.”

  His repeating himself penetrated the fog hazing her clarity, incapacitating her. She clung desperately to his recent confession, gulping, “You do?”

  He squeezed her tighter; Ofélia yelped from the grip, and he loosened on a breathy chuckle.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” She sunk into the hug, finally falling into the swooping euphoria blanketing her at the realization of his confession. “Do you really like me, a lot?”

  He laughed, this time from the gut, and it rumbled over her, like any truth he could have voiced to her question. Still she soared when he said, “I really do like you.”

  Atlas finally moved back and pushed his face close, his hot lips prying open hers, tongue seeking and tangling hers in a breath-taking duel. Ofélia melted to the worn, wobbling soles of her platform sneakers.

  She gave her heart, mind and soul, her everything into the kiss, no longer riding the cliff, but flying off it and knowing this man was at the bottom to catch her.

  “You are a wonderful kisser,” she murmured against his mouth, between his pecks and throaty chuckle.

  “Am I? Are you sure?”

  She kissed him, gripping his head, running her hands through his down-like hair and unlocking their lips to nod. “Mhm, claro.” Definitely.

  He pecked her forehead and pushed her to his chest, allowing her access to his throbbing heart matching her own in tempo. Ofélia placed
her palm over the spot, earning another kiss, this time over her crown.

  Atlas smoothed his mouth over her hairline, murmuring two special words. “Te amo.”

  “Me, too,” she sniffled, laughing and sobbing when he asked if she was crying. “A little.”

  “Me, too.”

  At his admittance she sobbed and laughed all the more harder, her chest so tight, her head whirling with all that transpired. She’d never been more at a loss of management where her life was concerned.

  Atlas sprung this on her at once, yet instead of the burning, finger-curling, hair-pulling reaction Catrine provoked with her silly antics or Jesús recently deserved with his disappearance act, Ofélia was aflutter from joy.

  She couldn’t have been happier for losing control in all her life.

  “I love you, Ofélia,” he whispered again, his mouth not moving this time.

  “I love you, too, Atlas.”

  Their front door opened then and Ofélia expected Atlas to fling her off of him, for the fairy tale to dissipate as it had in Valle de Santos.

  He held her closer, his hand at the back of her head holding her to his chest, and, Dios, she loved the man more after each beat of her heart.

  “Oh, sorry,” Catrine popped her head out and then disappeared. She switched to Spanish to answer the older woman somewhere behind the half-opened door.

  Seeing Atlas’ confused look, Ofélia explained. “It’s my mother. She wants to know why my sister isn’t opening the door.”

  “Is your dad home too?”

  Ofélia shook her head. “He died when I was pretty little. My mom was pregnant with Jesús, and Catrine was even younger so she doesn’t remember him at all.”

  “But you do.” She met his eyes, sweet and moist and for her. Ofélia raised a hand and cupped his cheek, and he met her seeking mouth.

  They heard Catrine’s voice raising.

  “Ay, mom!” she said it emphatically enough for Ofélia to join in the soft laughter with Atlas.

  “And what is your sister saying? Hopefully that you’re out here with your handsome boyfriend?”

  Ofélia grinned. “Handsome? Boyfriend?”