Chapter 4. Stalker

By Javier

When I arrived on Tuesday at 8:30—before the office opened—she was already at her desk, working. I popped in to ask her for reports—this time about purchases. I know my brother handles that, but just like the day before, she came over with the folders.

She answered all my questions—some of them pointed—but she knew exactly what each topic was about. It was as if she’d been studying the answers to get an A; still, I asked her follow-up questions to see where she’d go wrong. Finally, I let her go.

I saw her glance at her cell phone. Was she expecting a call? From my father? Did she have another lover?

At 1:30 p.m., I saw her go up to her apartment and come back down with a bag; it looked like it contained books—you could tell by the weight.

Was she selling our information? To whom?

She returned at 4:00 p.m., went straight to her office, and ate something that was brought to her—which meant she hadn’t had lunch.

I immersed myself in my work again; at 8:00 p.m., I left, and she didn’t even look up.

I decided to have dinner downstairs and then go back to the office.

Because of Camila

, I feel like Javier is constantly evaluating my work; he monitors everything I do. Don Antonio trained me, and I expanded my knowledge in college—I’m still studying; I had class today. He didn’t say anything when I was absent; his father knew I was studying and encouraged me to do so, and my absences were to attend college.

At 8 p.m. I saw him walk by; I was surprised when he came back around 9 p.m. He went straight to his office. I hadn’t had dinner and didn’t feel like cooking; on top of that, I had some work left to do, so I decided to have them bring me a quick snack so I could keep working and still have time to study.

Around 11 p.m., I went up to my apartment; he had already left without saying goodbye.

I studied until 2 a.m. I was tired, but I couldn’t sleep either… thinking about him…

At 8 a.m., I was already at my desk; he arrived at 8:15 a.m., earlier than yesterday.

Am I checking up on him?

He didn’t call me today.

I had class at 3 p.m. and got back at 5 p.m.

When I walked in, he called me over.—“You’re

out and about a lot, young lady. Do you work outside the company? Maybe for the competition? Are you selling our data to them?

” I couldn’t believe what he was asking me. Who did he think he was? Didn’t I prove to him that everything was in perfect order?

Did he really think his father would trust just anyone?

“Excuse me, sir, there’s no need to insult me. I’ve always shown my loyalty to your father and my eternal gratitude; I would never betray Don Antonio.”

Because of Javier

, I was standing near the window; I turned and approached him slowly.

—“Betray? I’m not saying you slept with someone else—just that you’re selling our data.”

I was already expecting the slap.

I was getting to know her.

When she raised her hand, I grabbed it mid-air and forcefully pulled it behind her back; we were pressed against each other. I could smell her perfume, feel her breath, taste her lips… Damn

it! Once again I’m kissing her like a wild animal, aroused; I pressed my erect, hot member against her body. She’s feeling me; she tries to pull away, but I won’t let her. I keep devouring her mouth when a cell phone rings—it’s hers. She takes the opportunity to push me away; we were both panting.

I tried to catch my breath, while tears streamed down her face.

I realized she didn’t want to leave in that state; she was trying to calm down.—You can

go now.

She wiped away her tears and answered the phone as she headed toward the door.—

Hello, Don Antonio. Yes, I’ll be in my office in a second.

I listened to what she said.

I tensed up—trouble on the horizon…

I was doing everything I could just to get her to leave once and for all.

I want her gone.

“Are the kisses also meant to make her leave?” an inner voice asks me.

Yes, they’re meant to show her what a whore she is, that no one respects her, and to make her leave.

But I had to adjust my cock, which was still hard, and I still had her taste in my mouth.

She’s a whore; she knows how to turn a man on, I keep telling myself, unwilling to admit that she hadn’t done anything and I was the one who’d lost control.

Half an hour later, my father walks in looking furious.—

What did you do to her?

—Did you buy into her story? Besides being a whore, is she a gossip too? Did you know she goes out during work hours?“Did you think she might be selling our information?

” I shouted in exasperation to make him see how dangerous that woman is—the one who has blinded him. “Stop

calling her that!

” “She’s got you wrapped around her finger!

” “Can you stop being an idiot for a second?

” “I’m the idiot? Why is she leaving? She’s carrying books—they must be ours!!!

” “She’s studying!” “She’s going to college!

” “You told me she has a bachelor’s degree in business administration. She’s already graduated! Don’t you get it?

” “Son,” he said, changing his tone, “start growing up, please!

” “Well, since you don’t believe me, I’m going to stay in the other apartment upstairs. You’ll see how I figure everything out. When you leave, she’s probably even bringing guys over.”

My father smiled; I didn’t get it.—She

can do whatever she wants with her life.—

Are you being so liberal all of a sudden? Besides, at night, no one’s allowed in—someone could rob us and...

—Enough of this nonsense! Please! Yeah, stay, and start today.

He left, but I couldn’t say he was angry.

Shit, I don’t have any clothes… the apartment is furnished; in fact, my brother stays there sometimes—or so he says—he must be sleeping with that slut.

I head to the men’s section and pick out some clothes.

It’s going to be a surprise; I’m going to hook her up with something tonight.

I leave everything at the apartment—it’s comfortable and quite luxurious; I could live there for a while.

Like every night, I have dinner downstairs, go back to the office, and she’s still there, working while snacking on the go.

Sure, she wants to play the part of the model employee.

A little before 11 p.m., she comes over to my office and says from the doorway:

“Mr. Javier, are you setting the alarm?” “Are you tired of playing the relentless worker

yet?”

“Good night.”

She says goodnight and leaves, ignoring me. I hate her

!

I watch her walk away. That ass

! I’d love to… How I hate her!

I waited a few minutes and then, stealthily, entered my apartment. I tried to listen for any noises coming from her apartment—nothing… Just after midnight, I carefully closed the door to my apartment and opened hers, even more carefully.

I was surprised—she’d fallen asleep on the couch, with a book on top of her; others were scattered haphazardly on a small side table. The light came from a lamp shining near her head—it was clearly just for reading.

She looked tired.

The books were on accounting—I know, I studied them.

Now I remembered that my father had told me she was studying.

I saw her skirt and jacket draped over the back of a chair and her high heels next to the armchair.

She was covered up to her waist with a blanket. But did that mean she was in her underwear?

I’m a pervert—I checked to see if I could tell what she was wearing.

She shifted and turned toward the wall; I caught a glimpse of the pale purple elastic band of a thong, and I swallowed hard.

She shifts uneasily; I see her touching her breasts in her sleep, and my friend wakes up…

Without realizing I’m watching, she takes off her shirt and unhooks her bra—which matches her thong; it’s lace—and finishes taking it off, leaving her breasts exposed.

She settles in to go back to sleep right there on the couch; the book falls to the floor. She sits up—is she going to bed?

She sees me and lets out a scream—not very loud; it’s as if she’s lost her voice, or she’s half-asleep.—“What

are you doing here?” she says, scared—or pretending to be.—“Come

on, you undressed for me!

” She looks down and sees her nearly naked body. I quickly move closer and kiss her, while I bring my hands to her breasts.

I’m boiling with desire. Is this what my father and my brother enjoy? I ask myself, and that thought poisons me.

I slide a hand down to her crotch, slipping it under her thong; she’s wet, but not wet enough.

—“Come on, Camila, get yourself wet for me. We’re going to have a great time!”

—“Please, no, don’t do this. Go away, please.”

I keep touching and kissing her.—“No

, please! You’re going to regret this,” she says—scared?—as she cries, growing more and more distressed.

I pull down the pajama pants I’m wearing, along with my boxers; my cock springs out, hard, pointing at the ceiling. She looks at it and then at me, covers her eyes, and runs off, knocking over a chair in her haste. She falls but gets up in a second and locks herself in the bathroom.—Come on

, Camila, you left the door open for me!

—Please, go away.

She wouldn’t stop crying.

What’s wrong with her? She’s used to this!

I go back to my apartment and still don’t understand her behavior.