The seat was incredibly soft. Pure luxury.

But my tired mind failed to grasp the silent warning.

I sank into the leather, closed my eyes for a second…

And it was the best dream I’d had in weeks.

Until a deep, clearly amused voice cut through my unconsciousness:

—Do you usually break into other people’s cars or am I special?

I opened my eyes with a start. Panic coursed through my body as I realized I wasn’t alone.

I could feel her presence. Her expensive perfume—probably more expensive than my rent in the Narvarte neighborhood.

Tailor-made suit. That calculated disorder that rich men master with ease.

And the face…

Defined jawline. Dark eyes analyzing me with curiosity. A smile that irritated me… and disarmed me at the same time

—I… sorry. I thought it was my Uber.

—Technically, that’s what you did. And you snored for twenty minutes.

—I don’t snore.

—Yes, you do. A little. It was… adorable.

I looked around again

Touchscreen. Fine wood finishes. Minibar.

—You’re not an Uber driver…

—Definitely not.

He settled in naturally.

—I’m Gabriel Albuquerque. And this is my car. The one you hijacked to take a nap

The name meant nothing to me at the time. But the confidence with which she pronounced it made it clear that I should say something.

He was someone important.

Very rich

—I’m so sorry. I worked all day, studied all night… I’m getting off now.

When I grabbed the handle, he asked:

—It’s almost 11:30. Where in the city do you live?

—That’s none of your business.

He smiled.

“After sleeping in my car, I think I can worry a little less about your safety. I’ll give you a ride.”

I should have said no.

But walking alone in the city at that hour was not a good idea.

—Okay. But if it turns out he’s a serial killer, I’m going to be furious.

—Noted.

He banged on the glass separating him from the driver.

—Ricardo, we can go

The car glided through the avenues of Mexico City with a smoothness that no shared Uber could match.

“Why are you so tired?” she asked.

—Full-time career. Two jobs. I sleep four or five hours if I’m lucky.

—That’s not sustainable.

—Life is not the same for everyone.

—No. But you shouldn’t destroy yourself either.

When we arrived at my modest building, I noticed how he was carefully observing the streets.

I was about to go downstairs when he said:

—I need a personal assistant. The salary is high. Flexible hours.

I froze.

“What?”

He pulled a card from his jacket.

“Someone to organize my schedule, answer emails, coordinate my house when I travel. And you clearly need a job that won’t kill you.”

—I don’t need charity.

—It’s not charity. It’s a fair deal.

I took the card

Gabriel Albuquerque — CEO

 

See more on the next page

Advertisement