My New Boss in Madrid Was the Stranger from That Night

Renata was in her thirties and had that air of a woman who laughs at herself before anyone else can. Soft curves, brown hair always a little tousled, a cheeky smile masking a heap of insecurities. She kept a mental diary of her own screwups, like a Buenos Aires Bridget Jones, but with mate instead of vodka. She worked in social media in Buenos Aires, and life had dealt her a fair share of blows: boyfriends who made promises and disappeared, a borrowed apartment in Villa Crespo, and a family that interrogated her at every birthday about when she was going to settle down.

When a telecom company offered her a network analyst position in Madrid, she didn’t hesitate. Who was she going to miss? The neighbor looked after the cat, and her friends fit into a WhatsApp group. What had really seduced her about the job wasn’t the euro salary or the company car. It was the distance. Putting an ocean between herself and all the same old chaos.

She arrived on Saturday morning, wrecked by jet lag, and moved into a corporate apartment in the Salamanca district. A cute, practical two-room place with a view of some gardens. How nice, damn. The job didn’t seem like much: monitoring the company’s mentions on social media and reporting them. That night, not wanting to just stare at the ceiling, she went out for a walk and ducked into a bar in Las Letras. She ordered a vermouth, because that was what people drank there, and then she saw him.

His name was Adrián. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a three-day beard and green eyes that looked at her as if they already knew how the night was going to end. They talked little, just enough.

—I’m Renata, just arrived from Argentina.

—Adrián, born and bred here. First night in Madrid?

They agreed the night called for more than a vermouth. They ended up at his place, a chalet on the outskirts, with a pool and that kind of silence only money can buy.

The moment she shut the door, Renata threw herself at him. He smelled like a man, like something warm and clean, and it made her legs go weak.

—I’m dying here, man —she whispered in his ear.

Adrián lifted her effortlessly, carried her to the leather sofa, and dropped her onto it. He yanked off her T-shirt and kissed her breasts slowly, as if he had all night for it. Renata arched her back.

—Come on, don’t make me wait.

—Relax —he said, with that accent that made her nervous in the best possible way—. We’ve got time.

They didn’t have much. He took his pants down, parted her with his knees, and drove into her in one go, deep. Renata dug her nails into the sofa’s leather. He grabbed her hair, flipped her over, put her on all fours and started moving hard, with sharp slaps that lit up her skin.

—Like that, don’t stop —she begged, face pressed into the cushion.

She came twice before he finished. They lay there, sweaty, her grinning from ear to ear, her body still trembling. A perfect ending to a first night in a new city. Or so she thought.

***

Monday found her at the downtown office nervous and excited. Formal suit, a neckline just barely hinted at. They showed her to her desk and she started reviewing the mentions dashboard. She was focused when movement at the entrance caught her eye. Security straightened up:

—Good morning, Mr. Director.

Renata looked up and the blood froze in her veins. It was Adrián. Impeccable suit, the stride of a man who owned the place. Her body was still feeling Saturday night, and suddenly she understood who every mark belonged to. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye, gave the smallest smile, and kept walking toward his office.

Holy shit. He’s my boss.

She couldn’t focus all morning. Every notification reminded her of him. Around noon an internal email arrived: “Meeting in my office. Adrián Vidal, Director of Operations.” She went in trembling, convinced they were about to fire her before her first paycheck. Adrián locked the door.

—Renata. What a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to find you here.

—Neither was I, che —she said, blushing—. I thought you were some random guy.

He came closer until he had her pinned against the wall.

—I’m not random. And you left me wanting more.

He slid his hand under her skirt and touched her over her underwear. Renata closed her eyes.

—You’re wet —he murmured.

—Since the moment I saw you walk in.

He sat her on the desk and yanked her underwear down. He covered her mouth with one hand and entered her with the other, guiding himself, both of them silent, both listening for any sound from the hallway. Renata moaned into his palm, muffled, while papers scattered across the floor. He bit her neck, held her hips, and thrust until she came clenching around him. Afterward he kept going for a couple more minutes, until he came too, his forehead pressed to her shoulder.

They straightened their clothes without speaking. Before opening the door, Adrián fixed her collar with a calmness that unsettled her more than everything that had come before.

***

From then on, it became a dangerous habit. The “meetings” multiplied. One afternoon, in the elevator, he hit the button for an empty floor and pressed her against the mirror, at risk of the doors opening any second.

—You like danger, huh? —he said, his mouth at her nape.

—I love it —she answered, breathless.

Another night he invited her back to the chalet. This time he took his time. He tied her to the bed with two silk ties and left her there, exposed, while he traced her body with his mouth at an unhurried pace.

—Please —she ended up begging—. I can’t take it anymore.

He entered her slowly at first, then faster, alternating with slaps that made her tug at the ties.

—Tell me you’re mine.

—I’m yours —she panted—. Do whatever you want with me.

He turned her over and took her from behind, slowly, attentive to every breath she took, until pain blurred into pleasure and Renata no longer knew where one ended and the other began. They finished wrapped in each other’s arms, she still tied up, laughing at something neither of them said out loud.

***

But it wasn’t just sex, and that was what scared her. Adrián started giving her important projects, naming her in meetings, pushing her upward. And Renata barely cared about the promotion. What had drawn her to the job was precisely the distance, not getting tangled up in trouble again.

One night, on a lookout above the city, after Madrid’s lights began to glow one by one beneath their feet, she told him straight out.

—Don’t make those moves at work. I’m fine as I am. I don’t need you to promote me.

Adrián looked at her for a long while before answering.

—Since you’ve been handling social media, the company’s conflict level has dropped off a cliff. For me, you’re a matter of skin, Renata. But for the company you’re an asset, and that’s what the whole board thinks, not just me.

She didn’t know whether to feel flattered or trapped. For that night, she chose not to decide anything.

***

At a conference in Valencia, they slipped away to the beach before dawn. Under the moon, on the cold sand, he spread her legs while the waves licked at their feet.

—Look at the stars —he whispered in her ear.

—Shut up and keep going —she replied, laughing.

He took her from the front first, then made her turn so she could set the rhythm on top of him. Renata moved slowly, enjoying the control for once, until it slipped away from her and she came with her face buried in his neck.

The relationship got complicated when she started feeling something bigger than desire. After one time in the office bathroom, with her breathing still ragged, she asked the question that had been circling her mind.

—What if they find out?

Adrián kissed her forehead.

—I don’t care. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

That night, in her Salamanca apartment, Renata thought about her old life, about the mental diary she had been dragging around since Buenos Aires. I’m like Bridget Jones, but with a boss who undoes me instead of a notebook full of complaints. And for the first time in years, the idea of staying didn’t scare her.

***

Months later, at a company party, Adrián introduced her in front of everyone as his “rising star.” Nobody suspected anything, or everyone pretended not to. That night, once they were home, he took her in the kitchen, on the counter, with the same urgency as the first time and something new layered over it: tenderness.

—Stay —he said afterward, both of them staring at the ceiling.

—I already stayed, man —she answered.

The story went on, of course, but it’s best to close the door right here. Some endings are better left unseen. All anyone knows is that an Argentine who passed through Madrid not long ago swears he saw Renata in a park, holding hands with a guy whose smile was contagious, pushing a stroller. And that she, for once, didn’t seem to be writing anything in any diary.