Page 10 of Hooked on Dallas
He looks up at the sound of my footsteps, and for a moment we just gaze at each other, a wealth of unspoken thoughts passing between us. Then he clears his throat and looks away, a hint of color touching his cheeks.
“You’re late,” he grumbles, but there is no real irritation in his tone. I hide a smile and hold out one latte in offering.
After a brief pause, he takes it with a muttered “Thank you.” Our fingers brush in the exchange, and a spark of electricity shoots up my arm at the contact.
Mr. De La Cruz’s eyes flick to mine, dark and fathomless, and I wonder if he feels it too, the subtle charge in the air between us. But he only takes a sip of his latte and says, “We have a meeting with the partners at nine. Be ready.”
I nod, suddenly flustered. What am I thinking, bringing him coffee like we are friends? Like anything has really changed? Mr. De La Cruz will always be my demanding, abrasive boss, no matter how much I might wish otherwise.
With a frown, I retreat to my desk and immerse myself in work, trying to ignore the confused tangle of emotions inside. But every so often I glance up and find Mr. De La Cruz watching me, a pensive look on his face, and a traitorous warmth blossoming in my chest.
Whatever this is between us, it is far from over. The bonds we forged last night, over cold sesame chicken and confessions whispered in the dark, have woven us. And try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling that everything is about to change.
6
Laura
“Get in here now.”
My heart skips a beat. I straighten my skirt and smooth my hair as I walk into his office, steeling myself for whatever tirade he is about to unleash. His reputation as the firm’s most demanding partner isn’t earned by chance.
Mr. De La Cruz stands by the window, gazing pensively at the city below. My eyes trace the sharp lines of his suit, hugging broad shoulders and a trim waist. For a fleeting moment, I allow myself to admire how the sunlight brought out hints of gold in his dark hair.
Then he whirls around, pinning me in place with a glare. I swallow hard. So much for wishful thinking - it is time to face the dragon.
“The Acme account is a disaster,” he growls. “We’re losing them to Blackwell and Marks.”
My heart sinks. The Acme account is one of our most prestigious. We can’t afford to lose them. I wrack my brain, searching for a solution. This is my chance to prove myself. If I can win them back, it will cement my value to the firm. To him.
An idea flickers, then ignites into a flame. It is risky, but it just might work. I meet his gaze and say with more confidence,“Give me a week and I’ll bring Acme back to the fold. Just trust me on this one.”
One dark eyebrow rises skeptically. My pulse races as he contemplates my words. Please let him take the bait.
After a long moment, he gives a curt nod. “You have one week, Stevens. Don’t disappoint me.”
I breathe an inward sigh of relief, hoping I haven’t just signed my own death warrant. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. I have everything to gain - and everything to lose. The stakes are high, but so is the reward.
This is the chance I have been waiting for. Now all I need is a plan.
I pace the floor of my apartment, wracking my brain. How am I going to win back the Acme account and prove my worth to the firm—to Mr. De La Cruz?
Then it hits me. A charity gala. We can host an extravagant charity gala and invite Acme as the guest of honor. It is the perfect opportunity for schmoozing and will showcase the firm’s generosity and community spirit.
My mind whirrs with the details. Finding the right venue, choosing a theme, handling the catering and entertainment. It will be a massive undertaking. I can already picture the look on Mr. De La Cruz’s face when it is a rousing success. The admiration in his eyes when he realizes I saved the account.
The risks are enormous, but the potential rewards are even greater. I smile, feeling a surge of excitement. My week is going to be busy, but if I succeed, it will be life-changing. Now, all I need is his approval for the idea.
I rehearse my pitch on the drive to work, anticipation and nerves battling in my stomach. When I enter the office, Mr. De La Cruz glances up, his eyes sharpening. “Well, Stevens? Do you have a proposal for me?”
Here we go. I take a deep breath and launch into my idea, injecting as much enthusiasm and confidence into my voice as possible. His expression remains impassive as he listens, arms folds across his chest. My heart pounds, waiting for his reaction.
When I finish, he is silent for a long moment. Then a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he nods. “I’m impressed. It’s bold and unconventional. Exactly what’s needed here.”
I sag in relief, a grin breaking across my face. “You won’t regret this, sir. I’ll make it an event no one will forget!”
His lips quirk. “See that you do. The Acme account is riding on this.”
No pressure then. I swallow hard, already feeling the weight of responsibility settling onto my shoulders. But I won’t fail. Not this time. The future of my career at the firm depends on it.
