The Spanish Love Deception by Elena Armas (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📗

infuriating broad shoulders that were right in my line of vision as he leaned on the wooden surface.

Por el amor de Dios. I needed to stop … checking him out.

My starved brain was clearly struggling to behave normally. And it was his fault. I needed him gone. ASAP. At a normal distance, he was extremely annoying, and now, he was … right freaking here. Being extra difficult.

“I have something we can use.” Aaron’s fingers flew over the pad of his laptop as he looked for the document I guessed he was referring to. “Before leaving my former employer, they had me put together a list. A manual of sorts. It should be somewhere here. Hold on.”

Aaron kept typing and clicking as I grew more and more irritated by the second. With myself, with him. With just … everything.

“Aaron,” I said as a PDF document finally blinked open on his screen. I softened my voice, thinking maybe being as nice as I could ever be when it came to him was the way to go about this. “It’s late, and you don’t have to do this. You have already pointed me in the right direction. Now, you can go.” I pointed at the door. “Thank you.”

The fingers I was still watching gracefully tapped on the keys one more time. “It includes a little bit of everything—workshop examples, key concepts for activities and group dynamics, and even objectives that should be kept in mind. We can go through it.”

We. That word again.

“I can do this on my own, Blackford.”

“I can help.”

“You might be able to, but you don’t have to. I have no idea why you have this impulse to fly in with your red cape like a nerdy Clark Kent and save the day, but no, thanks. You might look a little like him, but I’m not a damsel in distress.”

The worst part was that I actually needed the help. What I had trouble accepting was that Aaron was the one willing to provide it.

He straightened to his full length. “A nerdy Clark Kent?” His brows furrowed. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

My mouth snapped closed.

“No.” I rolled my eyes even though he might have been a little right.

He sort of looked like the man behind Superman’s secret identity. Not the one with the cape, the one who wore a suit, had a nine-to-five job, and was kind of … hot for a guy working in an office. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. Not even to Rosie.

Aaron studied my face for a couple of seconds.

“I think I’m going to take it as a compliment,” he said as one of the corners of his lips bent up just the tiniest little bit.

Smug Clark Kent look-alike.

“Well, it’s not.” I reached for my mouse, clicking to open a random folder. “Thor or Captain America? That would have been a compliment. But you are not a Chris. Plus, no one cares about Superman anymore, Mr. Kent.”

Aaron seemed to think about my statement for an instant. “It sounds like you still care though.”

As I ignored that, he proceeded to walk behind me. Then, I watched him cross the office to the desk that belonged to one of the guys I shared the space with but who had obviously left hours ago. He grabbed his chair with one hand and rolled it in my direction.

My arms crossed in front of my chest as he placed that chair beside mine and let his large body fall on it, making it squeak and look rather frail.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“You asked me that question already.” He pinned me with a bored look. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“I don’t need your help, Blackford.”

He sighed. “I think I’m having another déjà vu.”

“You,” I stuttered. Then scoffed again. “I … ugh.”

“Catalina,” he said, and I hated how my name sounded on is lips in that precise moment. “You need the help. So, I’m saving us both some time because we both know you’d never ask.”

He wasn’t wrong. I would never ask Aaron for anything, not when I knew exactly what he thought about me. Personally, professionally, it didn’t matter. I had been well aware of what he thought of me all this time. I had heard him myself all those months ago even if he didn’t know that. So, no, I refused to accept anything from him. As much as that turned me into a grudge-holder too. Just like he was. I’d live with it.

Aaron leaned back and placed his hands on the chair’s armrests. The shirt strained with the motion, the change in the tension of the fabric too flattering enough for my eyes not to unconsciously drift there.

Jesus. My eyes fluttered closed for a second. I was hungry, tired from dealing with all this, betrayed by my own two eyes, and honestly simply confused at this point.

“Stop being so stubborn,” he said.

Stubborn. Why? Because I hadn’t asked for his help and I was supposed to take it when he decided to offer it?

Now, I was pissed. That was probably why I opened my mouth without thinking. “That’s why you didn’t speak up during the meeting where all this was dumped on me and then some? Because I didn’t ask for help? Because I am too stubborn to ever accept it?”

Aaron’s head reared back just slightly; he was probably shocked by my admission.

I immediately regretted saying anything. I did. But it had somehow slipped out, as if the words had been squeezed out of me.

Something flashed through his otherwise serious expression. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to step in.”

Of course not. No one had. Not even Héctor, who I almost considered family. Didn’t I know that by now? Yes, I was more than familiar with the fact that when it came to these situations, there were two groups of people. Those who believed that not saying anything made them stand in neutral ground and those who picked a side. And more often