Chapter 2

It was funny how he blushed and muttered something under his breath to end up taking him for crazy. The girl wasn't pretty by his definition, but she was pretty cute. Big mouth and long legs. With that I already had a five out of ten.

“Yeah, yeah, sure... Her name is Yuri, doesn't it ring a bell?

“Yuri. Of course I know her.

Marc was an excellent liar, and his specialty was half lies. He didn't know Yuri personally, but he knew so much about her that it was as if he did.

Before visiting the enemy, he made his inquiries. Now he didn't just know who worked at the firm. Also in which section, how many years they had been, their names and even their note in the BAR. His secretary was good at getting into other people's lives and he was the king exploiting the virtues of his employees. Although Verónica Duval, his dirty laundry girl, was an innate gift that Marc decided to appropriate before they hired her as a fixture at the corner supermarket. They might call him a savior for rescuing a posh dad and my dear sir for spending all day filing his nails on the inflexible stool at the Walmart checkout counter, but he preferred to consider himself a headhunter. Thanks to her, he knew that Yuri Sandoval was nobody to be afraid of: she was a divorce specialist, nothing to do with his fondness for big corporations.

Of course, the girl with the long legs did not think so.

"Oh, well, if you know her and you don't work here, you must be one of those boyfriends of hers that last three days." He bit his lip. You better not tell him I said that. It sounds very bad and I don't want to air his reputation as a heartthrob. Oh, I'm sure you're going to see her and I'm telling you that she's going to leave you sooner rather than later... I'm so sorry. I'm just going to give you some advice and keep quiet: don't fall in love with her. Those who do never get over it.

“Don't worry. I am vaccinated against love.

"There's no one vaccinated against Yuri," the girl sighed, sticking to the doors that were opening. Marc saw her shake her head. You're at it again, Mio. Stop thinking about your bad luck...

Marc took a second to assimilate the air to the premonition that his innocent advice kept. Then he assumed he was speaking on behalf of a personal experience that had nothing to do with him, and let it slide. The little bell silenced the impulse to encourage her not to torture herself.

The two skirt girls and the curious character named Natsumi awkwardly made their way to the first counter. Marc blurred the war warned and focused on the reason why he was there.

He hung back to take a look at the competition, holding back a smile enough to himself.

Ambani & Moore had nothing to envy to that site. There were only two reasons why an office would proudly display plastic plants: low budget, or poor taste. And Marc couldn't say which was worse, whether to go to work in flip flops or go overboard with low cost pants . At least it was a bright place, but how could it not be with the same floor covering as a hotel kitchen.

Picky nose, Nick, his secretary, would have told him. "Get over your OCD and go do your job." Verónica Duval and her ability to refer to psychiatric disorders with a lack of tact.

But Marc would have to overcome a lot more than his supposed OCD to stay there, like his aversion to patterned drapes. They had left the decoration of the firm in the hands of absolute nonsense. Thank God, he wasn't at Moore Lawyers to put his Dream Home , so he asked for the manager's office and tried to steer like donkeys, not looking in too many directions. Unfortunately, the morbid human masochism got the better of him and he ended up studying the horrifying friezes.

At least the offices were accessible thanks to huge windows, just like in the office of his loves, but not all of them had the same characteristics and in the end it seemed as if they were at odds with each other. Each one had given their touch and that converged in a set of colors and shapes that could not be swallowed. Except for one, where a group of people had gathered.

He looked at the other side of the glass without stopping walking. It didn't take long for him to deduce that it was the party that the character in the elevator had pointed out. Each of the employees held a piece of cake and chatted between laughs with the closest colleague. He captured the long”legged girl hugging someone, and then remembered the sentence she had said.

«Against Yuri there is no one vaccinated».

He was curious about the face of the woman who obeyed such a legend. Just because there was time to spare, he slowed his pace and waited impatiently for her to turn around. He had no doubt it was her when he recognized the resemblance to the perky almost”teenage girl in the elevator. At least ten centimeters smaller, longer hair and, regretting in her soul, to agree with this Mio, so absurdly beautiful that she would never obey the definition of another adjective.

He didn't realize he had slammed on the brakes. His bird of prey eyes, accustomed to measuring, studying and developing theories in record time, changed register to devote themselves to admiration. You could tell it was a surprise party; otherwise, I imagined that it would have been fixed more. She was wearing an oversized sweatshirt that almost covered her knees, gray sweatpants, and sneakers. No makeup, just a doll”like smile that intrigued him.

He cocked his head the way cartoons did when they didn't understand something and tried to read Yuri Sandoval's lips as he rubbed his sister's shoulder.

Where would Moore have gotten something so pretty? That was the big question, and not what she would have done to violate the dress code without having problems: she imagined that creature in her own boss's office, and she had no doubt that he would allow her anything. Moore could have pretty girls. And that one there, it was all those girls and all the pretty ones together.

He stared at her for a while longer, wondering how Nick had failed to show him a photograph. She couldn't resist moving a little closer to the window and noticing how she tasted the cake with a tiny bite. He smeared the frosting on his mustache and didn't notice.

Marc stretched his lips to one side, imitating a curious smile while taking in the shape of the sugar on his upper lip, a perfect croissant. A few seconds later, lawyer training took over: guesswork.

How old would he be? Well, it didn't have to be a birthday, Natsumi hadn't specified. If so, it would not exceed thirty”five. Maybe it wouldn't come. It wasn't a homecoming party; he knew she already worked there, so maybe it was a reinstatement. For maternity leave? She was not married nor did she have a stable partner, she knew from her sister's notice and the absence of an alliance reaffirmed it. But that was not an impediment to taking care of a child. Maybe he would have adopted it.