Torn between fear and longing, I barely function at work. Mr. Vasquez, noticing my turmoil, corners me in his office. "You look like hell," he snaps. "You're not slacking on the overseas pitch, are you?"
My stomach flips. Does he suspect something else? "No, sir. Just… personal matters."
He narrows his gaze. "Personal matters can't interfere with performance here." His phone buzzes. He glances at it, cursing under his breath. "I have a flight soon. Finish the revisions by tomorrow."
He storms out, leaving me trembling. If he's leaving, that means Elena is probably going with him for a site visit—maybe permanently. The clock is ticking.
That night, she texts me one final time: We can't run forever, but I have to choose my own path. If you want me, meet me tomorrow at 8 p.m. You know the place.
She's referring to the motel, the one place we nearly crossed the line. My pulse gallops. Everything in my life narrows to that question: do I meet her, or let her go?