Page 15 of Hooked on Dallas
His gaze flickers up to meet mine. “My wife, Amelia, she passed away ten years ago.”
My eyes widen. His wife? He had a wife? All this time, I assumed he was a lifelong bachelor, married only to his work.
Mr. De La Cruz runs a hand over his face, looking older and more careworn. “I don’t speak of her often. It’s still...difficult.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
My heart squeezes with empathy. I know that kind of pain all too well. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I whisper.
He waves a hand, blinking back the sheen of tears in his eyes. “It was a long time ago.” But his tone says otherwise. The wound is still raw, still bleeding.
“Some losses stay with us forever.”
Mr. De La Cruz meets my gaze again, his eyes soft with understanding. In that moment, I feel our roles of boss and assistant fade away, leaving only two people bonded by the deepest, most profound connection of all: loss, and the love that comes after.
He gazes at the photo, lost in memory, a sad smile touching his lips. “She always knew how to make me laugh. We used to love going dancing together, even after all those years. Everynight when I came home from work, she’d greet me at the door with a kiss.”
His voice catches, and for a moment he can’t continue. A lump rises in my throat, imagining the depth of love and loss in his words. This is a side of my boss I never could have imagined—a glimpse into the tender heart beneath the stern exterior.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. I want to reach out and comfort him, even though we rarely share any personal contact. He seems so alone in his grief, holding onto the memory of a love cut tragically short.
Mr. De La Cruz’s pain mirrors my own, and the barrier between us crumbles. He isn’t just my demanding boss anymore; he is a man who has suffered a terrible loss. Against all odds, I realize we have a connection—and the beginnings of an understanding.
I clear my throat, self-conscious. We shared something deeply personal, and now the normal boundaries of our working relationship felt blurred.
Mr. De La Cruz seems to sense my discomfort. He straightens in his chair and folds his hands on the desk, adopting his usual formal manner. “Thank you for your condolences, Miss Stevens. Now, was there something you needed to discuss?”
I nod, grateful for the return to familiar territory. “The Hartman brief. I’ve reviewed the documents and believe I’ve found a loophole in the language of the original contract that could strengthen our case.”
“Excellent work,” he says with an approving nod. “Please elaborate.”
As I launch into an explanation of the details, I find a newfound respect for the man across from me. My boss has depths I never suspected, layers of love and loss and longing beneath the polished professional exterior. It makes me see him in a whole new light—and realize how much more there is todiscover about the complex, multi-faceted person he is. Mr. De La Cruz isn’t the stern, demanding figure I have always seen him as. Beneath the intimidating exterior is a man who felt as deeply as I did, who had loved and lost in the way only those who have lived can understand.
Gone is the barrier between boss and employee, melted away by the fires of shared grief and the balm of mutual understanding. I see into his soul, and he into mine, and when I leave his office, I carry with me a newfound respect for the complexities of the human spirit. Mr. De La Cruz is no longer simply my boss—he is a friend.
Maybe this job will be an adventure after all. I smile, already looking forward to the next surprise Mr. De La Cruz might have in store.
Another long night is ahead of us to find these financials. He wasn’t kidding when he said he doesn’t get out of here until ten almost every night. The circles under my eyes are getting worse.
I settle in for another long night of paperwork. I stifle a yawn, steeling myself for the barrage of demands that are sure to come from Mr. De La Cruz the moment I stride through the door.
“I, uh...I brought you a coffee. Hazelnut latte, right?”
I blink. He remembers my coffee order? “Yes, thank you,” I say, a bit stunned.
He has dark circles under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. It seems the notorious workaholic hasn’t been sleeping well lately either.
We aren’t so different, he and I. Two restless souls chasing purpose through the daily grind.
When he pokes his head out a few minutes later, I venture a hesitant smile. “Everything alright, Mr. De La Cruz?”
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Please, call me Dallas.”
My smile widens into a grin. “Only if you call me Laura.”
A ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “Touché.”
I take a sip of the latte, savoring the burst of hazelnut flavor. Maybe this won’t be such a long night after all. Dallas and I...we have an understanding now. A spark of hope that this job can turn into something more. A partnership, even.
“Any leads on those financial records?” Dallas asks, stifling a yawn.
