I ran into my boss at the party, and she told me:
“Pretend to be my boyfriend and I’ll give you the most precious thing I have…”
In her eyes, I was invisible. Being the assistant who brought her coffee on time was enough for me; I was happy being the “office ghost,” the guy nobody noticed.
But everything changed one night in a suffocatingly loud corporate loft. She looked at me like she never had before. Elise Carón, my boss and Associate Director, walked straight up to me and whispered in a strained voice:
—”I need your help right now.”
I barely had time to ask what was happening before she made the request that shook my life.
—”Pretend to be my boyfriend and you’ll have it… you’ll have it.”
I didn’t know what that meant: a promotion, a reward? I only knew that in that instant, I stopped being a mere assistant; I became a piece in a game capable of changing my destiny.
Hi, my name is Julián Lambert. I’m 24 years old and I work as a personal assistant at a consulting firm in Bilbao, in the Ensanche district. On paper, it sounds good, but in reality, it means I do everything Elise Carón doesn’t have the time or the desire to do.
She is my boss, the Associate Director of the firm, and our relationship can be summarized in brief instructions, cold stares, and a professional distance that could fill an entire stage. I never imagined that everything would change at a banal office party when she looked me dead in the eye and said:
—”Pretend to be my boyfriend and you’ll have it.”
At that moment, I didn’t know what “you’ll have it” really meant, but I discovered that certain promises can change a life.
Elise Carón is the kind of woman who draws every eye without even trying. She is 35 years old, with shoulder-length brown hair always impeccably styled, and green eyes that can pierce through you like a laser or ignore you completely, depending on her mood. She wears exclusively tailored suits, heels that strike the floor like hammer blows, and a Swiss watch that probably costs more than my annual rent.
In the office, she is a machine. She arrives before everyone, leaves after everyone, and in between, she runs meetings with military precision. People respect her, but no one really likes her. She is too distant, too perfect, too cold. And I’m just the guy who brings her sugarless coffee at exactly eight o’clock, organizes her calendar, confirms her restaurant reservations, and ensures her PowerPoint presentations are flawless.
We never talk about anything personal. She never smiles. I am invisible to her. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
Our office is in a renovated building, all glass and steel inside. Although the facade is classic, my desk is in a noisy open-plan space on the second floor, while she “reigns” in a corner office on the fifth with views of the Guggenheim. Between us, there are three floors, several zeros of difference in our paychecks, and an entire world of distance. She comes from a high-society Bilbao family, a graduate of the University of Deusto and a prestigious business school.
I ran into my boss at the party, and she told me:
