Chapter 6 CHAPTER 6.
Adrian Vega’s office wasn’t just big; it was intimidating. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking half the city, perfectly arranged shelves, a small meeting table, a couple of leather armchairs and, in the center, his desk.
Behind it, Adrian. Dark suit, tight knot on his tie, neutral expression.
“Good morning, Ms. Moreno,” he said, without standing.
“Good morning,” I replied, closing the door carefully. “I got here… I think five minutes early.”
“I know.” His eyes flicked briefly to a clock. “Your punctuality works in your favor today.”
One point. I’d take it.
“Sit down,” he said, gesturing to the chair in front of the desk.
I sat, trying not to make any noise with the chair. Crrrk.
Failed.
He had a tablet in front of him, several documents and a cup of coffee that smelled better than my entire kitchen put together.
He didn’t speak right away. He just looked at me. Analyzing. Like he was deciding whether I was an acceptable human error or a bug that needed to be deleted.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked suddenly.
The question caught me so off guard I answered honestly.
“No.”
One of his eyebrows lifted just a fraction.
“Because of your conscience, or because of your WhatsApp group notifications?” he inquired.
I blinked.
“How…?”
“I’m not oblivious to how the internet works, Ms. Moreno.” He set the tablet aside. “In the last few hours I’ve been compared to refrigerators, penguins, K-drama villains, and someone called ‘the lord of emotional ice.’ I’m assuming you’ve been reading the comments.”
I had been reading, crying, laughing, rereading and saving memes. But that didn’t sound very professional.
“Some of them,” I muttered.
“Good,” he said, serious. “Let’s start with the basics. Why did you say what you said last night?”
There was no escape.
“Because… it’s what I thought,” I admitted. “I don’t know you personally, but from down below you come across as… distant. Cold. Intimidating. And I was doing a sound check, the tech told me it wouldn’t go to the room, I was nervous and… when I’m nervous, I talk too much.”
Silence.
“I noticed,” he said dryly.
“I know it was disrespectful,” I rushed on. “I know I’m the last person on the org chart who should be giving opinions about you. And I know my job does not afford me the luxury of burning bridges at CEO level. If I could rewind, I’d shut my mouth. Well, no. I’d do the sound check saying ‘one, two, three’ and that’s it. But I can’t. So… I’m sorry.”
At some point my hands had started fiddling with the edge of my blazer. I forced them to lie flat on my lap.
Adrian leaned back in his chair, fingers loosely linked on the desk.
“You think I’m cold?” he asked, like he was verifying another data point on a spreadsheet.
Cold sweat prickled at the back of my neck.
“I think you… project that,” I said, weighing each word. “And I’m guessing you do it on purpose. Keeping your distance helps you… manage better. Or keeps people from bothering you as much.”
His eyes pinned me in place.
“You have an answer for everything.”
“It’s that or faint,” I replied before I could stop myself.
The corner of his mouth twitched again. Another micro-glitch.
“Here’s the situation, Ms. Moreno,” he said, his tone shifting. “Last night, after your… involuntary performance, the PR team and I had to make some quick decisions.”
Of course. Crisis mode. Firing the idiot who ran her mouth seemed like a very logical decision.
“Under normal circumstances,” he went on, “a comment like yours would be a minor issue. An internal rumor. But we have partners, press, shareholders. And the company’s current context turns anything into a trigger.”
“I understand.” I nodded, tragically aware that I was the “anything” in that sentence.
“The simplest option was the one everyone expected: fire you today, issue a statement, make it clear Vega Group does not tolerate that kind of commentary.”
Each word felt like a hammer blow.
“But,” he added.
Ding.
That word rang in my head like a tiny bell of hope.
“But,” he repeated, “the video keeps climbing. So do the comments. And, for some reason, part of the audience finds it…” He frowned slightly, like the word hurt. “Refreshing.”
I stared at him, not quite processing.
“Refreshing?” I echoed.
“Apparently,” he said, “someone on the inside making an ironic remark about the CEO makes him more… human. Some users say ‘at least there’s honesty,’ others: ‘if the boss allows that, maybe he’s not as much of a tyrant as we thought.’”
I let out a short, nervous laugh.
“I don’t know that he allows that…” I murmured.
“I did not,” he clarified. “It happened. And now we’re here.”
He rested his elbows lightly on the desk.
“Our team has spent months planning a campaign to improve the company’s image,” he explained. “Interviews, press pieces, carefully edited videos, messages about social responsibility. None of that has generated as much interest as you, last night, talking into an open mic.”
Thump, thump, thump.
My heart shifted from I’m dead to what exactly is happening here?
“I’m not saying it was a good idea,” he added, slicing through any budding pride. “What you did was reckless and unprofessional. But it would be equally reckless to ignore the effect it’s had.”
“So… you’re not firing me because… I’m a useful accident?” I asked, trying to follow the logic.
“Let’s say that, for the moment, your… mistake has become an asset,” he replied. “And I want to know if I can use it without having everything explode again.”
That was, without a doubt, the best description of my life: an asset that could blow up at any second.
“What would I have to do?” I asked carefully.
Adrian slid the tablet toward me. On the screen were screenshots of social media comments.
“HAHAHAHA I love her, who is that employee, give her a raise.”
“If the CEO doesn’t fire her, I kind of like him.”
“Dude looks like a robot, but if he surrounds himself with people like her, maybe he’s not that bad.”
“I ship the unfiltered intern with Mr. Emotional Ice.”
“Fanfic in 3, 2, 1…”
I swallowed.
“There are already theories about your relationship with me,” he said, in that even voice. “People assuming this was staged, a strategy, that you and I planned it.”
I let out a disbelieving laugh.
“What?” I blinked. “I almost had a heart attack!”
“I know,” he said. “They don’t.”
Silence.
Something in his gaze shifted. He wasn’t just a CEO evaluating a problem anymore. He was… someone calculating, moving pieces on a chessboard.
“Ms. Moreno,” he said calmly, “how desperate are you to keep your job?”
The question hit me like a bucket of cold water.
“On a scale from one to ‘I can live under a bridge,’ I’m at ‘rent is due in ten days and my bank account is going crick, crick, crick,’” I answered honestly.
He nodded, as if confirming a data point he already had.
“I need you to understand that what I’m about to propose is not part of any HR manual,” he warned. “And that at any point, you are free to say no.”
That sounded like the kind of thing that only starts well in movies.
“All right,” I said, even though my inner self was screaming ask questions, Lia, ask questions.
Adrian rested a hand on the tablet, tapping it lightly. Tap.
“If the public believes there is some sort of closeness between you and me,” he explained, “if this video is interpreted as part of a real dynamic and not just a simple lack of respect… the story changes. I stop being the untouchable villain and become the boss who can handle an internal joke. Human. Less… industrial freezer.”
He said it so clinically it actually made me want to apologize again.
“You’re suggesting… we play along?” I asked.
“I’m suggesting,” he corrected, “that we use the narrative to our advantage.”
He leaned slightly toward me.
“I want you, starting today, to stop being just ‘the communications assistant who said something inappropriate,’” he said, “and become someone visible. Someone who can be seen at my side in certain contexts. Someone with whom, externally, it appears I have…”
He paused briefly.
“…a closer relationship.”
It took me a second. Or five.
“Closer as in… ‘closer’ closer?” I grimaced. “Or closer as in ‘this is my star employee whom I do not hate’?”
“Public interpretation is difficult to control,” he replied. “What we can decide is how we present it.”
My brain was trying to connect the dots, but the neurons were skidding.
“I don’t want to misunderstand,” I said slowly. “Are you asking me to…?”
My heart started pounding again. Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Adrian held my gaze, not blinking.
“I want you, to the outside world,” he said, in that low, steady voice he used to announce disasters, “to pretend you have a personal relationship with me.”
The world crashed inside my head.
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“As in… friends?” I tried.
“Not exactly.”
I dragged in a breath.
“As in… close acquaintance who waves at you from afar?” I offered.
His expression didn’t change.
“Ms. Moreno,” he said at last. “I need you to pretend to be something much more specific.”
He leaned forward, eyes locked on mine.
“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend.”
