The boss

Chapter 2

The Boss

Giulia

"Is it for me?" I asked, extending my hand towards the soda can he was holding out.

"Yes, yes, here! The man doesn't look at us!" he replied, amused by the situation.

I let out a sympathetic laugh when I heard his accent. It didn't sound like Italian, Spanish, French, or English.

"Thank you. Is it Arabic?" I asked curiously, intrigued by his masculinity.

He stroked his chest, and only then did I notice that his shirt was slightly open, revealing a very athletic chest. "Turkey!" he replied.

"Turkey! Ah, Turkey, soap operas!" I said, lost in thought. But why, Giulia? You usually follow Turkish soap operas on social networks, and he doesn't, for sure, he's a man.

"Yes, soap opera!" he confirmed, handing me the can of soda. As I looked at his face, I could now clearly notice his distinctly Turkish features. I had been studying Turkish and French for the last few months, so I decided to take a risk and say a few phrases; after all, it was part of my job.

"Iyi geceler!" I said, trying out my Turkish.

Suddenly, he cracked a beautiful smile. My God, what a handsome man!

"Iyi geceler," he replied. "Do you know what that means?"

"Good evening?" I guessed.

He raised his arm and gently touched my shoulder, pulling me slightly closer to avoid the commotion.

"Good night," he corrected, and I strengthened my pronunciation.

"Night," I said.

"Yes! Oh, you didn't order your drink!"

He understood what I was saying, and that made me even more delighted.

"It doesn't matter; I'll drink it later."

He smiled and touched my shoulder gently. I felt a strong attraction towards him. Everything I had heard about Turkish men was fascinating: romanticism, tradition, protection. I was aware that I had also heard and read about the negative side of Turkish culture, but every culture had its drawbacks and macho elements. Americans, on the other hand, tended to avoid getting involved in anything. We were not a culture with romance deeply rooted like others. And here I was, a romantic enthusiast who no longer believed in love. What a contradiction! He started swaying his body to the side, dancing, then he looked at me and smiled.

"Are you from around here?" I asked.

"Yes, I'm from Jersey. Have you been in the USA long?" he replied in his heavy English.

"No, I just came to work for six months."

He spoke a kind of heavy English. Brenda and Amanda saw me with this handsome man, stopped dancing, and approached.

"Hi," they said, sweaty from dancing.

"Merhaba! Serkan!" he extended his hand in greeting to both of them. Brenda and Amanda melted into smiles, and I couldn't help but feel a little jealous. After all, I had met them first, and I felt entitled to some control over the situation. But, in reality, I had none. Amanda was extremely beautiful, taller, and blonde. If he was looking for fun in the city, Amanda was the ideal woman. Surprisingly, she signaled to me that she was leaving with Brenda. I thought it was strange; she was not usually so empathetic. The Turk greeted them as they walked away and gave me a look full of meaning. He moved closer to my neck, and I felt my stomach twist with tension at what he was about to say.

"American women are beautiful, like you," he said, leaning closer.

He moved away, but the delicious perfume remained around me. I flashed him a warm smile, calm but radiant inside. The Turk was mine! What would happen that night? I noticed that he liked to show off his athletic chest, and the silver laces fit him very well. The more I noticed, the more he stirred up my reactions.

"Shall we sit down?" he suggested, pointing to an unoccupied part of a red sofa.

I nodded and moved towards it. I sat down with my legs crossed, and he noticed. The Turk then put his arm around my neck, leaning it on the back of the sofa, and smiled at me.

"You don't drink?" he asked.

"No, I don't," I replied.

He shook his head, probably surprised.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Oh, sorry, Giulia."

"Giulia," he repeated, trying to pronounce it correctly.

"Yes, that's it."

He moved even closer to my face. Did he really think I was pretty? I returned his smile and realized that he was looking longingly into my eyes, alternating with glances at my lips. I believed he intended to kiss me. I could hardly believe that I had just met him, and we were already exchanging kisses. It felt like a dream come true after watching so many Turkish soap operas! Serkan came closer, and this time there was nothing I could do, even if I wanted to. The Turk pressed his lips to mine and pulled me by the shoulder with the hand that was resting on the back of the sofa so that I would not be able to pull away. But I didn't want to pull away. From the moment he handed me the can of soda, it had never been my intention. I returned his kiss, at first, shyly. I thought he didn't want to scare me too much, so he pulled away and looked at me.

"Is there a problem with that? Do you want some?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," I shyly nodded.

He had a bold expression, confident and charming. I don't think he even entertained the idea that I didn't want to kiss him. I brought my right hand up to his face to feel his beard, and then the kiss deepened, and we merged into each other. The taste was good, the perfume was good, he was handsome. Not model-handsome, but he exuded a masculine charm in his movements and attitude. This was a dominant and powerful man; I could feel it in the way he touched me and kissed me. We spent some more time kissing and savoring each other on that cramped couch. Serkan then pulled away to look into my eyes, leaving a few inches of breathing room, even though I was panting with desire. Kissing and desire were things I did very well, but sex... ah, sex was still a barrier in my heart.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked.

I knew what "getting out of here" meant. A motel. Sex. No. I wasn't ready for that. I wouldn't lose my virginity to someone I didn't know, much less to a foreigner whose name and nationality were the only things I knew about him.

"I couldn't."

"You can't?" He felt a little frustrated. "What can I do to make you want to?"

"I don't do things like that without knowing someone."

He nodded, looking at the floor, and then he looked at me and stroked my face.

"Very well, then, let's stay here. I like you; you're different."

"I like you," I corrected, laughing.

"I like you. Will you teach me to speak perfectly?" he asked playfully.

This line of conversation kept him from being disrespectful. I was delighted.

I didn't even know if what he had proposed was really about sex, but it probably was. I was American, which meant I had a bad reputation out there, no matter how many "no's" we said. But nothing was explicit in that invitation, which allowed me to dream that he might want to take me to a restaurant or somewhere where there was no bed.

When he returned, he was carrying his beer.

"So, tell me about yourself, Giulia. Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked.

I thought the question was kind of stupid. "If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn't be here right now, kissing you," I replied assertively.

He pouted at my direct answer, as if the question had to do with my character. "True, but many American women..."

I didn't even let him finish speaking. "Many people, many Americans, and many Turks do what they shouldn't."

"Turkish?" he laughed loudly. "Maybe, but they would be very badmouthed for the rest of their lives in the family."

"Here too."

"Not as much as there. American women suffer less prejudice."

I swallowed his words as a compliment to my country and let it go. In fact, we were less judgmental of other people's behavior, although we were still very prejudiced in many ways. Serkan would have all night to get some woman into bed as he wanted, which made me feel a certain sense of loss. If only I dared more. No, I wasn't like Amanda; it wouldn't work.

"I think Turkey is very beautiful," I tried to make conversation.

He was taking a sip of his beer when he heard me. "The US is more beautiful. I've been here for a month and I've seen some beautiful things. The people are warm!"

"It's true," I agreed.

Again he put his arm around my shoulder and watched me closely. "You have something different, Giulia. A..." He chose his words carefully. "Innocence."

Innocence. Dear God, did I exude virginity like a perfume? Could men perceive it in my body, in my gestures, or in my manner? I didn't want to appear innocent or naïve in any way, so I was emphatic.

"Innocence? Why did I not want to go to bed with you?" I questioned, determined to stand my ground.

He almost spit out the beer he had just put in his mouth. "I paid you a compliment." He then said, "Well, it's late, I have to get up early. It's been a pleasure." He kissed my hand. "Iyi geceler" (Good evening).

The Turk got up and left, and I stood there feeling like a real idiot. I was so fed up with male judgments that I was already responding badly to any man. I complained all the way home to Brenda because it turned out that Amanda had left with another man.

"Girl, you are not to blame for anything. He may have said that you were innocent, the kind of half-wit, but you were right. Who knows what innocent means in his country," Brenda reassured me.

"Exactly, I don't know, so I shouldn't judge!"

"Or you should, Ju! Cover yourself less, girlfriend! We are tired of men," she added playfully.

I let a tear fall timidly. It was anger. Anger at myself. But it was time to stop thinking nonsense about someone I didn't even know. I needed to think about the next day in the engineering office.

Monday morning arrived, and I wore a gray tube with a shy neckline. It was a formal company, after all. I sprayed perfume on my neck and arms, put on makeup, and left the house, wishing my mother, Solange, an excellent day.

"Take it easy, daughter. Don't be nervous. You'll do fine," she encouraged me.

"Yes, I will, Mom!" I shouted as I hurried out the door. I waited for the bus, which was very crowded, and then I took the subway, which was also packed. That was my life, the life of a common wage earner in the suburbs of Rio de Janeiro. It seemed like an eternal wait for public transportation. I think that more of my life was wasted in the city traffic than in working.

Already in Manhattan, I found the building where I was going to work, a very luxurious place. The entire floor seemed to have black marble walls with silver details and mirrors everywhere you looked. That refinement and luxury were reflected in the people who were very well-dressed, appropriate for that corporate environment. I approached what seemed to be an attendant sitting at a table strategically positioned for those entering the huge room.

"Good morning," I said softly, "I'm Giulia Miller, I start today. Can you help me?"

The girl looked up and seriously examined me from top to bottom. "The translator?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Please come with me."

She stood up and motioned for me to follow her into a room. As I walked, I noticed many staring eyes on me. People are curious and love to know what's new. At least that's what I thought. As I opened a door, she gestured for me to sit down. Inside were many men in suits, who looked powerful.

"You will be Mr. Sadik's secretary. Sit at that end; he is coming," she informed me.

"Thank you very much," I replied politely.

I walked past her and into the room, feeling a chill in my stomach. Nervousness overwhelmed me. There were at least thousands of dollars worth of suits in the room, and everyone's eyes seemed to be on me. I could hear some of them talking about the new CEO, but not with enthusiasm. I walked past them all and sat down in the place indicated, next to the bedside chair.

As soon as I sat down, everyone stood up, and I didn't understand why, but on impulse, I stood up too. "To preside over the meeting and the account of the shopping Village Jacarepaguá, I present Mr. Serkan Sadik," said a woman in a loud voice.

Serkan... I heard that name and turned my gaze to the door, waiting to see who would appear. How many Serkans were there in Rio? Everything around me seemed to stop when the Turk from the night before came through the door, taking off the sunglasses he was wearing. He paused a little in his stride when he saw me, but feigned naturalness and continued walking towards me. I even felt nauseous. That day would be intense.