A Game With the Boss

I had lived a happy childhood, running through the garden of our home. We weren't rich, but we were fine. We lived in a beautiful house, painted entirely white with earth-toned decorations. My mother had exquisite taste; art was her passion. She always baked me delicious chocolate chip cookies. When my sister was born, I was very happy. I would have a little sister! I shared everything with her until she was diagnosed with schizophrenia. She suffered seizures, and her behavior was difficult to control. Our lives changed; we adjusted to Nicole's needs.

My parents loved us deeply and worked hard to support us. I never had to work or ask for anything, at least not as a teenager.

When I turned 16, my father died of a heart attack, leaving us all devastated. Our dreams had vanished, and apparently, so had our luck.

As if life was intent on erasing us from the map, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. We caught it early, but it cost us a lot to save for her surgery. Her mood didn't help, but it was understandable.

Her other half was gone. I had no choice but to start working. I tried to balance university schedules with shifts at the pizzeria. I was a waitress, and they paid me well when I worked double shifts. My sister's condition worsened, so I had to turn to some of my father's friends for help, but they didn't lend a hand. It was to be expected: appearances can be deceiving. I had no choice but to leave university and look for another job. I juggled two jobs and two sick family members at home. Life wasn't easy, but I wouldn't give up.

Six years had passed since my father's death. My sister remained stable as long as she was medicated. My mother was a different story; her cancer had returned, this time to stay. It had metastasized, so we could lose her at any moment. I had to endure humiliation, disdain, excesses, and countless other things, all while dealing with a horrible boss. Well, he wasn't a horrible man, not at all. He was six feet tall, with a sturdy build. His light brown eyes were like honey. His hair was like him-rebellious, a rebellious straight. His skin was pale, like his smile. In my first year here, I fell hopelessly in love with him. He was my platonic love, but he made sure to kill it with his awful behavior. Let's be realistic; he would never notice me.

I'm an ordinary woman, a little chubby. I have long honey-colored hair, which I always keep in a bun. I like to dress formally, wearing loose clothes, and my black-rimmed glasses take away from my face. So, it's logical he wouldn't notice me. He calls me "the crow" because, according to him, I'm a gray woman without any appeal. I overheard him tell his best friend that, so I sent all my feelings packing. That despicable man didn't deserve anything from me.

I had to endure that scoundrel's disdain for all these years. I was responsible for his meals from Monday to Sunday, sent his clothes to the dry cleaner, and had to keep track of his shopping, house arrangements, and the cherry on top: covering his dates. On Tuesdays, he went out with brunettes; Wednesdays, he gave a chance to some model or another; and Thursdays were free-he went drinking with his friends, who, by the way, were as obnoxious as him.

On weekends, he spent time with his family. Mr. and Mrs. Duncan were quite good people, or so I assumed. Occasionally, Mr. Duncan helped me with medical expenses. The devil's brothers were completely different from him. Marcelino, the eldest, was married to a prestigious lawyer-I think her name was María, Remata, or Maira, I don't remember well. John was the middle brother, very grounded. He wasn't known to have a girlfriend; everyone said he was gay. I honestly doubted it because, during one of my missions at the dry cleaner, I found him being very affectionate with the manager. I pretended not to know him and went on my way. Max, aka the devil, was the youngest of the three. A businessman, he studied business at Harvard. When his father fell gravely ill, he took over the companies, and to this day, he's done very well.

As every Monday, I arrived at the office earlier. It was twenty to seven; I had the coffee ready and the folders for the new contracts prepared. I needed to take the clothes to the dry cleaner, but that would be later. The devil appeared; he wasn't in a good mood today. Poor me. The phone on my desk rang.

-"Tell me, sir, what do you need?" -I asked in a professional tone.

-"What would I need from you? Please, don't insult me this early. Come to my office, or have you forgotten you need to review the agenda?"

I hated this man. I didn't understand how women could stand him.

-"Yes, sir, I'm on my way," -damn scoundrel.

I got up from my desk, crossed myself, and entered his office.

-"Sir, today you have a meeting at nine with the Mexicans. I've prepared the contracts."

-"Maritza, sit down; we need to talk."

-"Go ahead, sir," -I replied respectfully, though inside I wanted to claw his eyes out.

-"I need you to marry me. We have to fake a relationship. Hard to believe, but everyone knows my tastes. I wouldn't look twice at a crow."

I clenched my hands in fury. I couldn't take it anymore. Had I heard correctly? Had he gone mad?

-"I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on Earth, Mr. Duncan. You're a 'damn scoundrel!' That's why everyone calls you the devil, and they're not wrong."

Each word that came out of my mouth dripped with venom. Years of hatred had accumulated, all thanks to his mistreatment.

-"We wouldn't marry for love, God forbid. It's a simple contract. I'll pay you a good sum, so take it or leave it. If you say no, you're fired anyway..."

I looked into his eyes. His lips moved, but I still couldn't believe what he was saying. I had worked hard all these years. I didn't have this position for nothing.

-"So, you'll fire me because I won't marry you, Mr. Devil."

-"Don't think calling me that will make me cry," -he smiled maliciously-. "You know I've earned that nickname with great effort. And if you don't accept, consider this your dismissal. You should take advantage; I'll cover clothes, beauty salons, and all those things you women use."

-"I don't need it, so I quit. Go to hell!"

-"As you wish. Then I hope you die in your own misery."

The last thing I heard as I left the office was his laughter. After so much time, I felt alive. I was free.