Eugenia changed clothes three times before deciding that none of the three choices was reasonable.
The first option was her usual one: a light-colored blouse, a straight skirt, and her hair pulled back with enough severity that no one could mistake courtesy for an invitation. The second was only slightly different, but it seemed too daring when she saw it spread across the bed. The third was a dress she had bought months ago and had never worn to the office.
She picked it up.
It was dark in color but hardly conservative, fitted and somewhat uncomfortable, with a hem well above her knees—higher than prudence would dictate for a business meeting. In certain light, the fabric revealed the outline of her legs and the round, soft shape of her breasts. It did not openly reveal anything, even with its moderate neckline. That was precisely why it seemed bolder to her.
Underneath, she chose a soft, delicate demi-cup bra that was far less practical than the ones she usually wore to work. It was not vulgar. It was not even especially eye-catching. But every time she looked in the mirror and saw her nipples half-revealed through the satin, it reminded her that she had chosen something to make herself feel desirable, not merely proper.
The word sent a slow warmth through her chest.
Desirable.
Eugenia put on small earrings and left her hair loose. Then she pulled it back again. She let it down once more. She studied herself with her arms at her sides, as though examining the image of a stranger.
“It’s just a meeting,” she murmured.
The woman in the mirror did not seem willing to argue.
There was nothing improper about the dress. She could walk, sit, and work in it without worrying. The difference was that, for the first time, she had not chosen a garment to disappear inside.
Eugenia’s unease did not diminish. It transformed into something else: a living, almost electric anticipation that ran across her skin every time she imagined Samuel’s expression when he saw her walk in.
That was what was truly reckless.
Not the length of the dress, nor the discreet transparency of the fabric, nor the bra no one had any reason to know about. The reckless part was that she wanted to be looked at. That she preferred that feeling to the pristine tranquility of her usual clothes.
At headquarters, the meeting began at ten.
Samuel was accompanied by two managers and a woman from the projects department. When Eugenia entered, everyone looked up, but only one of them seemed to forget for a moment what he was doing.
Samuel recovered almost immediately. Even so, she caught the change: the breath that stopped, the gaze that dropped and rose again with a discipline that did not entirely conceal his desire.
Eugenia felt the dress cling more tightly to her body.
“Ms. de los Santos,” he said. “I’m glad you came.”
“You requested my presence.”
“That doesn’t mean everyone accepts with such punctuality.”
“Punctuality makes it easier for meetings to end on time.”
“A shame. Some meetings deserve to last a little longer.”
One of the managers coughed discreetly. Samuel did not take his eyes off Eugenia.
She sat down and opened her folder.
“We can review the expansion budget before the meeting turns into a conversation about personal preferences.”
“I agree,” Samuel replied. “Although I didn’t know personal preferences were excluded from the budget.”
“That depends on who pays for them.”
The woman from projects looked up, surprised. Samuel, on the other hand, smiled with a satisfaction Eugenia found excessive.
The meeting moved forward through figures, deadlines, and projections. Eugenia presented the budget variances confidently. Every time she pointed to a column, Samuel leaned toward her with such complete attention that the work began to feel like a test of endurance.
“The estimate includes an eight-percent contingency margin,” she said.
“And do you consider that margin sufficient?”
“For foreseeable contingencies.”
“And for the others?”
“The others tend to be more expensive.”
Samuel rested his fingers on the table.
“Then it’s best to prepare.”
“It’s always best to.”
“Not always possible.”
Eugenia held his gaze.
“Not everything depends on preparation.”
For a moment, the murmur of the room seemed to recede. Samuel watched her as if those words carried a meaning different from the one the figures allowed.
“That is news,” he said.
“What is?”
“That you’re conceding that something can escape your control.”
“I haven’t conceded anything to you.”
“It seemed that way to me.”
“Then you’re more accustomed to hearing what you want than to hearing what’s actually said.”
Samuel’s smile turned slow.
“Maybe that’s why I’m so interested in talking to you.”
Eugenia lowered her gaze to the documents before he could see how much that sentence had affected her.
The rest of the meeting passed without any incidents that could be mentioned in a report. Even so, every exchange seemed to have a second meaning. When Samuel asked her to come closer so they could review a projection, his shoulder ended up too close to hers. When Eugenia corrected a figure, he told her he appreciated women who were not afraid to point out a superior’s mistakes.
“I’m not afraid to point out mistakes,” she replied. “I’m afraid someone might get used to making them.”
“Are you warning me?”
“I’m showing you the correct procedure.”
“What an elegant way to do it.”
“Elegance prevents many unnecessary arguments.”
“And it can also conceal intentions.”
Eugenia closed the folder. The meeting was over. The others left the boardroom, leaving only Samuel and Eugenia behind.
“If you have any questions about the budget, I can clarify them,” she said.
“I do,” he replied too quickly.
She waited, breathing deeply.
Samuel looked back at the documents, though he no longer seemed to see them.
“Why did you decide to come dressed like that?”
The question fell between them with the precision of an object thrown against a glass surface.
Eugenia did not look away.
“I didn’t know my clothes were part of the review.”
“They’re not.”
“Then it’s not a professional question.”
“No.”
His sincerity disconcerted her. Samuel could have backed off, disguised the question as a courtesy, or pretended he had been talking about something else. He did none of those things.
“You came dressed to be noticed too,” Eugenia said.
He lowered his gaze to his impeccable dark suit and then looked back at her.
“I always dress like this.”
“That must be very convenient.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
“Not as much as you might think.”
Eugenia felt her prudence weakening. Not because Samuel was pressuring her, but because she had decided to remain in the conversation.
“Is the meeting over, or do you need something else?” she asked.
“The official part is.”
“Then I should go back to my hotel.”
“You’re staying here?”
“The regional office is too far away to return tonight. The company reserved a room for me.”
Samuel leaned back in his chair.
“That changes things.”
“It doesn’t change anything.”
“Maybe not for the budget.”
“Nor for me.”
“Not yet.”
The word hung in the air. Eugenia gathered her papers more slowly than necessary.
Samuel stood.
“I know a restaurant near your hotel. It’s pretty good, and the food is good. It’s not usually crowded with people who want to talk about work.”
“Are you asking me to dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll have to spend the night in the city.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“Because I want to have dinner with you.”
Eugenia watched him in silence. The answer was too direct to be an elegant maneuver and too simple for her to dismiss as a trap.
“You know this could be misinterpreted.”
“I know.”
“You’re my director.”
“I know.”
“And I work in an office that depends on your decisions.”
Samuel stopped smiling.
“That’s why the invitation isn’t an order. If you accept, it will be because you want to. If you don’t, tomorrow we’ll review the budget as though this conversation never happened.”
Eugenia wanted to ask whether he could really follow through. She wanted to point out that a man with his reputation had no right to promise indifference so easily.
But her hotel room was already waiting for her. So were the night, the unfamiliar city, and that version of herself who had stepped out of her closet that morning and was still wearing the result.
“What if I accept?” she asked.
Samuel’s gaze settled on her face.
“Then I’ll try not to talk about numbers.”
“That might be difficult. You seem obsessed with controlling every outcome.”
“Not every one.”
Eugenia felt her pulse hammering in her throat.
“And this one?”
Samuel moved close enough for the question to stop belonging to the meeting, though he maintained an irreproachable distance.
“I still don’t know how this one ends.”
She should have left him waiting. She should have remembered Andrés, prudence, the consequences, and every rule she had learned to obey before she understood them.
Instead, she closed the folder and held it against her chest.
“One dinner,” she said. “Just this once.”
Samuel smiled.
“On one condition,” he added.
Eugenia stared at him, trying to analyze the implication of that phrase. She saw his lips, his mouth, his eyes. Finally, she asked:
“What would that condition be?”
“Very simple,” Samuel replied with a smile. “That we stop addressing each other so formally. We’ll use first names. I’m Samuel. Do you agree, Eugenia?”
His condition and the way he phrased it completely surprised Eugenia. Once again, she felt that wet sensation in her lower abdomen and felt her erect nipples growing hard against her bra. She wondered whether Samuel could notice either reaction. She was also startled when she immediately found herself hoping he could.
As if to block those thoughts, she managed to answer:
“That’s fine, but only during dinner. At work, everything will remain formal.”
“So it will. I’ll ask the company driver to take you to your hotel, and then I’ll pick you up at eight-thirty tonight.”
“That sounds fine, Samuel. And remember, it’s only dinner.”
“Of course,” he told her with a slight smile and a special glint in his eyes.
Eugenia knew, from the way he accepted and pronounced those two words, that neither of them believed them.