Page 6 of Please, Forgive Me
“More work,” I said, folding my arms and tilting my head, watching her closely.
I knew exactly what was coming.
“Really?! Never would’ve guessed. I thought you were bringing me flowers,” she shot back without blinking, picking up one sheet like it might kill her. “Or maybe even coffee, who knows?”
This was our dance. She knew I loved provoking her, and she gave it right back. Maria Gabriela wasn’t like the others; she never let herself be intimidated. And that entertained me more than I liked to admit.
“Flowers? Someone’s dreaming a little too high,” I teased, leaning casually against her desk. “Besides, you already know—I’m not the type for romantic gestures.”
She sighed dramatically, pushing the stack aside like it was a joke, though her eyes sparkled with that sharp humor I appreciated so much.
“Oh, I know. You’re the type who buries people in work and thinks you’re doing them a favor.”
“Hey, I’m a busy man. I need to delegate.” I shrugged, trying not to grin. We both knew this was more about the game than the papers. “And let’s be honest—nobody does it the way I like… except you.”
She shot me a sideways look, one eyebrow raised. I loved that expression on her.
“Good to know you recognize my worth, Mr. Bittencourt,” she replied, her tone light, almost mocking.
“I always have. But it’s better to keep you busy. Otherwise, you start thinking too much.”
She laughed, shaking her head, and for a moment I realized how oddly comforting these little exchanges were.
The banter kept the job from feeling suffocating, at least for me. Because despite my narcissism and my tendency to keep everyone at arm’s length, Maria Gabriela had this way of pulling me into an uncomfortable comfort zone—if that makes any sense.
“Don’t worry,” she said, flipping through the papers again. “I’ll take care of it, as always. But one day, Diego, I’m going to charge you a fortune for all these extra services.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Until then, keep surprising me. That’s why you’re here.”
“That’s why, huh?” She looked up, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I thought it was because of my irresistible charm.”
“Maybe,” I said with a laugh. “But don’t let it go to your head.”
She laughed too, and I knew that, for all her complaints, she needed these moments as much as I did. We kept going, caught in a silent game whose rules shifted every day, but one we never stopped playing.
I studied her for another moment, noting how focused she was on the papers I’d just handed her.
“You know,” I began, leaning in slightly, closing the space between us, “you’ve got that serious face on, but I’d bet anything you’re already plotting how to get back at me.”
Her eyes snapped up, that familiar defiant spark flashing.
“Oh, Diego, if I wasted my time planning revenge for every one of your little provocations, I’d never finish my work,” she said with sarcastic flair. “And honestly, I’ve got more important things to do. Like fixing your schedule, which, by the way, is a disaster.”
“I know you love the chaos,” I countered, folding my arms and smiling down at her. “It’s where you shine.”
She gave a soft laugh, that one that always made me think I could keep this up for hours. And most days, I could.
“I shine so much you can’t stop piling more work on me,” she said, glancing back at the papers. “So, any particular reason for all this early-morning enthusiasm, Mr. Bittencourt?”
I straightened, pretending to think, while watching her absently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, completely at ease.
“Maybe I just like to see how far that sharp wit of yours can go,” I said, my tone serious but laced with playfulness.
She couldn’t resist; her eyes met mine, amusement clear.
“And maybe I like showing you I can go further than you think.”
Before I could push back, her phone rang. Without missing a beat, she answered, slipping effortlessly into the polished professional I’d shaped over the years.
