CAMILA
Camila and her junior colleague Richard stood before the top 1 biggest pharmaceutical company in the USA, the headquarter of her current workplace in Georgia. TheSlyvester Inc. She gulped as she craned her neck up to see the high end of the skyscraper. She had never dreamed of coming here as all her life has been around Georgia.
"So, Richard? This is the location where the tests were mistakenly delivered too?" She turned to the intern, arching a brow.
"Yes, the call was from here. His name is Fred or something, told me to come take them back to the lab."
Camila sighed. "This was your mix up, so go collect them. I’ll wait outside.” She pushed him forward to the entrance.
"You're supposed to come with me. Mr Dante sent both of us here." Richard pouted.
"Nope, you handle it alone." She replied.
He scoffed as he turned to go.
"Whatever." Camila muttered.
Camila had always gone out of her way to avoid that man. The CEO.
Rumors of his cold attitude followed him everywhere, and she had no interest in becoming his next victim. Stories about the CEO turning the place into hell for staff were enough to keep her far away. Whenever he came to inspect her branch office, she hid in the restroom until he left. Mr. Dante would always come looking for her afterward, wearing that familiar angry expression she’d grown used to. Somehow, his face felt like déjà vu.
Camila watched as Richard finished talking to the security guards and walked into the building. She followed quietly behind him.
The test samples had been sent to the headquarters by mistake, Richard had entered the New York lab details instead of the Georgia regional lab, where the next phase of production was supposed to take place.
The moment Camila stepped through the revolving doors, she froze.
"Damn… this place is beautiful.” She whispered, her eyes following close at the hundreds of people walking past her, all different destinations in mind.
Should she apply for transfer to the HQ just to enjoy this view every single day?
All she needs to do is just to avoid the devil recarnation just like she has been doing.
She drifted toward the other side of the lobby.
“Camila!” Richard waved at her from inside the glass elevator.
She turned. But, walked straight into something solid. The impact knocked the breath out of her as she staggered back.
"Ouch! Jeez, that’s hard." She rubbed her forehead.
She looked up and froze.
Eric Sylvester.
Six feet of tailored suit and controlled power. Dark hair, darker eyes, and an expression that could freeze fire.
The CEO. The man she'd spent a year successfully avoiding. And she'd just face planted into his chest.
"I..." Words failed her. Her brain, usually so quick with chemical formulas and research data, blanked completely.
He didn't speak. Didn't move. Just studied her with an intensity that made her want to check if she had something on her face.
Then his head tilted, almost imperceptibly. "Have we met before?"
"I…..I don't think so, sir. I work in the Georgia office. I've never….."
"No." He cut her off, but his voice wasn't angry. Puzzled. "Not at work."
Silence stretched between them.
Camila's pulse hammered. Something about his gaze felt familiar in a way that made her skin prickle. In a way that whispered of hospital rooms and lost time.
Anyway, she doesn't even want him to know she existed.
Eric still didn't say anything. Will he shout at her? Fire her?
Wait. He doesn't know if she's an employee or not. Huh Huh, She just told him she worked at the georgia office.
"I...I...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...." She paused, his expression hasn't changed.
Is he a statue or what?
She opened her mouth again to speak, her body shivered from the coldness emitting from him.
He studied her face for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without any other word, he stepped around her and walked away, leaving her oddly breathless.
Looking around, she noticed the attention the situation had drawn.
Nalia, her former colleague now transferred to the HQ some months back, walked towards her.
"What are you doing here?" Nalia whispered, giving Eric a brief glance. She had a worried look. "Don't tell me you got transferred here and on your first day, you trespassed with him?!" Her voice still in a loud whisper.
"No, I didn't, I only came here to get some tests. I'm going back to Georgia today." She answered.
Whatever Nalia had begun to say, she didn't pay full attention. Her mind wandered some moments ago, her CEO hand that had touched her hair. She must be dreaming.
Maybe the rumors aren't true.
"Get that report ready in the next two hours! Or you will be fired! I told you I don’t want delays." Eric yelled at the lady who had rushed to him, visibly shaking. She had flinched and turned back to do as he say.
Okay, the rumors are true.
As she turned back to Nalia, her phone buzzed in her pocket.
Mom flashed across the screen. She considered letting it go to voicemail. She always considered it. But guilt, that familiar, suffocating weight made her answer.
"Hi, Mom."
"Camila." Her mother's voice was crisp, perfectly modulated. The voice she used for her country club friends. "I'm calling because I need you to transfer money into my account. The event planner requires a deposit for the spring gala."
Not 'how are you.' Not 'I've been thinking about you.' Urgghhh!
"Mom, I sent you money two weeks ago……"
"That was for other expenses. This is different. Really, Camila, must you question everything I ask? I'm your mother."
Camila closed her eyes. Breathed. Dr. Patel's voice echoed in her head: You're allowed to have boundaries.
"How much do you need?"
"Three thousand should cover it.”
“I don’t have that.”
"Of course you don’t." Elena's sigh was theatrical. "I told everyone you'd be too broke. Your father would be so disappointed, you know. He always wanted us to be a close family. But you've always been so... difficult."
Camila's throat tightened. Bringing up her father was a favorite weapon. The man who'd actually loved her, weaponized against her.
"I'll send the money," she said quietly.
"By tonight, please. And Camila? Try to be more present in this family. I worry about you, alone in that little apartment, buried in your work. No husband, no real life. People are starting to ask questions."
The call ended.
Camila stood there, phone in hand, feeling like she'd been hollowed out. This was how it always went. Elena took and took, disguised as maternal concern. Criticized and criticized, disguised as worry.
But knowing it and doing it were different things.
Her phone buzzed again. A text this time.
“By the way, that therapist you're seeing is a waste of money. You don't need therapy. You need to grow up.”
Camila blocked the number for the third time that month.
Elena would call from a different number tomorrow.
She always did.
