The white business card was still on the desk when Eugenia returned home.
She had taken it out of the drawer twice during the afternoon, for no reasonable reason. The first time, to make sure the number was still there. The second, to wonder why Samuel had written a sentence instead of simply leaving his name and title, as any prudent man would have done.
She put it in her purse before leaving the office, then spent the entire trip wondering whether that counted as hiding it or carrying it with her.
Her apartment was quiet. It was a small, tidy, well-lit space, with simple-lined furniture, plants beside the window, and a bookcase where her Accounting books lived alongside novels she rarely had time to read. She left her keys in the bowl by the entrance, took off her shoes, and stood motionless for a moment, as though she expected the stillness of the apartment to restore her balance.
It didn't.
Samuel's gaze returned with infuriating precision. It hadn't been blatant. He hadn't pushed beyond what was allowed. That was what unsettled her. An openly bold man could be rejected; Samuel, on the other hand, seemed to move right up to the line and stop just before forcing her to defend herself.
“Not yet,” he had said.
Eugenia slowly let out her breath.
“What an arrogant man.”
The room didn't answer, but her own body did. She felt a subtle warmth beneath her skin, a restlessness unrelated to either fatigue or the workday. She remembered the weight of his hand, the tone of his voice, and the way his eyes had traveled over her face as if they already knew something she still didn't dare admit.
She brought a hand to her neck.
This was absurd. She didn't know him. She had only spoken with him for a few minutes. Besides, Samuel De La Hoya had a reputation that hardly inspired trust. Laura had mentioned enough stories for Eugenia to understand that she mustn't become another one.
And yet there was something about him that couldn't be reduced to rumors. His confidence, perhaps. Or the way he seemed amused by her resistance, not by her discomfort. As though he didn't expect her to behave like everyone else.
She glanced at the clock.
She had just under an hour to get ready before meeting Andrés.
The dinner had been planned for days. Andrés wanted to talk about his plans, a possible job change, and the wisdom of starting to look for a bigger apartment. They were sensible, adult, necessary conversations. Conversations about a life that could go on without surprises.
Eugenia opened the closet.
Her first choice was a navy-blue dress with a round neckline and sleeves that reached her elbows. She held it against her body and nodded. It was proper, elegant, and completely incapable of provoking an uncomfortable question.
Then she remembered Samuel's gaze on her ID badge.
She left the dress on the bed.
She took out another one. It was dark green, with a more defined waist and a modest neckline, though less covered-up than usual. The skirt ended just above her knees. It wasn't daring. On another woman, it might even have seemed conservative.
Before putting it on, she stood in front of the full-length mirror. She looked at her entire body, wearing only her underwear. Her bra was more comfortable than anything else, but it was slightly sheer. Without thinking any further, making a decision that at another time she never would have made, she reached behind her back and unclasped it, freeing her erect breasts.
Now she put on the green dress.
On Eugenia, the fabric traced the firm line of her shoulders, the curve of her waist, and the serene strength of her legs. Even without a bra, her breasts were more noticeable—and sexier—than when covered, though no one could accuse her of being improper. Years of yoga had transformed her body without her ever considering it a form of beauty. To her, it was simply the result of a discipline that helped her breathe, sleep, and hold herself together.
She looked at herself in the mirror again.
For a few seconds, she didn't recognize the woman looking back at her. Not because she looked different, but because she seemed to be waiting for something.
“You're not dressing for Samuel,” she told herself.
The sentence sounded far too defensive.
She let down her hair, brushed it, then gathered it up again. Finally, she left a few strands loose around her face. She put on small earrings, added a little more color to her lips, and hesitated before choosing a pair of mid-heeled shoes.
The result was still prudent. But it wasn't the Eugenia of the blouse buttoned all the way to the neck.
She took the card from her purse and placed it on the vanity.
“This doesn't mean anything.”
She put it away again.
When Andrés arrived, he found her ready by the door. He was wearing a light-colored shirt, dark pants, and the pleasant expression Eugenia had known for almost two years. He gave her a light kiss on the lips, then let his eyes roam over her entire body, covered by the green dress he hadn't seen her wear before. Eugenia felt his gaze traveling over her and began to blush, but said nothing. When she remembered that she wasn't wearing a bra, her nipples hardened, filling her with a warmth she hadn't felt before. Instead of commenting on it, he asked how the opening ceremony had gone.
“Fine. Everything went as planned.”
“I'm glad. And the National Director? Was he as important as they said?”
“He's a man with a great deal of responsibility.”
Andrés smiled. Eugenia looked away.
“That isn't what I asked.”
“What did you ask?” she said, looking back at him.
“Whether he was important or just liked pretending he was.”
Eugenia thought of Samuel entering the lobby, of how easily every conversation had changed around him. Of how she herself had felt her gaze drawn to him at once.
“I suppose it was both.”
The restaurant was good, quiet, and familiar. The tables were spaced far enough apart to allow for private conversations, but not so far apart that the place seemed luxurious. There were warm lamps, white tablecloths, and a menu Andrés studied carefully before recommending the daily special to her.
Eugenia ordered wrapped fish. Andrés chose a cut of meat.
They talked about the opening ceremony, traffic, and the rising cost of rent. He told her that his boss had changed a report yet again and that one of his coworkers intended to request vacation during the busy season. Eugenia listened, asked the appropriate questions, and smiled when expected.
The conversation moved forward with the regularity of a well-kept account.
There were no uncomfortable silences because there were no silences. Andrés filled every space with information, plans, and minor complaints. He was attentive. He remembered that she didn't like overly spicy sauces and asked them to change the side dish without her having to request it.
Everything about him was considerate.
Everything about him was predictable.
“We could look at the apartment on Saturday,” Andrés said. “The one I mentioned. It has two bedrooms and it's close to 23 de abril Avenue.”
Eugenia set her fork down on the plate.
“You've already seen it?”
“Only from the outside. But it looks like a good opportunity. If we keep waiting, prices will go up even more.”
“Keep waiting for what?”
Andrés looked at her, surprised.
“Eugenia...”
There was no reproach in his voice. Only a patience that suddenly seemed to her like a closed door.
“I didn't mean that.”
“We've been talking about us for a long time. I don't think it's too soon to consider taking the next step.”
She lowered her gaze to her plate.
Taking the next step. Buying furniture. Organizing their expenses. Telling her parents. Building a life that resembled all the right decisions she had made until then.
She tried to imagine Andrés sitting in a better restaurant, a wineglass between his fingers, having a conversation capable of surprising her. She couldn't.
Instead, Samuel appeared.
Samuel leaning toward her, listening with that dangerous attention. Samuel asking her something that didn't have a prepared answer. Samuel in a more elegant place than this one, under dimmer lighting, looking at her and knowing that her green dress had indeed been a decision made for him.
Eugenia curled her fingers around the napkin.
“Are you all right?” Andrés asked.
“Yes. I'm just tired.”
It was a small lie. The worst kind of lie, because she could tell it without changing her expression or the course of the conversation.
Andrés continued talking about the apartment. He explained the advantages of the neighborhood, the nearby shops, and the possibility of negotiating the rent. Eugenia listened from far away. At some point, Samuel had stopped being an image and become a comparison.
That frightened her more than the attraction.
When dinner ended, she asked him to take her back to her apartment. Andrés agreed without objection. Always such a perfectly accommodating man.
When they arrived, he insisted on walking her to the door of her building. Without a word, she knew he would say goodbye without intending to go any further. Not because they hadn't taken that path before, but because she simply knew it.
Andrés took her hands and spoke slowly and softly, as if he didn't want to frighten her.
“You don't have to decide tonight,” he said. “But I want to know whether we're looking in the same direction.”
Eugenia held his gaze.
Andrés was good. Stable. He loved her in a clear way, without games or ambiguous promises. Just as he had during the few times they had made love, she thought.
“Yes,” she answered.
The word came out too quickly.
He smiled, relieved, and kissed her tenderly. Eugenia returned the kiss, but as she did, she thought of another mouth, another voice, and a question Samuel still hadn't asked—a question she didn't even know whether he would want to ask her.
When she entered her apartment, she turned on the living-room light and took the card from her purse, placing it on the dining table.
The number looked darker than before.
She sat across from it without touching it. She could tear it up. She could throw it in the trash. She could call Samuel and demand that he never leave messages on her desk again.
Instead, she picked up her phone. She unlocked it.
She didn't dial the number.
She only opened her contacts and saved it there under the name Director, as if keeping it in that place could make the decision seem less serious.
Then she turned off the screen.
For several minutes, Eugenia remained seated in the darkness, still wearing the green dress, with a disconcerting dampness in her lower abdomen and her nipples harder than ever. She realized, with an unsettling feeling, that she hadn't chosen between two men that night.
For the first time, she had chosen to listen to a part of herself she had always kept silent.