You'll Be Fired

Carmen took a step back, her hands falling to her sides as she let the silence stretch. She had pushed Romero, and maybe she had gone too far, but she wasn’t here to coddle him.

“I’ll be here. Whether you like it or not. And I’ll get paid for it too,” Carmen said, her voice calm yet firm. She gave a small shrug. “But maybe you’d rather I sit here with you, in this room, staring out of the window until we both turn to stone?”

Romero didn’t answer. His jaw was still tight, his knuckles still white against the wheelchair’s armrests.

Carmen leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “So, what’s it going to be, Mister Monteiro? Are you going to sit here and sulk, or are you going to let me do my job?”

Romero’s eyes flickered with something; a blend of anger and something deeper, more vulnerable, but he said nothing. The room hung thick with tenseness, neither of them backing down.

Finally, Carmen straightened up and gave him a small, knowing smile. “Think about it,” she said, turning around and walking toward the door. Before she left, she glanced back at Romero one last time. “Because, like I said, I’ll still get my cheque either way. The only question is, will you make me work for it?”

And with that, Carmen left the room, leaving Romero alone with his thoughts. Romero remained motionless, his gazed fixed on the fading horizon as Carmen’s footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway. The room, now quiet and still, seemed even colder without her presence. Her words had stung more than he wanted to admit.

The sunset blurred outside the window, the vibrant colors lost to him as Romero’s mind churned with a mixture of resentment and a strange, nagging feeling he couldn’t shake. Carmen had challenged him in a way no one else had since the accident. Everyone who had visited him in the hospital had pity in their eyes, treating him like a fragile shell of the man he once was.

But not her.

Carmen’s words cut through Romero’s defenses like a blade, sharp and deliberate. And the worst part? She was right, but that doesn’t change anything. But Carmen’s last question lingered in his mind, refusing to be ignored. “Will you make me work for it?”

Romero clenched his jaw, wrestling with the idea. The easy thing would be to do nothing, to let her hover around and collect her paycheck while he continued to wallow in self-pity. But the part of him that used to command boardrooms, negotiate deals, and face challenges head-on didn’t want to make it easy for her. No, he wanted to push back, to make her earn every damn cent of that cheque.

But could he? Could he find the strength to fight? Romero closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. He didn’t want to admit it, but Carmen’s offer was tempting. She had seen through him, through his anger and defiance, and had dared him to prove her wrong. She didn’t pity him, she challenged him. But who cares about an empty challenge?

The view outside darkened as the sun faded below the horizon. The door creaked open behind Romero and Carmen entered. “I’ve been long gone. Still staring out the window?”

Romero didn’t turn around, but he could feel her presence, calm but confident, as she stepped closer.

“You’ve had some time to think, sir. What is your answer?” Carmen continued, her tone lighter now, but still carrying that edge that set his nerves on fire.

Deafening silence.

“You can refuse, sulk, ignore me all you want, sir, but I’ll still be here,” Carmen said again, settling on the sofa.

Romero swallowed hard, the words forming in his throat before he could stop them. “Why do you care? Who do you think you are to push me like this?” His voice was hoarse, laced with frustration.

Carmen didn’t answer right away. She stood up and shuffled toward him. Romero could hear the faint rustle of her clothes as she moved closer, standing just behind his chair.

“I’m no one important. But I’m doing this because…I’ve seen a man like you before, Mister Monteiro,” Carmen said softly. “My dad was diagnosed with severe gastric cancer when I was fifteen. He tried to convince himself that he didn’t need anyone. He felt he was still strong enough to do things on his own, but his stubbornness only led to his early grave,” she paused, tears welling up her eyes. “I was caring for him all along, and I know how dangerous it is to let that kind of thinking destroy you.”

Romero’s grip grew firm on the armrests, but this time it wasn’t out of anger, it was something else. “I’m not your father. I’m not broken,” he muttered.

“Indeed,” Carmen agreed, her voice husky. “But you will be if you keep up with this.”

Romero was infuriated by Carmen’s persistence. He hated it that she wasn’t giving up on him as he had expected.

Carmen stepped in front of him, her arms folded, her eyes locked onto his with that same unwavering gaze. “So, tell me, Mister Monteiro. Are you going to keep pretending you don’t need help, or are you going to make my job interesting?”

Romero stared at her, his mind racing. For the first time ever since she had walked into the room, he was just taking the time to look into her eyes. He immediately felt uncomfortable, the intensity of Carmen’s gaze unnerving him in a way that nothing else had for a long time. Her eyes were fixated, full of defiance and something else; something that unnerved him even more, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Romero wasn’t used to being seen like this, like a challenge. It was frustrating and unsettling, and for a moment, he couldn’t look away. He tore his gaze from hers, his lips parted. “Take me for that walk,” he said coldly, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

Carmen’s lips curled into a small satisfied smile, triumph in her eyes. She nodded, and stepped back, giving him space, but her eyes never left his face. “Good choice,” she said softly.

Without another word, Carmen moved behind his wheelchair, her hands gripping the handles gently but firmly. Romero didn’t protest as she guided him out of the room, though every muscle in his body was tense, his fists clenching against the cold metal of the chair.

As they entered the long hallway that stretched down the vast mansion. Romero’s silence was almost suffocating Carmen. He refused to engage, his eyes fixed ahead, his jaw set in a stubborn line. He could feel the heaviness of Carmen’s presence behind him, and it grated on him. The coldness in his chest remained, thick like a barrier he couldn’t break through.

“This place is incredible,” Carmen said, breaking the awkward silence as they passed a series of large paintings that lined the walls. Her voice was casual, like they were having a pleasant stroll instead of a forced, uncomfortable walk. “You’ve got such a beauty around you, Mister Monteiro.”

Romero said nothing, his lips pressed together. He wasn’t in the mood for pleasantries, and he wasn’t about to let her bait him into a conversation. He knew her game, trying to get under his skin, and he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

They passed a set of grand windows overlooking the estate’s lush gardens. Carmen paused for a moment, as if taking it all in.

“So beautiful,” Carmen said, her tone carrying a hint of something deeper. “You know, Mister Monteiro, you could be out there enjoying this every day if you wanted.”

Romero scoffed under his breath. “I’m fine exactly where I am.”

Carmen’s grip on the wheelchair tightened slightly, her forehead creased with frustration. “Are you?” she asked, forcing herself to remain calm.

A muscle in Romero’s jaw twitched, his patience wearing thin. “Take me back inside,” he said coldly, his voice low and controlled.

“But we only just got here, sir,” Carmen interjected, frowning.

Romero kept his eyes forward. “Don’t let me repeat myself, else…you’ll be fired,” he said through gritted teeth.